“Undo that little gate, Wunny. I’m going in to collect the eggs. Come on, Alfy, or anybody,” cried Dorothy, laughing. “That empty cracker box to hold them in. By the way, Wunny, when did you empty the nest?”
He assured her that he had done so the last thing before retiring on the night before. He had already taken two from it this day. Now by the cackle—there must be—Ah! he finished his speech with a wild flourish of his hands, then put them before his eyes to shield them from an uncanny sight.
Those outside the little poultry yard waited in curiosity for the others to come back. The two girls within it had their heads close together peering into the hen-temple, while Monty had squeezed his plump body through its little door with the cracker box in hand.
“Oh! I say, come out of there! How many have you found?” called Herbert. “Hurry up! Nell and Molly are getting scared. Fact!”
“I’m not,” denied Molly, but Helena said nothing. It was absurd, but she was actually catching some of the Chinaman’s nervousness over this most uncanny fowl. And a moment later, she was relieved to see the egg-hunters turn around and Monty emerge from that “heathen temple,” the cracker box held tightly in his hand. He carried it as if it were heavy and his face was almost as solemn as the Chinaman’s. The box contained eleven eggs!
Wun Sing gave one glance and fled, and trying to take the box into his own hands, Leslie dropped it—with the natural result.
“Well, they may be bewitched eggs but they can break ‘allee samee!’ I’m sorry, Wun Sing, but I’ll pay for them! And say, did anybody ever hear of such a thing before?” asked Leslie, astonished.
Nobody had; and seeing Dr. Jones crossing the grounds at a little distance they ran to him with the marvellous tale. He listened attentively and even walked back with them to see the hen for himself. His decision put bewitchment out of the question.
“The bird is a freak of nature. I have read of such before, but they are rare. Either that—or—are you quite sure that no practical joke has been played by any of the boys—or by yourselves?”
His keen study of their faces revealed nothing mischievous on any. They were all as honestly surprised as himself, and he then made a close inspection of the little place. The pagoda stood exactly in the centre of the yard, so far from the wire-netting on every side that no arm would be long enough to reach it and drop eggs into the nest at the back. Wun Sing always kept the key of the Chinese padlock on the wire gate and entrance through it without his consent could not be made.