n voice for herself, and using a very
shrill falsetto for Arabella, who, by the bye, appeared to reply only in
monosyllables.

In the midst of this very entertaining discourse I heard another voice
exclaiming,--

'Look 'ee 'ere, Miss Zusie, this vowl 'ave airt her vut;' and the small
ploughboy I before mentioned came in at the garden gate, holding a hen
in his arms.

'Oh, give it to me, Joey,' cried the little girl, full of sympathy for
the wounded bird. 'How did it happen? Poor dear, poor dear!'

With that Joey poured forth a long account of the accident, to which she
listened attentively, all the while soothing the lamed hen, and wrapping
it up in her soft frock.

'I will bathe its poor foot in warm water, and try to get it well,' she
said, after thanking Joey for bringing it to her; and she went into the
house, leaving Arabella alone on the lawn, cautioning her, however, 'to
be a good child until mamma returned.'

It was some days before we again saw the hen, and then she was quite
restored, and had been given to Susie as her 'very own' because of the
care she had bestowed upon her; indeed, she had become quite a pet,
actually was allowed to roam about the flower-garden and lawns; and some
one had given her the name of 'Zenobia,'--an inconvenient name to call
when in a hurry, but Susie was very satisfied with it, and so, I
suppose, was the hen, who seemed to love her little mistress, following
her wherever she went, eating from her hand, and even perching on her
shoulder! After some time Zenobia was to be seen walking about, followed
by a family of nine chickens; and really I cannot tell which was most
proud of the young brood, Susie or the hen. Susie called them 'loves'
and 'beauties,' and the hen, she clucked, and made a great fuss over
them, and, as if determined that their bed should be of roses, insisted
on roosting every night under a rose-bush which grew near the garden
gate, instead of the cosy coop with which she had been provided.

Well, one moonlight night we, of course, were awake, though the church
clock had long since struck the hour of midnight; and it was so still,
only the voices of the night murmuring among the trees, though
occasionally we could hear the soft crooning of the hen, as she hushed
her little family to sleep beneath the rose-bush. Suddenly we heard the
sound of stealthy footsteps creeping under the wall.

'It is only Dash, the house dog,' whispered a sister-flower, who grew on