THE MOTHER INSTINCT 



By JOHN CASSEL 



Illustrated by the Author 



INNIE was an ordi- 

 , nary hen — no partic- 

 ular breed — just a 

 plain hen. Not at all 

 pretty, but possessed 

 of intelligence rather 

 above the average 

 barnyard fowl. As a 

 chicken she was de- 

 serted by her mother and left to scratch 

 for herself. 



My aunt, a maiden lady about forty- 

 live years of age, brought the chick into 

 the house on a cold rainy day and 

 placed her in a small box under the 

 kitchen stove, to dry out. At this time 

 she was too young for us to be certain 

 whether she was a hen or a rooster, but 

 we named her Minnie and it turned out 

 all right. 



She grew rapidly under the care of 

 Aunt Martha, and it seemed but a short 

 time till Minnie was a robust, healthy 

 hen. But time didn't favor Minnie with 

 good looks. Her feet became knotty 

 and red, and many of her feathers grew 

 bent and twisted in a way that sug- 

 gested a number of cow-licks. Father 

 said that Aunt Martha had left the 

 chick too long under the hot stove and 

 her feathers had warped. 



There was something about Minnie's 

 unattractive appearance that appealed 

 to Aunt Martha. Neither my aunt nor 

 the hen could lay claim to any degree 

 of beauty, and no doubt it was the 

 "bond O'f sympathy" which made them 

 such good friends. 



My aunt would sit in the cool shade 

 of a large elm tree knitting and think- 

 ing; thinking and knitting. She had 

 done them both for so many years that 

 they had become almost involuntary. 

 She never thought of her knitting and 

 the knitting never interfered with her 

 thoughts. Now and then she would 

 look up at her companion and sorrow- 

 fully shake her head. 



"Poor Minnie, you are so homely. 

 You have nothing to look forward to in 

 this world. No one likes a homely 

 woman — especially the men." Then 

 she would sigh heavily, and listlessly 

 return to her knitting. Minnie would 

 vainly try to smooth her ruffled feath- 

 ers, then seeing Aunt Martha's wrin- 

 kled irregular features, doubly unat- 

 tractive for the sadness they showed, 

 would seem to. say, "Poor, poor Aunt 

 Martha ; I know what ails her. She 

 wants a home and family, and her 

 chance, if ever she had one, is gone. 



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