ly, you
never saw anything as handsome as Caesar--he's the rooster; and I have
six pullets. Caesar is perfectly superb."

When the two reached the chicken-houses Dicksie examined the nest
where she was setting the bantam hen. "This miserable hen will not
set," she exclaimed in despair. "See here, Mr. Smith, she has left her
nest again and is scratching around on the ground. Isn't it a shame?
I've tied a cord around her leg so she couldn't run away, and she is
hobbling around like a scrub pony."

"Perhaps the eggs are too warm," suggested her companion. "I have had
great success in cases like this with powdered ice--not using too
much, of course; just shave the ice gently and rub it over the eggs
one at a time; it will often result in refreshing the attention of the
hen."

Dicksie looked grave. "Aren't you ashamed to make fun of me?"

Whispering Smith seemed taken aback. "Is it really serious business?"

"Of course."

"Very good. Let me watch this hen for a few minutes and diagnose her.
You go on to your other chickens. I'll stay here and think."

Dicksie went down through the yards. When she came back, Whispering
Smith was sitting on a cracker-box watching the bantam. The chicken
was making desperate efforts to get off Dicksie's cord and join its
companions in the runway. Smith was eying the bantam critically when
Dicksie rejoined him. "Do you usually," he asked, looking suddenly up,
"have success in setting roosters?"

"Now you are having fun with me again."

"No, by Heaven! I am not."

"Have you diagnosed the case?"

"I have, and I have diagnosed it as a case of mistaken identity."

"Identity?"

"And misapplied energy. Miss Dicksie, you have tied up the wrong bird.
This is not a bantam hen at all; this is a bantam rooster. Now that
is _my_ judgment. Compare him with the others. Notice how much darker
his plumage is--it's the rooster," declared Whispering Smith, wiping
the perplexity from his brow. "Don't feel bad, not at all. Cut him
loose, Miss Dicksie--don't hesitate; do it on my responsibility. Now
let's look at the cannibal leghorns--and great Caesar."

CHAPTER XXIV

BETWEEN GIRLHOOD AND WOMANHOOD

About nine o'clock that night Puss ushered McCloud in from the river.
Dicksie came running downstairs to meet him. "Your cousin insisted I
should come up to the house for some supper," said McCloud dryly. "I
could have taken camp fare with the men. Gordon stayed there with
him."

Dicksie