im, and established Mrs. Feathertop upon eight nice eggs, where
she was sitting in gloomy grandeur. He tried to make a little affable
conversation with her, and to relate his interview with the Doctor and
Goody Kertarkut, but she was morose and sullen, and only pecked at him
now and then in a very sharp, unpleasant way; so, after a few more
efforts to make himself agreeable, he left her, and went out promenading
with the captivating Mrs. Red Comb, a charming young Spanish widow, who
had just been imported into the neighboring yard.

"Bless my soul!" said he, "you've no idea how cross my wife is."

"O you horrid creature!" said Mrs. Red Comb; "how little you feel for
the weaknesses of us poor hens!"

"On my word, ma'am," said Gray Cock, "you do me injustice. But when a
hen gives way to temper, ma'am and no longer meets her husband with a
smile--when she even pecks at him whom she is bound to honor and
obey----"

"Horrid monster! talking of obedience! I should say, sir, you came
straight from Turkey!" And Mrs. Red Comb tossed her head with a most
bewitching air, and pretended to run away, and old Mrs. Scratchard
looked out of her coop and called to Goody Kertarkut:

"Look how Mr. Gray Cock is flirting with that widow. I always knew she
was a baggage."

"And his poor wife left at home alone," said Goody Kertarkut. "It's the
way with 'em all!"

"Yes, yes," said Dame Scratchard, "she'll know what real life is now,
and she won't go about holding her head so high, and looking down on her
practical neighbors that have raised families."

"Poor thing, what'll she do with a family?" said Goody Kertarkut.

"Well, what business have such young flirts to get married," said Dame
Scratchard. "I don't expect she'll raise a single chick; and there's
Gray Cock flirting about fine as ever. Folks didn't do so when I was
young. I'm sure my husband knew what treatment a setting hen ought to
have--poor old Long Spur--he never minded a peck or so now and then. I
must say these modern fowls a'n't what fowls used to be."

Meanwhile the sun rose and set, and Master Fred was almost the only
friend and associate of poor little Mrs. Feathertop, whom he fed daily
with meal and water, and only interrupted her sad reflections by pulling
her up occasionally to see how the eggs were coming on.

At last "Peep, peep, peep!" began to be heard in the nest, and one
little downy head after another poked forth from under the feathers,
surveying the