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THE AMERICAN-SC AN DIN AVIAN REVIEW 
This could not, of course, continue. Nils Matson’s sense of jus¬ 
tice rose against his keeping the hen; besides which she would surely 
not be badly off in the poor-house, and if sometimes she should come 
into his yard, it wouldn’t be such a life-and-death matter. He 
wouldn’t be beggared by what the hen ate. 
Towards evening, when the chickens had set themselves to rest 
and the lame hen had disposed herself in a corner of the chicken-house, 
—for she was too weak to sit on the perch—Nils Matson’s maid was 
ordered to carry home the hen, but was to keep mum about her, or 
else-. Here followed certain words suited to the occasion. 
It was almost dark in the poor-house when the girl entered. 
“I’m to give you Nils Matson’s compliments, and here is yer hen, 
and here’s a twist o’ corn wi’ her, so ye may perhaps the better keep 
her to home.” 
Mother Malena was struck speechless with surprise. 
“Thanks,” she finally got out, “compliments and thanks.” 
With that the girl departed. 
Mother Malena was so much moved that she had to strike three 
matches before she could get a light. There were then many pairs of 
eyes which were fastened upon the hen, for the youngsters had awaked 
from their early sleep, and Pernilla was sitting at the window knitting 
a stocking in the dusk to save a candle. 
The hen limped, to be sure, but was fat and in good condition. 
“If we haven’t had a tea-party before, then by golly! if we don’t 
have it now,” cried Mother Malena, who was coming to herself again. 
My! what a light came into all the faces at those words. 
“And we’ll have cakes, too. Run down and buy sixteen farth¬ 
ings’ worth of rolls,—no, that’s not enough, here’s ten pence, and you 
can get some tea thrown in, I’m certain.” 
Not in a year had anybody seen Mother Malena in such a good 
humor. There was life in the house. Turf was laid in the fireplace, 
there were flames and warmth, the folks felt thawed out and eager for 
talk, the children were on their feet. 
The tea was drunk, the cakes eaten, dipped or dry, and content¬ 
ment was universal; one might have thought they were having Christ¬ 
mas Eve inside. Mother Malena’s placability even rose to such a 
height that in her mildest and least guttural tones she said to the boy 
with the slippery trousers, “Martin, show us how the hen does.” 
And Martin stood forth on the floor, stretched out one foot so 
that the leg took on a sort of careless swing in his skirt-like trousers, 
limped off to the porcelain stove and spread himself out as if he was 
sitting on something, for the hen had already sat herself in the opposite 
corner and was asleep. 
