newly-laid fresh egg, yolk, white, shell, and all; to realise that you
have fed, sheltered, chased, and occasionally run in, a being possessed
of no moral sense, a being likely to set a bad example, inculcate vicious
habits among her innocent sisters, and lower the standard of an entire
poultry-yard. _The Young Poultry Keeper's Friend_ gives us no advice on
this topic, and we do not know whether to treat Cannibal Ann as the
victim of a disease, or as a confirmed criminal; whether to administer
remedies or cut her off in the flower of her youth.

We have had a sad scene to-night. A chick has been ailing all day, and
when we shut up the brood we found him dead in a corner.

Phoebe put him on the ground while she busied herself about the coop. The
other chicks came out and walked about the dead one again and again,
eyeing him curiously.

"Poor little chap!" said Phoebe. "'E's never 'ad a mother! 'E was an
incubytor chicken, and wherever I took 'im 'e was picked at. There was
somethink wrong with 'im; 'e never was a fyvorite!"

I put the fluffy body into a hole in the turf, and strewed a handful of
grass over him. "Sad little epitaph!" I thought. "He never was a
fyvorite!"




CHAPTER VIII