head her off,
would pass belief. As a matter of course she was never caught by this
double-barreled attack, but always stalked out from some unexpected
crevice and promenaded the yard as if she owned the premises. The next
move on Steve's and Nannie's part would be to drive her nestward. The
result of this was always to land her in some place precisely
opposite; for the moment she was headed properly she would tilt her
wings and break into a fat, wheezy little run in the direction just
contrary to the one indicated by common sense and lawful authority.

One day, after an hour of this sport, Nannie lost patience, and
picking up stones, pelted the feathered truant until she fled out of
sight--in the wrong direction.

"Let her eggs cool!" she exclaimed with a burst of passionate tears.
"I don't care if they get as cold as an iceberg! I wish they'd freeze
her stiff the next time she sits on them!"

Steve began a mild protest, but Nannie turned to walk into the house,
when she caught sight of Madam Hen No. 2 off her nest and stalking
around with the same offensive strut as that of No. 1.

This was too much for her own nervous system, and she rushed upon the
offending hen, and kept up this pace with such vigor that at the end
of ten minutes she had run her down, taken her literally in hand,
borne her squawking into the barn, jammed her down on the nest, and
roofed it with boards, which she nailed on with rocks. This done, she
returned to the house in a state of savage quiet (if I may be allowed
a contradictory term), feeling herself fiercely secure of at least one
sitting.

She was not, however, for madam spared no effort till she burst her
bonds, brought the rocks down upon the heads of herself and her
prospective family, and they all died the death together.

"There's some satisfaction in that," said Nannie. "The stupid, nasty,
mean old thing went with the eggs!"

The third sitting materialized, and a lovelier brood of chicks was
never seen. Steve was surprised and even touched as he stood watching
Nannie in her delight. There was something really womanly in the way
in which the girl coddled the pretty creatures, holding them close to
her face and calling them all the sweet, tender little names in which
a woman's heart goes out to the infantile and the helpless.

Looking and thinking, several things came into Steve's mind, and one
evening he essayed to bring about a better understanding betwixt his
erratic little