and finally approached a deserted cow-house where there was a great mound
of straw. At this moment she caught sight of us and turned in another
direction to throw us off the scent. We persevered in our intention of
going into her probable retreat, and were cautiously looking for some
sign of life in the haymow, when we heard a soft cackle and a ruffling of
plumage. Coming closer to the sound we saw a black hen brooding a nest,
her bright bead eyes turning nervously from side to side; and, coaxed out
from her protecting wings by youthful curiosity, came four kittens, eyes
wide open, warm, happy, ready for sport!

The sight was irresistible, and Phoebe ran for Mr. and Mrs. Heaven and
the Square Baby. Mother Hen was not to be embarrassed or daunted, even
if her most sacred feelings were regarded in the light of a cheap
entertainment. She held her ground while one of the kits slid up and
down her glossy back, and two others, more timid, crept underneath her
breast, only daring to put out their pink noses! We retired then for
very shame and met Mrs. Greyskin in the doorway. This should have
thickened the plot, but there is apparently no rivalry nor animosity
between the co-mothers. We watch them every day now, through a window in
the roof. Mother Greyskin visits the kittens frequently, lies down
beside the home nest, and gives them their dinner. While this is going
on Mother Blackwing goes modestly away for a bite, a sup, and a little
exercise, returning to the kittens when the cat leaves them. It is
pretty to see her settle down over the four, fat, furry dumplings, and
they seem to know no difference in warmth or comfort, whichever mother is
brooding them; while, as their eyes have been open for a week, it can no
longer be called a blind error on their part.

When we have closed all our small hen-nurseries for the night, there is
still the large house inhabited by the thirty-two full-grown chickens