Feathered Folk 345 



The more shrewish and spiteful toward 

 the rest of the world, the better mother to 

 her own brood a hen is likely to be. She 

 calls them loudly, joyously to feed, catching 

 up the food in her bill, and dropping it 

 among them with a back-and-forth move- 

 ment of her under jaw. She does not peck 

 a mouthful until the little fellows are well 

 through eating — this of course, the proper 

 hen-mother — there are greedy sluggards all 

 too many. She scratches out worms and 

 chases down bugs industriously, beats the 

 worm to death and deprives the bugs of 

 stings, wings and legs, and hard scales, then 

 calls her young to eat — which they do by 

 seizing the prey among them, tugging back- 

 ward one against the others until they rend 

 it, when they gobble each his share, stretch- 

 ing their necks as the morsel goes, down, and 

 chirping satisfaction after. Often before 

 seizing hold, the chicks eye the prey, and 

 back away from it, with little chir-r-s of fear 

 or amazement. As they grow up the chir-r 

 develops, as an immature cackle, the voice of 

 wonder rather than of fright. 



In spring heartless hens sometimes abandon 

 a three-weeks brood. Yet the very same 

 liens will carry fall chickens three months. 

 Seven weeks is about the average time of 

 mothering. Sometimes the weaning is grad- 



