locked in the cellar of a grocery
store; Crazy Jane, the hen, on top of the smoke-stack of a blacksmith
shop; the rest of the chickens sacked up and scattered on the ground;
Dick and Ned, the horses, I don't know where; Pawsy, the cat, on top
of the door; and Jud himself, the head of the family, here eating what
the Indians have left, with a hurt ankle and a smell of roasted
pumpkin all through his clothes."

I had a good laugh over things, and then decided that I must do what I
could for my scattered family, though my ankle seemed about ready to
go by the board. So I first got down the cat and then lit the lantern
and started out after Kaiser. Poor dog, he was beside himself to see
me, and liked to have knocked me down in showing how glad he was.

As we started back Kaiser stopped and began to growl at something out
on the prairie, and I looked, and after a time made out Dick and Ned.
They were very nervous, and would not let me come up to them, but I
toiled around them at last and started them toward their barn. I next
looked after Blossom. I found her lying down, as comfortable as you
please, chewing her cud and right at home in the cellar. She had made
a meal out of the coarse hay which came out of a crockery bale, and I
thought I would leave her for the night. So I took a big pitcher out
of the bale and milked her then and there, and took it home, and
Kaiser and Pawsy and I disposed of it without more to-do.

I was beginning to feel better about my family, and felt still more so
when I found that Dick and Ned had gone into their stalls and had
stopped their snorting, and only breathed hard when they saw me. Next
I went after Crazy Jane; but though I coaxed and shooed, and threw
chunks of frozen snow at her, while Kaiser barked his teeth loose,
almost, it did no sort of good; she only looked at me and made a funny
noise as a hen does when she sees a hawk. I could not climb up with my
hurt ankle, so I had to leave her, much against my will. The chimney,
I thought, was a good deal exposed for a sleeping-place in winter, but
there was no wind and I didn't have much fear but that she would come
out all right.

I had like to have forgotten the other chickens; they never popped
into my mind till I was back in the hotel, but I dragged myself out
after them. I found the poor things stuffed in three sacks, as if they
had been turnips, lying on the snow. I knew I could not carry them,
and felt that I could scarce drag th