So I let her stay on the nest, thinking, as it was so cold, that she would soon get tired of trying to set. But every morning when I went to the barn, I found her on the nest. At last, like Old Speck, I, too, began to long for some chickens. How cheerful it would sound to hear them peeping.
So, finally, I fixed her a warm nest in the haymow, and put thirteen eggs under her and waited. But how long those three weeks seemed! Each day when I went up-stairs to feed and water the hen, Master Frisky would go too, and stand watching her through the slats of the box, while she ate. I said "Chickens" to him, and he wagged his tail, and seemed to understand.
At last the longed-for day came; and Old Speck, with much clucking and scolding, came off with just one chicken. But what a cute little fellow he was, as black as a coal, and as lively as a grasshopper. I held him in my hand, and let Master Frisky look at him; and he laughed and wagged his tail, and gave three or four glad barks.
Old Speck scratched around as hard in the straw for this one chicken as she would have done for a dozen; and how this little bit of black down would peep. When he was nestled under his mother's wings, his peep was soft and contented; but when running about the box, it was shrill and loud; and if you had not seen him, you would have thought that there were a dozen chickens instead of one.
