hich she was inordinately fond.
When, having fared well, she at last descended, she paraded up and down,
with many sharp, inquiring cries of "C-a-w-k? c-a-w-k? c-a-w-k?" and
wherever her claws chanced to touch left little, buttery fleurs-de-lis
on the floor. She escaped the disastrous fire, not, like a dozen other
fowls, by seeking refuge in the wind-break, but because she was in the
coal-shed carrying on a hand-to-hand conflict with the tortoise-shell
cat, who had five new babies.

By Thanksgiving day, having developed into a juicy frier, more prone
than ever to snoop, family opinion turned against her, so that when it
came to the question which chickens, in view of the shortage of feed,
should occupy the oven in place of the usual sizzling turkey, the big
brothers and the little girl voted for the heads of Sassy and of a
certain mysterious young rooster who, though disturbing, had never been
definitely singled out, since, on hearing his falsetto crow and looking
about for him, the family invariably came upon the insolent pullet,
alone and unconcerned.

The day before Thanksgiving the little girl was directed to capture both
the rooster and Sassy. For the first, she selected a young leghorn that
she believed to be the guilty trumpeter and poked him into a box-coop
beside the smoke-house. Then she set about jailing the culpable pullet.
She was aided by Godfrey, the biggest brother's pet pointer, who scented
Sassy in the vegetable patch, where she was scratching around the tomato
vines. Together they pursued her at top speed, Godfrey keeping close to
his bird, but, in true sportsmanlike fashion, refraining from seizing
her. Through the tomatoes they ran, till the little girl sat down from
sheer exhaustion, with Godfrey panting beside her and the pullet perched
near by on a pile of seed onions.

After a ten minutes' rest, the little girl and the pointer renewed their
chase. This time Sassy left the tomato patch (foolishly enough, for the
vines tripped the little girl), and fled, with hackles spread, toward
the well, where a flock was dipping water. When they saw her coming, the
chickens, among which were several young leghorns, fled in terror
toward the sorghum patch and lost themselves in its woody lanes. Godfrey
and the little girl charged this western jungle with zest, thrashing
about until the pullet--supposedly--emerged and flitted toward the sod
barn. But when for the second time, and after a lengthy hunt that
br