near-baby chickens.

"Oh, Bess," I exclaimed, "let's wrap the tray of eggs up in the quilt and
take it up-stairs to bed with us. We are just as warm as the hen, and I'll
get Rufus to go for Polly at daylight to fix the lamp while we stay in bed
and huddle them until the incubator warms up, as it does in just an hour
after it's lighted."

"Ann, you are both maternal and intellectual," said Bess, with the deepest
admiration in her voice. "Let's hurry or we'll never get warmed up
ourselves."

And in very much less time than could be imagined Bess Rutherford and I
were in the middle of the four-poster, sunk deep into the feathers with the
precious pearls of life carefully imbedded between us.

"Now don't joggle," Bess commanded as we got all settled and tucked in.

"Mrs. Tillett lets little Tillett sleep with her cold nights," I murmured
drowsily.

"I don't believe it; no woman would undertake the responsibility of human
life like that," Bess answered as she tucked in a loose end of cover under
the pillow.

"Most of the world mothers sleep with their babies," Adam said when I told
him about little Tillett, "and--" I was answering when I trailed off into a
dream of walking a tight rope over a million white eggs. In the morning
Bess said she had dreamed that she was a steam roller trying to make a road
of eggs smooth enough to run her car over.