who tiBid stolen their nests, with five 

 chicks each. I took the ten Httle chicks 

 and tucked them under a Plymouth Rock 

 biddy that had been keeping a china nest 

 egg warm for several days, left them 

 over night and the next morning took 

 her off and put her in a coop with them 

 and went into the house feeling quite 

 satisfied that all was well. On coming 

 out a half hour later there lay three little 

 mutilated dead chicks and the rest gave 

 evidence of pretty rough treatment. That 

 hen spent a week in solitary confinement 

 on bread and water. But what to do 

 with those seven little motherless things ? 

 After a little perplexed study, I be- 

 thought myself of the "Old Brown Pul- 

 let," so old now that she no longer tried 

 to get upon the roost at night, but cud- 

 dled down in the corner of a nice warm 



box. She had not been laying for some 

 time and of course had no notion of set- 

 ting. I went to the chicken yard, picked 

 her up, put her in a shallow box and 

 placed the little ones by her. She got up 

 and walked away at first, but I brought 

 her back and after surveying the chicks 

 first out of one eye and then the other 

 with a puzzled expression, it seemed to 

 dawn upon her what was wanted and 

 she gathered them to her motherly breast 

 and raised every one of them. The fol- 

 lowing winter, after a cold storm, we 

 found her one morning stiff in death. 

 She was almost eleven years old. The 

 children dug a little grave at the foot of 

 the orchard and laid tenderly away all 

 that remained of the "Old Brown Pul- 

 let." 



Ella A. McKinley. 



THE GLADSOME SPRING 



The darkest time is just 'fore day 

 Before the shadows steal away: 

 Before the winter's frost and sting 

 Has melted into glorious Spring. 



The gentle winds so soft and low 

 From summer land began to blow, 

 And waking from her wintry dream 

 Dame Nature now with life doth teem : 

 While hill and valley lands are seen 

 Fast taking on their tints of green. 

 The maples late so brown and bare 

 Are dressing up in raiment fair. 

 The orchard lands are gay and bright, 

 Adorned with blossoms pink and white, 

 While sweet perfume from laden trees 

 Is borne on every passing breeze. 



The birds, those blossoms of the air, 

 Now nesting with the tend'rest care, 

 Are singing from each bush and tree 

 The softest, sweetest melodv. 



-E. V. Benedict. 



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