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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
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