to do in her reckless dash, that
her absence was discovered.

"Oh, Frank, I am afraid we were too hard on her!" exclaimed Marian.

Frank himself looked anxious for it was fast growing dusk. He scanned
the thinning crowd on the pond sharply--no little red figure was to be
seen.

"She can't have gone far!" he said now genuinely alarmed.

"Marian, you go on home with the children and I'll find her."

"Let me go with you--poor little girlie she was trying her small best to
help me." Harding was scanning the pond narrowly as he spoke.

"I believe she must be behind that big tree across there. She could
hardly have got completely out of sight any place else."

Dick Harding fastened on his skates and hurried across the pond to a big
oak, which stood flanked by a clump of bushes close to the edge of the
bank.

Sure enough, Chicken Little had flung herself down in the snow behind
the tree, and was sobbing her heart out. He lifted her tenderly.

"Dear me, little friend, this won't do--where's my little champion who
tried to help me win the race just now?"

Chicken Little hushed her sobs in astonishment.

"Frank said--he said--he----" the tears were coming again, "he said I'd
disgraced you and I didn't think--you'd ever speak to me again!"

"Nonsense, Jane, listen to me. I am proud and happy that you wanted to
help me--it wasn't the best way to do it, but you didn't know. Now come,
dry your tears and let's hurry back to the others--they thought they'd
lost you."

"And you aren't ashamed of me?"

"Ashamed of you? Bless your heart, I am proud to have such a staunch
friend."

CHAPTER XI

CHICKEN LITTLE JANE'S BIRTHDAY

February was birthday month in the Morton family. Jane's came first on
the thirteenth, Ernest's on the twenty-second, and Mrs. Morton came near
having a birthday only once in four years, for hers was on the
twenty-eighth.

"My, I'd hate to be born on the thirteenth. Cousin May says thirteen is
awfully unlucky," said Katy impressively, when Chicken Little told her
the fateful date.

"Yes, but you see I was born on Sunday, too, and Sunday's the very
luckiest day there is to be born on."

"Yes, Jane, 'Blithe and bonny and good and gay, is the child who is born
on the Sabbath day,'" chanted Marian, who was sitting by the window
sewing. "You have something to live up to, little sister, if you are
all that."

"I'm glad my birthday isn't coming on Sunday this year," said Jane
thoughtfully.