"I 'ell down. Why 'oont him run, Danny?"
What could Granny do? Scolding Dot was out of the question. And just then Hal came flying up the road.
Granny had seen the fall, and explained the matter.
"But she mustn't catch them! You're a naughty little Dot!"
Dot began to cry.
"Poor little girl!" said Hal, taking her in his arms. "It is wrong to catch them. See, now, the little fellow is dead, and can never run about any more. Isn't Dot sorry? She won't ever touch Hal's birdies again, will she?"
So Dot promised, and Hal kissed her. But she carried the dead birdie about, petting it with softest touches, and insisting upon taking it to bed with her.
One more of the brood met with a mishap, but the other ten throve and grew rapidly. By the time the next hen wanted to set, Hal had a dozen eggs saved.
He asked Farmer Peters about the lot. It was just below their house, between that and the creek, a strip of an acre and a half perhaps. The old trees were not worth much, to be sure; and Mr. Peters never troubled himself to cultivate the plot, as it was accounted very poor.
"Yes, you may have it in welcome; but you won't git enough off of it to pay for the ploughin'?"