“Yes,” said August, trying to be cheerful. “Failure the first! I shall try it again. Grandma will give me some more eggs. I’ve only lost three days.”
“And I will go to town this afternoon,” said his mother, “and see if I cannot find a lamp which will be more reliable.”
There was no school that afternoon, so August cleaned the room, and supplied the incubator with fresh eggs, greatly encouraged by his mother’s sympathy and interest.
The other children were curious enough to know what was going on in the attic; but they could get no information.
Toward evening Mrs. Grant returned from town, bringing for her little boy a large tin lamp which would burn kerosene. He lighted it and adjusted the wick to just the right height. Then it was placed within the barrel to warm the second setting of eggs.
Day after day August and his mother watched and tended them. Everything progressed finely.
On the next Monday the eggs, having been in the incubator a week, were far enough advanced to be tested. At a south window there hung a heavy green Holland curtain. In this mamma allowed August to cut a hole, a little smaller than an egg, and she herself staid to assist him.
When all was ready, she handed August the eggs one by one. One by one he held them to the aperture. The first seemed quite transparent. In vain August turned and turned it—there was nothing to be seen but the yolk floating at the top. With a sigh he laid that aside and took up another.
“O, mamma, look!” he cried excitedly.
Mrs. Grant examined it with great interest. Not only could she distinctly see the dark form of a little chick, particularly the head with its immense eye, but bright blood-veins were also plainly defined, branching out in all directions from the body. Another and still another of the eggs looked like this one. August was greatly excited.