tions to
gain information, and he handles things to see how they are made."

"What is he tinkering at now, mamma?" asked Tom. "He has got hold of an
old, old book, full of _f ss_, and all yellow; he's rigged two pans in a
barrel, and bought a naptha lamp, and locked us all out of the attic."

"And he just came in with a covered basket, mamma," said Katie, "carrying
it ever so carefully. I was jumping rope in the hall, and he asked me not
to joggle. What do you suppose he was doing, mamma?"

"Suppose we wait till he tells us," said mamma, smiling.

"He's only trying some of his 'speriments," said wise little Robbie, aged
five.

After the children went out, mamma took up her work and sat down by the
window, watching the three outside, and waiting for her oldest boy,
August, who presently came to take her into his confidence.

"Mamma, I am trying an experiment."

"And is that something new, August?" with an encouraging smile.

"But the _kind_ is new, mamma. Did you ever hear of Reaumur?"

"Who wrote that curious old book on the art of hatching fowls by
artificial incubation? Yes, August."

"Then will you come and see, mamma, what _I_ have begun to do?"

He led the way, two steps at a time, to the attic. When they reached the
door, August drew from his pocket a key, and unlocked it and led his
mother in.

A flour-barrel stood in the centre of the floor, closely covered. August
removed the cover, and lifted up a piece of carpet. His mother looked in.

Within the barrel was suspended a large, deep pan, resting on three iron
cleats. This pan was partly filled with hot water, and floating on the
water was another pan--a shallow one--which contained a layer of sand an
inch deep. Over this was spread a piece of linen cloth, and in the cloth
thirty-six large Brahma eggs lay closely packed. In the center stood a
neat thermometer.

[Illustration: THE INCUBATOR.]

"You have made your arrangements very neatly, August," said mamma. "Of
course I do not understand them exactly."

"Well, you see, mamma, this shallow pan gets its heat from the water
beneath it. I put that in hot, and keep it just right with this lamp."

Saying which, he knelt in front of the barrel, and opened a neat little
door, fitted with a brass knob and hinges.

Stooping down and looking in, his mother saw on a tall flower-pot, which
stood upside down, a naptha safety-lamp sending forth a small, steady
flame.

"That keeps the temperature about e