ard mill, and that his
cereals should be discreetly spiced with grubs and lettuce leaves and
such spring dainties. Whatever we were told to do, we did. Mike's
repasts were thus seasons to him of delicious excitement, and he would
tear deliriously from one end of his box to the other, pecking to right
and left, exclaiming in high glee, "Tweet, tweet! Something to eat!
Bless my pin-feathers! Here's a treat!"

This up-to-date son of an incubator had an obstinate instinct in him
which made the tap of my finger on the floor of his box equivalent to
the tattoo of a hen's bill beside some scratched-up delicacy, and it
was funny to see him rush to the sound, his black eyes shining with
joyous expectancy. So queerly did instinct serve him that he would grab
the goody as if a brood of famished brothers were on his heels and,
spreading his bits of wings, race off with his prize, most indiscreetly
shrilling as he went, "Twit, twit, twit! You shan't have a bit," and
gobbling it down in a corner with choking precipitation.

One of the "Arrows of the Wise" carries the point, "Be not idle and you
shall not be longing," and I had no chance to miss my customary
vocations with this importunate cockerel demanding constant society and
care.

Hatched to the vain anticipation of brooding wings and crooning cluck
and the restless pressure of other downy little bodies all about him,
Mike was a lonesome chick and could not bear to have his sorry
substitute for a mother-hen out of sight and sound a minute. His box
must be within reach of my hand, whither every few minutes he would run
for a snuggle and a snooze, turning a disdainful back on the elaborate
hot-water-bottle and cotton-batting shelters I had been at such pains
to erect. The life in him craved contact with life. If I withdrew my
hand, having occasionally other uses for it, or neglected to respond to
his casual remarks, my ears would suddenly be assailed by a storm of
piteous chirps, the neck would stretch until two round eyes peered
anxiously above his castle wall, and then, with clamber and scramble,
that indomitable little spirit would achieve the impossible and land a
fluttering fluff-ball against my face. When I was well enough to move
from room to room Mike would dare the most terrific rumbles from his
box to come chasing after, though every threshold was a towering
obstacle over which a Labor Union of wings and legs could barely carry
him.

After he had eaten his supper, wi