Madam Cluck was a cross old setting hen, as black as a coal, and as obstinate as she was good-looking. She had been setting for several days; but as it was late in the season, I did not put any eggs under her, so she took matters into her own hands and stole her nest, and try as I would I could not find it.
After this I saw little of her for a time; but when she did at last appear, she was clucking vigorously, and was closely followed by ten chickens. It was a fine brood of as bright-looking chicks as I had ever seen, but of all colors and kinds. I forgave her for stealing her nest, and rigged up a box for a coop, and put Madam Cluck into it, and the chicks all ran in after her, and hid under her wings; but I could still see some little yellow legs and bright eyes peeping out.
Having done everything I could for the old hen and her family, I left them considerably to themselves, but took pains to feed and count them three or four times a day. The very next morning after the appearance of Madam Cluck
