.

When breakfast was over Miss Chris went into the storeroom each morning
and came out with a basin of corn-meal dough, followed by Sampson
bearing an axe and Aunt Verbeny jingling the hen-house keys. The slow
procession then filed out to the space before the hen-house, the door of
which was flung back, while Aunt Verbeny clucked at a little distance.
Miss Chris scattered her dough upon the ground and, while her
unsuspecting beneficiaries made their morning meal, she pointed out to
Sampson, the executioner, the members of the feathered community
destined to be sacrificed to the carnivorous habits of their fellow
mortals.

"Feel that one with the black spots, Sampson," she said with the
indifference of an abstract deity. "Is it fat? And the domineca pullet,
and the two roosters we bought from Delphy."

And when Sampson had seized upon the victims of the fiat she turned to
inspect the bunches of fowls offered by neighbouring breeders.

To-day it was Nicholas Burr who stood patiently in the background, three
drooping chickens in each hand, their legs tied together with strips of
a purple calico which Marthy was making into a dress for Sairy Jane.

Seeing that Miss Chris had delivered her judgments, he came forward and
proffered his captives with an abashed demeanour.

"How much are they worth?" asked Miss Chris in her cheerful tones, while
Aunt Verbeny gave a suspicious poke beneath one of the flapping wings,
followed by a grunt of disparagement.

Nicholas stammered confusedly:

"Ma says the biggest ought to bring a quarter," he returned, blushing as
Aunt Verbeny grunted again, "and the four smallest can go for twenty
cents."

But when the bargain was concluded he lingered and added shamefacedly:
"Won't you please let that red-and-black rooster live as long as you
can? I raised it."

"Why, bless my heart!" exclaimed Miss Chris, "I believe the child is
fond of the chicken."

Eugenia, who was hovering by, burst into tears and declared that the
rooster should not die.

"Twenty cents is s-o ch-ea-p for a li-fe," she sobbed. "It shan't be
killed, Aunt Chris. It shall go in my hen-h-ou-se." And she rushed off
to get her little tin bank from the top bureau drawer.

When the arrangements were concluded Nicholas started empty-handed down
the box walk, the money jingling in his pocket. At the end of the long
avenue of cedars there was a wide, unploughed common which extended for
a quarter of a mile along the roadsi