into the front yard. Hens fled before her approach but such funny
looking hens; they all had more or less tags flying from their bills.
They had swallowed the corn but the strings and tags were beyond
their ability to masticate and they blew out defiantly in the breeze.
One tag had become loosened and Mrs. Brown picked it up and read the
scribbled words. While she was thinking just what she ought to do to
Willie, Mrs. Baker came across the yard, bristling like a frightened
porcupine.

"What have you been doing to my hens?" she demanded.

Mrs. Brown, like the efficient woman she was, saw her opportunity
and rose to the occasion.

"Your hens, Mrs. Baker, why nothing. I have been in the kitchen all
the morning until I just came out to call Willie to dinner. Willie
has been keeping the hens out of my garden, not your hens, you know
you have assured me your hens never come over here."

Thinking discretion the better part of valor Mrs. Baker suddenly
remembered something that needed immediate attention and she
hastened to attend to it.

Mrs. Brown watched her out of sight, smiling in appreciation of the
genius she had raised, then she turned and confronted Mrs. Jones,
coldly angry.

"What do you mean, Mrs. Brown, by tagging my hens until they look
like a mark down sale?"