ith my fingers and see how their taut snug-fitting plumes were set.

I remember a day when she was sitting on her nest with that curious
expression in her eyes which seemed to say, "Please don't bother me now
for this is my busy time," I brought three little kittens from their
basket in the wood-shed and put them under her. The kittens felt the
warmth of her body and began to mew and stir about. I shall never forget
the look of astonishment in the little hen as she slowly rose in her
nest and peered beneath her body at the kittens. She looked at me as if
to say that she really couldn't be bothered with those furry things any
longer--they made her so nervous. She calmly took hold of one of them
with her bill and lifted it out of the nest. She continued this process
of eviction until they were all removed, when she quietly sat down
again.

[Illustration: Slowly her right hand rose above her]

I mention this only to show that the hen and I had come to terms of
intimacy and mutual understanding. So when I saw Wills' dog catch and
kill her in the field one day, where she was hunting for grasshoppers, I
naturally entertained a feeling of resentment. I heard the cries of the
hen and ran through the orchard and witnessed the end of the tragedy and
more. Away down in the meadow I saw the dog and farther away "the Wills
boy," as we then called him, running toward his home. The dog had run
away as I approached and when I picked up the lifeless body of my little
friend the hills seemed to lift up their heads and fall upon me. Of
course that Wills boy had set the dog on her. I shall write no more of
that hour of trial. Such little things make history, and it is necessary
that the reader should understand me.

One June day of the next summer Uncle Peabody and I, from down in the
fields, saw a fine carriage drive in at our gate. He stopped and looked
intently.

"Jerusalem four-corners!" he exclaimed. "It's Mr. and Mrs. Horace
Dunkelberg."

My heart beat fast at thought of the legendary Dunkelbergs. Uncle looked
me over from top to toe. "Heavens!" he exclaimed. "Go down to the brook
and wash the mud off yer feet an' legs."

I ran for the brook and before I had returned to my uncle I heard the
horn blow.

"The Dunkelbergs!--the Dunkelbergs! Come quick!" it seemed to say.

Uncle had tied a red handkerchief around his neck and was readjusting
his galluses when I returned. In silence we hurried to the house. As we
drew near I he