m, her dripping feathers supplied the eggs with needed moisture.

It is a general law that the older an egg is the longer it takes to
hatch. The eggs of the mallard mother, of course, varied in age from
fifteen days to one before she began to sit. This being the case, at
the end of the long month of incubation they would have hatched at
intervals covering in all, perhaps, a full day and a half; and
complications would have arisen. But the wise mother had counteracted
the working of the law by sitting a little while every day. Therefore,
as a matter of fact, the older eggs got the larger share of the
brooding, in exact proportion; and the building of the little lives
within the shells went on with almost perfect uniformity.

During the long, silent month of her patient brooding, spring had
wandered away and summer had spread thick green and yellow lily blooms
all over the lonely meres. A bland but heavy heat came down through
the willow tops, so that the brown duck sometimes panted at her task,
and sat with open bill, or with wings half raised from the eggs. Then,
one night, she heard faint tappings and peepings beneath her. Sturdy
young bills began chipping at the inside of the shells, speedily
breaking them. Each duckling, as he chipped the shell just before the
tip of his beak, would turn a little way around in his narrow
quarters; till presently the shell would fall apart, neatly divided
into halves; and the wet duckling, tumbling forth, would snuggle up
against the mother's hot breast and thighs to dry. Whenever this
happened, the wise mother would reach her head beneath, and fit the
two halves of shell one within the other, or else thrust them out of
the nest entirely, lest they should get slipped over another egg and
smother the occupant. Sometimes she fitted several sets of the empty
shells together, that they might take up less room; and altogether she
showed that she perfectly understood her business. Then, late in the
morning, when the green world among the willows and rushes was still
and warm and sweet, she led her fluffy, sturdy brood straight down to
the water, and taught them to feed on the insects that clung to the
bulrush stalks.

Mrs. Gammit and the Porcupines

"I hain't come to borry yer gun, Mr. Barron, but to ax yer advice."

Mrs. Gammit's rare appearances were always abrupt, like her speech;
and it was without surprise--though he had not seen her for a month or
more--that Joe Barron tu