346 Next to the Ground 



ual. More commonly it comes all at once. 

 There is delicious comedy in watching a hen 

 who has made up her mind and body to quit 

 her brood. She calls them with intense ear- 

 nestness to feed upon imaginary worms, then 

 when they stand looking bewilderedly for the 

 titbit they feel sure has escaped them, she 

 runs off as fast as her legs can carry her, 

 making believe she is after a grasshopper or 

 butterfly. The chicks follow her — she 

 wheels and runs again. Some of them run 

 back to hunt the mythical worm. Others 

 keep at her heels, but half a dozen fruitless 

 runs disgust them — they begin to peck upon 

 their own account, paying no further heed to 

 a parent so erratic. Slyly, with infinite 

 caution, she slips away, runs down the fence 

 side, hunts a favorite wallowing place, drops 

 into it, and throws up clouds of fine earth 

 with wings and claws, all the while pecking 

 the earth in front of her. When she gets 

 up she shakes herself vigorously two or three 

 times, slips away to some shady covert, and 

 begins to preen and oil herself for maybe the 

 first time in three months. 



Somehow she works a miracle. The coat 

 so faded, so draggled it was fairly disreput- 

 able, gets gloss and color. The feathers 

 properly placed hide all the ragged spots. 

 Primly folded wings give an air of tailor- 



