After a two hours' climb a glimpse was 

 caught of a lake, one of two lying side 

 by side, called "The Spectacles." Pres- 

 ently the wagon passed through a bar- 

 way into an open field; crossed it among 

 rocks, sweet fern and berry bushes, to 

 a track cut through the woods. This 

 shortly led them to a grove by the side 

 of the lake, where stood a small board 

 cottage, their summer home. It was al- 

 ready open, and they were greeted with 

 shouts which turned to laughter as the 

 captive traveler was discovered. 



"It is too bad!" said the Mother of 

 the Family. 



"Pshaw!" replied the Fisherman. "It 

 didn't hurt her a bit, and there really 

 wasn't room to pack her any other way, 

 and you told me to be sure to bring 

 her for Sunday's dinner. Watch her 

 now and see how much she is injured !" 



The yellow hen, released from captiv- 

 ity, shook her feathers, deliberately took 

 an observation of the locality, turned 

 about and began to pick up grasshop- 

 pers. She was promptly shut in a coop, 

 extemporized from a barrel, and it was 

 supposed her days were numbered. 



Sunday arrived, but the Fisherman had 

 been so successful that on the family din- 

 ner table a big bass usurped the place of 

 the yellow hen. 



"If we are going to keep that chicken 

 another week," announced the Fisher- 

 man's wife, "I'm going to let her out of 

 the coop. I believe she will stay around." 



So the yellow hen was released, and, 

 being of a philosophical nature, proceeded 

 to make herself quite at home. She not 

 only "stayed around," but rendered her 

 presence agreeable by clucking cheerfully 

 to herself. She chased bugs all day long, 



quite disdaining the corn that was thrown 

 to her, and at night went to roost on the 

 limb of a tree near the cottage. In that 

 lonely place, where the nearest camp was 

 at some distance and must be reached 

 by water, the companionship of even a 

 yellow hen with a contented disposition 

 was not to be despised. 



"I declare," said the Man of the House 

 on Friday, "seems most a pity to kill that 

 hen, she's having such a good time." 



The family assented, but this week the 

 Fisherman reported a scarcity of bass 

 and pickerel, and the Fisherman's wife 

 deplored a lack of variety in the larder, 

 so there seemed no hope of a reprieve. 



Saturday morning there was a vigorous 

 cackling in the vicinity of the yellow 

 hen's barrel, and a search instituted in 

 that direction discovered a big, warm 

 white egg in the coop. A conclave was 

 promptly called; an excuse had been 

 found, and the verdict was unanimous; 

 it would surely be a pity to kill the hen 

 that would daily supply them with a new 

 laid egg. As long as she continued to 

 pay her board her life should be spared. 



All the remaining days in camp the 

 yellow hen thrived, and when the camp- 

 ers returned home she rode in state in 

 the barrel, for by that time she was con- 

 sidered quite one of the family. 



Several years have passed, but the old 

 yellow hen still survives, much respected, 

 and the ornament of the chicken yard. 

 She is far too tough for food, and greatly 

 in demand as the careful mother of large 

 families of chickens, none of whom, how- 

 ever, have succeeded in rivaling her in 

 the esteem of her friends. 



The moral of this true tale is that con- 

 tentment is the best policy. 



Elizabeth Miles Derrickson. 



198 



