YOURS WITH ALL -MY UK ART 



nose under her feathers and get the fresli- 

 laid eggs for mamma, because I loved her, 

 and because I had seen the people do it. 



The big hen would scold, and pick fiercely 

 at my little brown ears, but I braved her 

 wrath every day. Finally, one morning, 

 papa watched when he let me go to play, 





and saw me creeping slyly out from under 

 the grape-vine with the pretty cream-colored 

 egg poised in my little white teeth. Then 

 he peeped under the vine; the mystery was 

 solved, and the truant hen, with ruffled dig- 

 nity, was sent home to Imogene. I thought 

 I was doing just the right thing, but mamma 

 said it would teach me bad habits. 



One of those bright spring mornings little 

 Skippum came over to visit me and play on 

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