all went along nicely till quite lately, 

 when the chickens, having become about 

 a quarter grown, it was discovered that 

 Biddy could not cover them all at the 

 same time, exert herself as best she 

 might. Hence on each frosty morning 

 it was evident that the chickens had 

 suffered a good deal during the night. 

 Their cries could be heard late at night 

 and early in the morning as they crowded 

 each other out into the bitter cold, the 

 stronger ones striving to secure the 

 warmest place under mamma's soft 

 feather coverlet. 



Now a dire emergency had come and 

 something had to be done, and done it 

 was in a most mysterious manner; and 

 herein, also, is contained the gist of our 

 story. The grievous complaint of the 

 chickens came to a sudden discontinua- 

 tion. Did the Httle hen mother in her 

 deep affliction appeal to Sir Duke, the big 

 rooster, for advice and succor? The 

 sequel \vould certainly argue in favor of 

 such a conclusion, for now he comes reg- 

 ularly every evening at early candle light, 

 squeezes his bulky form through the bars 

 of the coop, sits down by the side of 

 Biddy the Bantam and spreads his broad 



wings over more than half of the chick- 

 ens. Peace, indeed, has returned and 

 there are no more family jars in that 

 little household. 



It is a pleasant pastime to take a lan- 

 tern and make a social evening call at 

 the coop after Papa and Biddy have put 

 their children to sleep. The most amus- 

 ing thing of all is to hear the old rooster 

 talk to the chickens. Thus, if anything 

 goes wrong, any naughty crowding or 

 some little foot trodden upon so as to 

 cause an outcry, Papa slowly rises, 

 shakes out his feathers, readjusts his 

 great spreading toes, pokes in with his 

 beak any little protruding head and then 

 settles down again, all the while talking 

 and saying in plain chicken lingo, 

 "There, little dears, now nestle down and 

 go to sleep." 



In conclusion I will say to the readers 

 of Birds and Nature that this little 

 story is no fancy sketch but a true recital 

 of events that took place at Vashon Col- 

 lege while I was a member of the faculty 

 of that institution. The chanticleer of 

 every farmyard is a noble bird and a hero 

 in his ow^n sovereign right. 



L. Phtlo Venen. 



THE DAMSEL FLY. 



This is a small insect — that is it is 

 smaller than some of the dragon flies, to 

 which order — Odonata — it belongs. It is 

 of more gentle habits and not so swift of 

 wing as the dragon fly. It was the 

 French writers who gave it the name it 

 bears, while some Enghsh authorities 

 placed it along with the dragons. How- 

 ard says they are seldom found far from 

 the stream or pond where they are born, 

 yet I have two or three varieties that I 

 caught on the prairie some miles from 

 any water. Their wings are not held 

 horizontally, but are folded parallel with 



their bodies. This facilitates the 

 backing down the stem of a plant or reed 

 when the female wishes to deposit her 

 eggs below the surface of the water, 

 which is usually the place for incubation. 

 The wings are gauze like, some nearly 

 black, others with a beautiful metallic 

 luster. They are not so savage as the 

 dragons, although one I took last sum- 

 mer held on to the threads of the net 

 until it nearly severed them, and bit at 

 my fingers in a most savage manner. 

 Alvin M. Hendee. 



73 



