"It's a phonograph," explained Henrietta, "and the very best one I ever heard."
"It's a whole brass band," breathed Bettie.
"I knew it was good," said Mrs. Crane, contentedly, "for Peter refused to tell what he paid for it."
It took a long time for the phonograph to give up all that was inside its polished case, and before the entertainment was quite over Mr. Black came in.
Bettie, eager to display her new acquaintance, hardly waited to greet him before introducing Henrietta. It was a pleasure, as well as a novelty, to have so attractive a friend to present.
"This," said Bettie, proudly but a little flustered, "is my hen, Frenriet—I mean, my hen——"
Bettie turned scarlet and stopped. The girls shrieked with delight. Mrs. Crane laughed till she cried. Mr. Black's roars of laughter drowned the phonograph's best effort.
"I'm not your hen," giggled Henrietta. "Not even your chicken. This settles that name—I can't risk being mistaken for any more poultry."
"She's Henrietta Bedford," explained Jean, wiping her eyes.
"And how long," teased Mr. Black, "have you been keeping poultry, Miss Bettykins?"