for?"

"For--silk ravellings."

"Silk ravellings?--what on earth do you mean?"

"We keep them in our Geographies and Grace Dart had the most
colors--and you wouldn't give me any old ribbons--so I used them."

"Jane Morton, what are you talking about?"

"Jane Morton" looked out the window and squirmed uneasily. "I just told
you," she said pettishly.

"Bring your Geography here!"

Chicken Little obeyed and Mrs. Morton hastily opened it. About every
third page revealed cloud-like fluffs of silk ravellings in all the
colors of the rainbow. The entire Geography was so occupied as an album
for these delectable bits of color that it was difficult to see how it
could be used for study purposes.

"Well, I never!" Mrs. Morton regarded all ejaculations as unladylike,
but the occasion seemed to require emphasis.

"Where did you get all these?--and what do you want them for?"

"'Cause all the girls have them. I took some of the pieces left from the
millinery store----"

"Yes?"

"And I cut some weenty bits of my hair ribbons and I traded for some of
the mixy ones--and the quilt pieces."

Chicken Little shut her lips tight with an air of finality.

"Go get your hair-ribbons."

Chicken Little obeyed slowly.

The ribbons were shortened anywhere from one inch to a quarter of a
yard. Some looked as if she had taken the ribbon and left the "weenty"
piece.

Mrs. Morton's face was a study. For a moment she seemed to be struck
speechless. It was only a moment.

"Your ribbons are ruined--I never saw such a child! You knew better than
that and you shall be punished severely. Go right to your practising now
and I'll think this matter over. But--you cannot help the boys with the
furnace."

"But you promised, Mother."

"I don't care if I did; you've been a very naughty little girl and----"

"But you promised and you'll be telling a wrong story your ownself if
you don't let me. And you never told me I couldn't cut pieces off my
hair-ribbons--and I asked you for some old ones and you said: 'Run along
and don't bother'." Chicken Little faced her mother flushed and defiant.

Mrs. Morton's face was equally red with exasperation. The child's logic
was not easy to gainsay.

"Very well," she said with asperity, "you may go after your practicing,
as I said, but you will be punished later. You understand--later!"

CHAPTER V

THE BACK-YARD FURNACE

It was in a more chastened frame of mind, that Chicken Little joined