enture I embarked upon the quest of the Golden Bird, which in
one short year has landed me--I am now the richest woman in the world.

"But, Ann Craddock, you know nothing at all about a chicken in any more
natural state than in a croquette," stormed Matthew at me as he savagely
speared one of those inoffensive articles of banquet diet with a sharp
silver fork while he squared himself with equal determination between me
and any possible partner for the delicious one-step that the band in the
ball-room was beginning to send out in inviting waves of sound to round the
dancers in from loitering over their midnight food.

"The little I do _not_ know about the chicken business, after one week
spent in pursuit of that knowledge through every weird magazine and state
agricultural bulletin in the public library, even you could learn, Matthew
Berry, with your lack of sympathy with the great American wealth producer,
the humble female chicken known in farmer patois as a hen. Did you know
that it only costs about two dollars and thirteen cents to feed a hen a
whole year and that she will produce twenty-seven dollars and a half for
her owner, the darling thing? I know I'll just love her when I get to know
her--them better, as I will in only about eighteen hours now."

"Ann, you are mad--mad!" foamed Matthew, as he set down his plate of
perfectly good and untasted food, and buried his head in his hands until
his mop of black hair looked like a big blot of midnight.

"I'm not mad, Matthew, just dead poor, an heiress out of a job and with the
necessity of earning her bread by the sweat of her brow instead of
consuming cake by the labor of other people. Uncle Cradd is coming in again
with a two-horse wagon, and the carriage to move us out to Elmnest
to-morrow morning. Judge Rutherford will attend to selling all the property
and settle with father's creditors. Another wagon is coming for father's
library, and in two days he won't know that Uncle Cradd and I have moved
him, if I can just get him started on a bat with Epictetus or old Horace.
Then me for the tall timbers and my friend the hen.

"Oh, Ann, for the love of high heaven, marry me to-morrow, and let me move
you and Father Craddock over into that infernal, empty old barn I keep open
as a hotel for nigger servants. Marry me instead--"

"Instead of the hen?" I interrupted him with a laugh. "I can't, Matt, you
dear thing. I honestly can't. I've got to go back to the land from whi