is way," he explained, hanging up his hat. "Tom Morgan
brought me a dozen eggs from his new hennery about three weeks ago. I
put them on the shelf, intending to bring them home that night, but
never thought of them until this morning, when there seemed to be
something stirring up there. I looked, and, sure enough, there was a
fine brood of chickens, just picking their way out of their shells!"

"But how did it ever happen?" asked mamma in a puzzled tone.

"Because the engine, running night and day, gave the eggs just as much
heat as they would have found under a hen's wings," papa replied: "and
they thought that they were put up there to hatch."

"Oh, aren't they darlings!" cried Dorothy, clapping her hands as the
chickens began to eat the crumbs. "They are the nicest pets that we ever
had in all our lives."

[Illustration: "Oh, aren't they darlings!" cried Dorothy.]

While papa was making a nice coop out of a wooden box, mamma found an
empty tin can that had once held a gallon of maple syrup. She filled
this full of boiling water, screwed the cover on tight, and then wrapped
it up in pieces of flannel.

"There," she exclaimed triumphantly, fastening the last strip, "let us
see how the chickens like this for a mother!"

Setting the can carefully in the center of the coop, she put the little
chickens close by it. Finding it soft and warm, they cuddled up against
the flannel cover, and began to chirp as contentedly as if it were a
mother hen. Then she pinned a square of flannel to the upper side of the
can, letting it spread either way like a mother hen's wings, and leaving
the ends open for the chickens to go in and out.

[Illustration: They cuddled up against the flannel cover.]

"We will fill the can with hot water every night," said mamma, "and it
will keep the chickens warm."

And here they lived quite happily with their syrup-can mother, until
papa declared that they were large enough to go to roost in the barn.

PRINCE GOODHEART'S DAUGHTERS.

BY ZELIA MARGARET WALTERS.

Prince Goodheart had twin daughters about eight years old, named Myrtle
and Violet. He had a number of other daughters, and sons too, for this
was a large family. But to-day's story is about the twins.

When the nurse was getting them ready for bed at night she always told a
story, and one night her story was about the good-luck plant. She told
how the seeds of it had been scattered about over all the earth, and
here and ther