FRIENDS IN FEATHERS 



chilled until we were compelled to wrap ourselves in the side 

 curtains and lap-robe of the carriage, lower the top so that we sat 

 in the sun of a hot June day, and to drive at a slow walk. The 

 Deacon turned to me with the first word he had uttered, save to 

 ask what I wanted done next, and inquired: "Do you think 

 that paid?" 



Never in all my life had I been so uncomfortable, so unspeak- 

 ably miserable. I was chilling until I shook under my leather 

 covering, so pretended not to hear him. The following morn- 

 ing I produced my bunch of proofs. 



"Do you think it paid?" I asked. 



The Deacon examined the proofs several times, finally select- 

 ing the best one of Little Chicken and the egg. 



"That more than pays," he said succinctly. "When are we 

 going again?" 



"I want to go every day to feed Little Chicken some liver or 

 sweetbreads and become acquainted with his parents. I want to 

 make a study of him every three days; as many as I can of the 

 old ones," I answered. 



"All right!" said the Deacon. 



"But you can't spare all that time," I cried in astonishment. 



"I must," said the Deacon. "No one less careful of you 

 than I am ever shall take you to the Limberlost." 



So for weeks, until October, in fact, we watched over that 

 baby and courted his parents. We found in our woods a dead 

 calf which we carried into the swamp, placing it conveniently 

 for the old ones and for me to take pictures of them. When 

 Little Chicken was a few weeks old, without our knowledge lum- 

 bermen removed the log for a watering- trough, but sent me word 

 where they had placed the baby. His parents were very in- 

 different about feeding him in his new location so I had to visit 

 him daily. Once when I was called from town for several days 



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