r at the girl, who sat near the fire drying her shoes in the
oven.

"Oh, yes," Elizabeth answered slowly, coming back reluctantly from a
consideration of the handsome stranger she had met; "that is," she added
confusedly, "I never drink anything but water, anyhow."

Mrs. Chamberlain gave a relieved sigh. "I was afraid you'd rather have
tea, an' I ain't got no tea in th' house. Bein' farmin' season now it
seems as if I can't never get t' town."

Just then one adventurous chick which, with the rest of the brood, had
been discovered under the corn-planter earlier in the day, jumped out of
the box in which it had been kept near the fire. Mrs. Chamberlain set the
mill on the table and gave chase to the runaway.

"That's th' peertest chicken of th' lot," she remarked as she again
enveloped him in the old woollen skirt, from the folds of which came much
distressed cheeping. "They're hungry, I think," she added, reaching for a
bowl of yellow cornmeal which she mixed with water. Lifting the skirt off
the little brood carefully, and giving it a cautious shake to assure
herself that no unwary chick was caught in its folds, she dropped some of
the mixture in the middle of the box, tapping lightly with the spoon to
call the attention of the chicks to its presence. The chickens pecked
hungrily, and there was a satisfied note in the twitterings of the downy
little group as Mrs. Chamberlain turned to the preparation of her supper
again.

"Yes, he's th' peertest chicken of th' lot; an' I'd most as soon he'd been
more like th' rest--he's always gettin' out of th' box."

"Now, Liza Ann, you ain't thinkin' nothin' of th' kind," said her husband,
who had hurried with his evening chores so as to get a chance to visit
with the company and had just come in from the stable. "You know you said
yourself, 'Thank goodness, there's one on 'em alive,' when you fished 'em
out from under that planter. Th' same thing's keeping 'im on th' go now
that kept 'im from givin' up as quick as th' rest did then. Chicken's is
like boys, Miss Farnshaw," Silas continued, addressing Elizabeth; "th'
ones that makes th' most trouble when thy're little, you can count on as
bein' th' most likely when they're growed up. Now, Liza Ann there counted
on that chicken soon's ever she set eyes on 'im."

Having washed his face and hands in the tin basin on the bench just
outside the kitchen door, Silas Chamberlain combed his curly locks of iron
gray before the little loo