the door, inquiring.

"Mother, Sherm's had a splinter in his finger and he wants you to kiss
it better."

Sherm started to protest, but Mrs. Morton did not stop to listen.

"Jane, I think that kind of a joke is very ill-timed, making your poor
mother get up and come to you for nothing. You must remember I am not as
young as I once was."

Mrs. Morton departed with dignity.

"Now will you be good?" chuckled Sherm.

"Oh, I guess I'm square," Chicken Little retorted, going back to her
lessons.

Mrs. Morton had said truly that she was not so young as formerly. She
had not been well all fall. Dr. Morton had persuaded her to see another
physician, who, having assured her that she was merely run down, had
prescribed the usual tonic. He had told Dr. Morton, however, that her
heart action was weak and warned him to guard her against shocks of any
kind and to have her rest as much as possible. This had agreed with the
doctor's own diagnosis of her condition, and the family had been trying
to save her from all exertion. So Chicken Little was a tiny bit
conscience-stricken.

High winds and more pressing farm duties had interfered with running the
fire guards. It was not until the week before Thanksgiving that the men
got at it, then they succeeded only in protecting the stacks. They had
intended to finish the job the following morning, but one of the
neighbors, passing through the lane, stopped to tell Dr. Morton of a
sale of yearlings to be held the next afternoon in the neighboring
county.

"It must be part of the Elliott herd. They're three-quarters bred
shorthorn; I'd like mighty well to pick up a bunch of them. We have
plenty of feed for any ordinary winter." Dr. Morton was talking the
matter over with Frank after supper.

"Suppose we ride over, Father, it's only about twenty miles. We can
start early--we don't need to buy unless they are actually a bargain."

They were off at six the following morning, planning to return the same
day. Dr. Morton, however, warned his wife not to be anxious if she did
not see them before the next afternoon. If they bought the steers, they
would not try to drive them home the same day.

The morning was bright and pleasant, but the wind rose toward mid-day
and was blowing a young gale by the time Chicken Little returned from
school at half-past four. Mrs. Morton began worrying lest the doctor and
Frank had not wrapped up sufficiently.

"Why, it isn't cold yet, Mrs. Morton. In fact