n't take me ten minutes to attend to the chickens and Hobo, too."
Peggy left the table, and went blithely out to the small coop, shaped
like a pyramid, with slats nailed across the front, where the yellow hen
exercised maternal supervision over six chickens. Whether or not the
thunder-storm was responsible, Mrs. Cole's foreboding regarding the
other nine eggs had been justified by the outcome. But to make up for
this disappointment, the six chickens which had hatched had turned out
to be as downy and yellow and generally fascinating as the chickens
favored by the artists who design Easter cards, and this agreeable
surprise had enabled the optimistic Peggy to take an entirely cheerful
view of the situation.

It was a shock to the others when a wailing cry came to their ears from
the vicinity of the chicken coop. Priscilla, who was just filling her
dish-pan with steaming water, set the kettle down so hastily as narrowly
to escape scalding herself, and ran to the scene of the excitement. The
others followed with the exception of Ruth, who was glad of the
opportunity to drop into a chair and press her hands to her throbbing
temples.

The cause of Peggy's cry of distress was at once apparent. She stood
beside the coop, a motionless ball of down on her open palm. Below the
yellow hen scratched blithely and clucked to her diminished family.

"She did it herself," cried the exasperated Peggy. "She deliberately
stood on top of it and crushed the life out of it. When I came out it
was too far gone to peep, and she was looking around as if she wondered
where the noise had come from. But by the time I could make her move,
the poor little thing was dead."

It was the general verdict that the conduct of the yellow hen was
reprehensible in the extreme. The comments passed upon her would have
been sufficient to make her wince, had she been a hen of any
sensibility. But regardless of the disapproval so openly expressed, she
continued to scratch and summon her brood, with every indication of
being perfectly satisfied with herself.

"Six little Indians stole honey from a hive,
A busy bee got after one and then there were but five."

Peggy looked at Graham as if she did not know whether to laugh or be
angry. Being Peggy, she, of course, settled the question in favor of the
first-named alternative, though even as she dimpled, she told Graham
severely that it was nothing to laugh about.

"As I understand it, the tragedy has o