THE HEN THAT HATCHED DUCKS. 7 



ried ? &quot; said Dame Scratchard. &quot; I don t expect she 11 raise 

 a single chick ; and there s Gray Cock flirting about, fine 

 as ever. Folks did n t do so when I was young. I m sure 

 my husband knew what treatment a setting hen ought to 

 have, poor old Long Spur, he never minded a peck or 

 so now and then. I must say these modern fowls a n t what 

 fowls used to be.&quot; 



Meanwhile the sun rose and set, and Master Fred was 

 almost the only friend and associate of poor little Mrs. Feath- 

 ertop, whom he fed daily with meal and water, and only in 

 terrupted her sad reflections by pulling her up occasionally 

 to see how the eggs were coming on. 



At last, &quot;Peep, peep, peep!&quot; began to be heard in the nest, 

 and one little downy head after another poked forth from 

 under the feathers, surveying the world with round, bright, 

 winking eyes ; and gradually the brood were hatched, and 

 Mrs. Feathertop arose, a proud and happy mother, with all 

 the bustling, scratching, care-taking instincts of family-life 

 warm within her breast. She clucked and scratched, and 

 cuddled the little downy bits of things as handily and dis 

 creetly as a seven-year-old hen could have done, exciting 

 thereby the wonder of the community. 



Master Gray Cock came home in high spirits, and com 

 plimented her ; told her she was looking charmingly once 

 more, and said, &quot; Very well, very nice ! &quot; as he surveyed the 

 young brood. So that Mrs. Feathertop began to feel the 



