on her head the moment she got up in the morning;
and the wonder, if it had kept straight all
day (which it never did), occupied her the last
thing at night. I had a mind to call my old hen,
Aunt Deb, but the likeness was too striking, so
I christened her Juno. She was a stupid creature,
and plumped her first egg down in the
yard; but I must do her the justice to say, that
when once shown a nest, she pertinaciously kept
to it ever after, no matter what state it might
be in. Between Lady Mary and Juno there was
no love lost; the former always " shied" her, as
it were, just as if some old fat farmer's wife was
being too familiar with a young princess. Not
that there was much feeling of any kind in poor
old Juno's breast. She appeared to me, solely
occupied in the thought of her topknot. She
seemed always trying to gaze up at this wonderful
structure, so that she was always the last to get
any food, to be on her perch, to do anything.

She laid eggs with praise worthy industry, and
she sat upon them like a model mother. In fact,
it appeared to me that she was always sitting.

Though I was the poultry-woman, I was
allowed a person not only to clean out the fowl-
houses every other day, but also to take care of
them during any absence of mine. Judith
Morgan was the name of my coadjutor.

"Judith," said I, " I am going from home for
three weeks. Now, mind you take care of the
fowls."

'"Deed and I will, mem."

"Save all the eggs, and put them in bran.
Any hens wanting to sit, set them, and make a
note of the day. Don't forget to set duck eggs
as well."

"'Deed and I won't, mem."

"And mind you call cheerily out to them, and
speak to them all, especially Lady Mary."

"'Deed and I will, mem."

When I returned home after three weeks'
absence (I usually indulged myself by not getting up
the first morning or so), I went down after breakfast
to inspect my poultry, and hear of their welfare.
I was not surprised that no Lady Mary met
me. Three weeks of disappointment in a hennish
mind would naturally tend to forgetfuluess.

"Well, Judith, how many eggs?"

"Three undered and highty-two, mem."

"Any hens sitting?"

"'Deed, mem, there's old Juno at it agin, and
deed o' goodness, mem, if Lady Mary bean't a
sitting too."

"Is she indeed? That is the first time I ever
knew her do so."

"True for you, mem. It were all along a
missing you. She took to sitting immediate."

"Then her time is nearly up?"

"'Deed, mem, as she wore that fond o' big
eggs, I did give her duck-eggs."

"Then you were very silly. And I suppose
Juno has hen-eggs?"

"'Deed hev she, mem."

"Well, couldn't you see that a little thing like
Lady Mary could only cover a few eggs, and
ought to have had small ones; while old Juno
can keep warm almost as many as a turkey, and
could have taken fifteen duck-eggs? Besides,
Lady Mary never sat before, and a month of it
will sicken her."

"'Deed, mem, it's amazin'; I didn't see that."

I spoke to Lady Mary, who condescended to
come out and inform me, after her fashion, that
she thought it high time she should bring up a
family. But evidently she was heartily sick of
sitting, and I was obliged to keep the grating
over her nest until the eggs chipped.

Madame Juno was sitting awkwardly on her
eggs, gazing up at her topknot, evidently
equally indifferent to my attentions or Judith's;
either was the same to her.

In due time, both hatched out, and were put
out in the orchard under two coops not far from
each other, with wired grass runs for the young
ones. Lady Mary was intensely delighted with her
downy little lumps of fluff at first. But when nature
asserted her rights, and they began to paddle
about, into the water and out, over the food and in
it, sprinkling it about, and eating it in an
extraordinary fashion, I shall never forget her dismay.

Had not the mother instinct been irrepressible,
I doubt if she would have permitted the little
damp dirty things to go and dry themselves warm
under her. As it was, all her mother pride was
gone. She would not eat, she would not cluck,
she seemed almost broken-hearted; and, as if to
put the climax to her woes, she had a full view
of Madam Juno clucking sonorously to eleven of
the prettiest, brightest, sweetest little dainty
chickens ever seen which, by-the-by, in her
perpetual gazing up at her beloved topknot, she
was always treading upon.

"Oh, Judith," said I, " how sorry I am that
Lady Mary has not those pretty chickens, and
Juno the ducks! Ducks can always take care of
themselves, and old Juno is so stupid, she will
tread those chickens to death."

"'Deed, mem, 'tis a pity. Lady Mary don't
seem to stomach the ducklings at all."

"She will never sit again, you will see," said I.
I coaxed her, and petted her, and did all I could
to soothe her feelings, even going so far as to let
her out the next day for a little run. She did
not go far, but kept close to Juno's coop.
Juno was let out in a day or two after,
fortunately by myself, so that I witnessed what
followed. The moment old Juno stalked forth,
blundering over her brood as she did it, Lady
Mary flew upon her. She buffeted her, and,
as if aware of her weakness, pecked at her
topknot; she hustled her, drove her, and at
last sent her flying, half blind, and wholly stupid,
into her (Lady Mary's) coop, whither the little
ducks had fled, in dire terror at their foster-
mother's behaviour. She watched for a few
moments. I gently closed the coop, making
Juno and the ducks prisoners, when, on hearing
the little plaintive chirp of the startled chickens,
Lady Mary gave a loud and joyous chirrup, to
which they quickly responded, and collecting
them all round her, clucking and chirruping