nxious. Her mouth was open, and each particular toe was
standing out stiff and straight. Bessie's nose and lips were out of
sight in the ruffled back, and Coachy had closed her eyes.

"Darling," said the little girl, steadily, "good-by," and she bravely
dropped her pet beside the old companions.

We saw her shake herself, eye the others a moment, and walk quietly into
the crowd.

The man who lived on Bessie's papa's farm was named Beck. We hunted all
over for Mr. Beck to tell him there was a guest among the poultry; but
he was not to be found. So we got into the carriage and started for
home.

My little niece was silent during nearly all of our drive back to
Featherdale. Her mind was still filled full of Coachy.

By-and-by, though, the cherry lips opened.

"Uncle John," she said, "do you s'pose there'll be room?"

"On the roost?"

"Yes."

"Why, plenty of it--plenty!" said the reckless Uncle John.

I was out of bed an hour before Bessie next morning to take a horseback
ride. "Guess I'll go over to the farm," said I to myself, "and see how
Coachy is doing." So off to the farm I cantered.

I hitched my horse to a post by the farm-house door, and walked out
where the chickens were picking up a breakfast. I looked them all over,
and--and--well, Coachy was not there.

Seeing a man coming down the path, and feeling quite sure it was Mr.
Beck, I waited. A narrow-faced, fair-haired, frail-looking man--not at
all like a farmer, I thought.

"Good-morning, Mr. Beck," said I.

"Morning," said Mr. Beck, looking puzzled.

"My name is Rathbun. I was just looking around for a hen I brought up
from my brother's house yesterday. I don't seem to find her," I said,
still peering about.

"Did you bring that hen?" asked the man.

I turned and looked at him then.

"That old yellowish-brown hen?" he went on.

"Yes," said I, sharply. "Why?"

"Why, _I_ didn't know where she come from," he drawled. "She was
cluckin' round the cows' heels while I was milkin', an' I took 'er an'
chopped 'er head off."

It seems to me that for one whole minute I never drew a breath. I just
stood there, dumb and glaring, till I was conscious the man was
shrinking away from my eyes and clinched hands.

"What's the fuss?" said he.

"What's the fuss?" I roared. "Why, you confounded idiot, do you know
what you've done? Do you know that you've killed Bessie Rathbun's pet
hen?"

"Wa'al," he growled, with his hands in his pockets, "_I_ didn't