l mistake once.
Mother told me to go to the henhouse, and see if there were any eggs
to send to Aunt Edith. I knew that sometimes the hens laid in the
barn, so I thought I would go there instead. I hunted about and found
a nest with ten lovely brown eggs in it. They were quite warm, so I
was sure they must be perfectly fresh, and I put them in my basket and
carried them to the house. Mother was in a hurry for the post; she
didn't ask where I had got them, but only said I had been quick, and
packed them up in a box at once. Next morning she went to the barn to
feed a broody hen that was sitting there on some very particular eggs
that she had bought specially, and to her horror she found them all
gone! They would have hatched in a few days, so you can imagine how
angry she felt, and what a scolding she gave me for not going to the
henhouse as I was told. I think it was even worse, though, for Aunt
Edith. She had meant to make a Simnel cake with the eggs Mother sent
her, and she broke one after another, and each had a little chicken
inside it!"

"How dreadful!" laughed Sylvia; "I should think she didn't made her
cake."

"Not with our eggs at any rate, and she's always teased me dreadfully
about it since. Now I want to show you the bantams. I like them best,
because they're my own."

The bantams had a special wired run to themselves. They were extremely
neat little birds, with prettily marked plumage, so tame that they
flew readily on to their mistress's outstretched arm to eat the bread
she had brought for them. Linda showed Sylvia their small house with
much pride, and was particularly pleased to find two tiny eggs in the
nesting box.

"We can each have one for breakfast to-morrow morning," she declared;
"they must have laid them on purpose for us. I only got my bantams at
Easter, and these are their first eggs. I'm hoping so much that one of
the little hens will sit. Wouldn't it be lovely to have some wee
chicks about as big as tomtits?"

Sylvia had not much experience with pets, but she was deeply
interested in Linda's possessions: the starling that lived in a cage
in the kitchen, and had learnt to say: "Come kiss me!" and "Who's at
the door?"; the dormouse that was kept in a cosy box lined with hay,
and would scamper round the table in the evenings and eat the nuts
which were given him like a miniature squirrel; and Bute, the rough,
bouncing yard dog, that slept in the big kennel, and was not allowed
to come in