I am a whole inch taller than Mother now, and half the
time she treats me as if I didn't have the sense of a chicken."

"Well, you see you're the only girl in the family, and you've been the
littlest chicken so long your mother kind of likes to shut her eyes to
all those extra inches you've been collecting. By the way, Miss Morton,
I don't notice that muffler your mother mentioned, and I think you'll be
cold enough before we get to town to wish you had it."

"You don't suppose I was going to wear that clumsy thing? I can snuggle
down under the robes if I get cold."

"No, I didn't suppose, so I brought the red scarf Mother gave me
Christmas, for your ears. They'd be frosted sure without anything. Did
you think your pride would keep you warm, Chicken Little?"

Chicken Little was inclined to resent this delicate attention; Sherm
seemed to be putting her in the same class her mother had. But her ears
were already beginning to tingle as they left the timber and got the
full force of the wind on the open prairie. Sherm was swinging the bays
along at a good pace. The cutter glided smoothly over the frozen snow.
She submitted meekly while he awkwardly wrapped the muffler over her cap
with his free hand. The soft wool was deliciously comfortable. She
neglected, however, to mention this fact to him.

"Too stubborn to own up, Lady Jane?"

Jane stole a glance at the quizzical face turned in her direction. Then
she evaded shamelessly.

"Sherm, don't you just adore to skate?"

* * * * *

Chicken Little was in a pulsing state of excitement that evening as she
listened to the pretty, lilting music and watched gorgeously clad young
people, many of whom she recognized, moving demurely about the little
stage. To others it was merely a very creditable amateur performance; to
Chicken Little, it opened a whole new world of ideas and imagining. She
had been to a theatre but twice in her whole life, once to Uncle Tom's
Cabin and once to a horrible presentation of Hamlet, which resulted in
her disliking the play to the day of her death. She loved the light and
color and harmony of it all. She delighted in it so much that she sighed
because it would be so soon over.

"What are you sighing for, Jane? Don't you like it?" her hostess
inquired.

Chicken Little gave a little wriggle of joy. "Like it? I just love
it--it's like butterflies keeping house. Don't you wish everything was
like that--p