"You're a girl after your grandmother's own heart!" exclaimed
Grandfather delightedly; "you can pick all the flowers you like. But
let's not stop now. Don't you want to see more of the farm?"

Mary Jane did, so they left the lamb with a promise to come again later
and went back across the road to the house. There they met Grandmother
who declared that she was through with the telephone long ago and
wanted to show Mary Jane the chickens herself.

"Very well," said Grandfather; "but don't you show her the garden."

"I won't," replied Grandmother, and they both looked so mysterious that
Mary Jane was sure some surprise was in that garden.

"Are you going to show it to me?" she asked her grandfather.

"Some day," he replied, "but there's too much else to see this morning.
The garden can wait."

So Mary Jane and her grandmother went to the chicken yard and
Grandfather started for the barn to finish his work.

If you've ever seen about a hundred cunning, little, yellow and white
and gray chickens, so soft and fluffy they look as though they were
Easter trimmings; and dozens of motherly looking hens ambling around
and a few big, important-looking roosters crowing in the sunshine, you
know just what Mary Jane saw when they reached the chicken yard. For
her part, Mary Jane had never seen such a sight before, and she was so
surprised and pleased she could hardly believe her eyes.