"Why, the hen that told you we were here."

"No hen told me that." The boy looked mystified.

"Oh! I thought you said Hen' told you so."

"No, it was Henry."

"Say, no _sir_, my son." Mrs. Laurie's face was not pale, certainly,
as she said this.

The boy did not think it worth while to repeat the formality.

"Oh! it was your brother Henry," replied Mr. Fleetwood, with
affected seriousness. "I thought that must have been a very knowing
hen." The boy, and his sister who had recovered from the pain of her
fall, laughed heartily. "Now tell me your name?"

"John."

"Say John, _sir_. Where are your manners?" spoke up the mother, who
remembered that, with all her sister's imperfect management of her
children, she had succeeded in teaching them to be very respectful
in their replies to older persons, and that Earnest, when she last
saw him, was a little gentleman in his manners when amy one spoke to
him.

"Mo-_ther_!" came now ringing up the stairs, in a loud, screeching
little voice. "Mo-_ther_! Hen' won't let me come up."