ming at all! I'm
so glad! But you needn't laugh at me, Dorry--I'm only trying to remember
a little hist'ry."

"I'm not laughing at _you_," Dorry protested, merrily. "But it was so
funny to hear you putting the English queens into the pots and pans;
that was all. Here, let me help a little. Come, Jamie, sit on Dotty's
lap, and she'll tell you all about Bluebeard."

"Oh, no; that's too old for him. Tell him about the chickies," suggested
Charity, in a business-like way, as, disengaging her gown from his baby
clutch, she sprang upon a chair, in order to put something away on the
highest shelf of the dresser.

"It's no use," she said, jumping down again, almost angrily, and raising
her voice to be heard above Jamie's outcry. "Oh, dear, what _does_ make
you so naughty, Baby?"

"He isn't naughty," said Dorry, soothingly; "he's only tired of being
indoors. Come, Jamie, we'll go out and play chickie till Charity gets
through, and then we'll all take a nice walk."

Jamie seized Dorry's hand instantly, and out they went.

"Be careful!" called Charity, after her, setting a chair down hard at
the same time. "Look out, or he'll get right under the cow's feet; he
always does."

"I'll be careful," sang out Dorry. "Come as soon as you can. This
delightful air will do you good." Then, seeing Ellen Eliza, the
ten-year-old Danby girl, standing not far from the house, she led Jamie
toward her.

[Illustration: "HE'S COMPLAININ'."]

Ellen Eliza had a very tender heart. Every one who knew Mrs. Danby had
heard of that tender heart more than once; and so Dorry was not in the
least surprised to find Ellen Eliza in the act of "comforting" a
draggled-looking fowl, which she held tenderly in her arms in spite of
its protest.

"Is it hurt?" asked Dorry.

Ellen Eliza looked up with an anxious countenance as she murmured:

"Oh, no, not exactly hurt; he's complainin'. I think he's hungry, but he
won't eat."

"Dear me!" was Dorry's unfeeling comment; "then I'd let him go hungry, I
certainly should."

"Oh, no, you couldn't be cruel to a poor sick rooster!" Here Ellen Eliza
pressed the uneasy fowl to her heart. "May be, he has a sore throat."

"Do you know what _I_ think?" said Dorry, quite disregarding the
patient's possible affliction.

"What?" asked Ellen Eliza, plaintively, as if prepared to hear that her
feathered pet was going into a rapid decline. And Dorry went on:

"_I_ think that if people with tender hearts would remember