waltzing up and down the floor and shrieking an appeal in the
direction of a whole row of half-barrel nests that stretched along
the dark and sequestered side of the feed-room floor, upon which was
established what had a few minutes before been a placid row of
setting hens. Now over the rim of each nest was stretched a black,
white, yellow or gray head, pop-eyed with alarm and reproach. They
were emitting a chorus of indignant squawks, all save a large,
motherly old dominick in the middle barrel who was craning her scaly
old neck far over toward the perturbed young sister and giving forth
a series of reassuring and commanding clucks.

"I didn't do a thing in the world to them, Mother," said Doctor Tom
in a deprecatory tone of voice, as if he were in a way to be blamed
for the whole excitement. "I was across the barn at the corn-crib
when she hopped off her nest and went on the rampage. Just a case of
the modern feminine rebellion, I wager."

"No such thing, sir! They ain't nothing in the world the matter with
her 'cept as bad a case of young-mother skeer as I have ever had
before amongst all my hens. Don't you see, Tom, two of her setting
have pipped they shells and the cheepings of the little things have
skeered the poor young thing 'most to death. Old Dominick have took
in the case and is trying her chicken-sister best to comfort her.
These here pullet spasms over the hatching of the first brood ain't
in no way unusual. The way you have forgot chicken habits since you
have growed up is most astonishing to me, after all the helping with
them I taught you." As she spoke, Mother Mayberry had been
rearranging the deserted nest with practised hand and had tenderly
lifted two feeble, moist little new-borns on her broad palm to show
to the Doctor.