nly been hastened," said the
teasing Graham. "You designed the chicken for the butcher, didn't you?
And now let's feed this unnatural mother before she gets hungry and eats
up the other five."

The appetite of the yellow hen was not the least impaired by the family
disaster. She gobbled down her corn meal with a dispatch which argued
indifference to the possibility that there might not be enough left for
her offspring. Then while Peggy and Graham made ready a little grave for
the victim of maternal clumsiness, the others flocked back to the house
discussing the calamity. Reluctantly Ruth resumed her duties, and her
sense of resentment grew rapidly, as she listened to the excited chatter
of her companions. All this fuss about a dead chicken, and not a word of
sympathy for her sufferings. Ruth was rapidly approaching the point of
extreme unreasonableness.

A long walk was the first of the festivities scheduled for the eventful
last day. The boys had discovered a view that they were very anxious to
have the others see, and even Aunt Abigail, who was not a great success
as a pedestrian, had decided to go along. Ruth was putting on her wide
brimmed shade hat, when a wave of faintness swept over her, and for a
minute everything turned black. Then she recovered herself, and saw a
white face with unnaturally large eyes staring back at her from the
mirror.

"I--I don't believe I'll go," said Ruth in an uncertain voice, in which
there was no suggestion of heroism.

"Go?" Amy was down on her hands and knees, looking for a pin in the
cracks of the floor. "Of course you'll go. Don't be grumpy."

Grumpy! And after she had endured so much to avoid casting a shadow over
the spirits of the party. Ruth frowned on her, but in silence. It seemed
to her that she had never before realized the amount of selfishness in
the world. Nobody cared what she suffered. Her dearest friends, her own
brother were prodigies of inconsiderateness. With an effort she kept
back the burning tears of self pity, and tottered down the stairs,
prepared to endure the martyrdom of a long walk under the July sun.

"Ruth," called Peggy from the pantry, "just help me with these
sandwiches, will you?" They were coming home for the midday meal, but
Peggy had determined to carry along a few sandwiches, as country-grown
appetites seemed independent of the limitations of those appetites with
which she was best acquainted.

Ruth rose to obey. But her indisposition wa