to go on
foot. Father said he would ride a horse to death. He just grinned and
never made a word of complaint. Seemed funny for him.

"I was over having a little confidential chat with my horse, last
night," he said, "and next year we'll be in the chase, and we'll show
you how to take fences, and cut curves; just you wait!"

"Leon, DON'T build so on that horse," wailed mother. "I'm sure that
money was stolen like ours, and the owner will claim it! I feel it in
my bones!"

"Aw, shucks!" said Leon. "That money is mine. He won't either!"

When they started, father took Leon behind him to ride as far as the
county line. He said he would go slowly, and it wouldn't hurt the
horse, but Leon slipped off at Hoods', and said he'd go with their
boys, so father let him, because light as Leon was, both of them were
quite a load for one horse. Laddie went to ride with the Princess. We
could see people moving around in Pryors' barnyard when our men
started. Candace washed, Miss Amelia wiped the dishes, May swept, and
all of them made the beds, and then they went to Deams', while I stayed
with mother. When she thought it was time, she bundled me up warmly,
and I went to the barn. Father had the east doors standing open for
me, so I could sit in the sun, hang my feet against the warm boards,
and see every inch of our meadow where the meet was to be. I was
really too warm there, and had to take off the scarf, untie my hood,
and unbutton my coat.

It was a trifle muddy, but the frost had not left the ground yet, the
sparrows were singing fit to burst, so were the hens. I didn't care
much for the music of the hen, but I could see she meant well. She
liked her nest quite as much as the red velvet bird with black wings,
or the bubbly yellow one, and as for baby chickens, from the first peep
they beat a little naked, blind, wobbly tree bird, so any hen had a
right to sing for joy because she was going to be the mother of a large
family of them. A hen had something was going to be the mother of a
large family of them. A hen had something to sing about all right, and
so had we, when we thought of poached eggs and fried chicken. When I
remembered them, I saw that it was no wonder the useful hen warbled so
proudlike; but that was all nonsense, for I don't suppose a hen ever
tasted poached eggs, and surely she wouldn't be happy over the prospect
of being fried. Maybe one reason she sang was because she didn't know
what wa