instance. Will you or will you not come in to dine and to wine and to dance
at the country club with Matthew Saturday evening?" Bess delivered herself
of the text of her mission to me before she descended from her cherry
roadster in front of the barn.

"Oh, Bess, just come and see old Mrs. Red and never, never ask me to feel
about a mere friend of my childhood like I do about her," I answered with
welcome and excitement both in my voice. "Do come quick and look!"

"Coming," answered Bess, with delightful enthusiasm and no wounded pride,
as she left the car in one motion and swept into the barn with me in about
two more.

"Now, just look at that," I said as I opened the top of the long box that
is called a brooder and is supposed to supplement the functions of the
metal incubator mother in the destiny of chicken young. It has feed and
water-pans in it, straw upon the floor as a carpet, and behind flannel
portières is supposed to burn a lamp with mother ardor sufficient to keep
the small fledglings warm, though orphaned. Did the week-old babies Leghorn
have to be content with such mechanical mothering? Not at all! Right in the
middle of the brooder sat the old Red Ally, and her huge red wings were
stretched out to cover about twenty-five of the metal-born babies and part
of her own fifteen, and spread in a close, but fluffy, circle around her
were the rest of her adopted family all cosily asleep and happy at heart.
"I left the top of the brooder open while I went for water the second day
after hers and the incubator's had hatched, and when I came back she was
just as you see her now, in possession of the entire orphan-asylum."

"Oh, look, she's putting some out from under her and taking others in. Oh,
Ann!" exclaimed Bess as she dropped on her knees beside the long box.