One for you and one for me,
And one left over:
Give it to the boy who shouts
To scare sheep from the clover.”
“But Ben doesn’t scare sheep from the clover,—because we haven’t any sheep,” said Alice, very earnestly. “All we have is hens.”
“O, Alice,” cried Betty, “that is only poetry.”
“You do have hens then, Alice?” asked Miss Ruth quickly, seeing the child’s face redden.
“Yes, and Ben takes care of them, and he sells the eggs,” answered Alice proudly.
“They have the loveliest place,” said Betty, “a little hens’ house, and they raise lettuce and radishes and all sorts of good things to eat.”
“You see,” cried Alice, feeling that some explanation was necessary, and running a little ahead in her eagerness: “father isn’t very well, and he is a teacher, and he had to go out West for his health, and we can’t afford to go, too, and we all try to help earn money to help, because he doesn’t have much money. Besides Ben’s chickens, mother has a market-garden, and a hired man to help; and I help, too. Perhaps the Club will meet out at my house, sometimes.”