losely covered; and what do you think it
contained? Why, a great anxious mother-hen, all tawny-colored and
white, with thirteen downy little chickens, who were frightened
enough, and wondering where in the wide world they were. We made a
house for them in the green meadow, of a barrel turned upside down;
and they all crept under their mother's wing, and went to sleep. But,
lo! a great storm came in the night, such a pouring rain, such a
blowing gale,--we really feared the tiny things would be drowned! But
a kind neighbor put on his big coat, and went to their rescue. He put
them all together in the basket again, and brought it into the
kitchen, where they got thoroughly warm and dry; after which, they
were taken out to the barn, where they lived a few days very
comfortably. Then one of them disappeared, we never knew where; and
another lamed herself in some way, and, notwithstanding all our care,
she died. But the rest grew up, a healthy and obedient little family,
always ready to eat, and so quick to run with their tiny feet, when
any one appeared at the door, that it was very funny to see them.

Another day, Miss L---- brought home two large chickens; one of them
with a long neck, and a beautiful black crest upon her head, and a
dress of black feathers softer than velvet. Her we named Donna:
sometimes we call her Bella Donna. The other was dressed in white
feathers, some of them tipped with glossy black and brown, but many of
them pure white. She was named Luca. They were shut together for a few
days, until they began to feel at home; then they were set free to
scratch in the barn-yard, and get acquainted with the neighbors'
fowls, when we began to see how different they were in character as
well as dress. Donna holds her head very high, and pays no attention
to any other hens; runs away from us, when we invite her to dinner, no
matter how nice it is; and never will get acquainted, all we can do.
But Luca we love as we should a gentle, timid little girl. Sometimes,
when we open the door, there she stands patiently waiting, and looks
up at us with her bright eye so pleasantly, that we must stop, if ever
so busy, and feed her. Occasionally we hear a gentle sound on the
door-step, which we all know; then some one is sure to exclaim,
"There's Luca," and run to get her something nice to eat. The little
chickens, with Mater their mother, all come rushing, tapping,
perching, chirping at the door, and tease and tap-tap and "y