A glance in the direction from which the dog had come revealed the Mahoy family awaiting in front of their small adobe house to share in the welcome, so, excusing herself, Virg ran down the trail, Shags at her heels barking his glee. Mrs. Mahoy had a new baby in her arms and Virginia beckoned the other girls to come and see it.
“Ain’t she nice though?” It was Patsy, now aged ten, who looked about at the group of girls who were eagerly peering into a flannel bundle to find the wee bit baby. Virginia glowed. “Uncle Tex,” she cried turning toward the old man who had ambled after them. “I do believe this little baby is the surprise that you said we would find on V. M. Ranch.”
“Wall, I reckon ’twas one of ’em,” he confessed, “but thar’s another, Miss Virginia, dearie. Spose yo-all scatter now and see who’ll be furst to find it.”
Then away the girls ran. Margaret led them to the hen-house, so eager was she to be sure that the fences were coyote-proof. They were indeed, for the wire fence extended so far underground that none of the desert creatures would take the time to burrow beneath it so near a residence of the enemy man. Too there was a roof of wire netting over the small yard, which protected the feathered brood from any of the vulturous birds of prey.
“That certainly is improvement number one,” Virginia cried in delight. “Many a time I have been heart-broken entirely because some of my little new chicks have been carried away by pirate birds.” They were leaving, when Megsy caught Virg’s arm as she squealed gleefully, “I do believe that I’ve discovered the surprise. Hark! Don’t you hear a faint peeping somewhere?”
Virginia listened and then, noting that their escort’s grin was broadening, if that were possible, she exclaimed, “Oh Uncle Tex, are there really some baby chicks? Where are they? Please show them to us?”
The chicken yard gate was opened and the old man led them to the sunny side of the hen house where, from between the bars of a barrel coop, the yellow head of an anxious mother protruded as she clucked a warning to fifteen balls of fluff that ran to her, tumbling on the way and piping their fright.
“Oh, the dear little things! Please let them stay a moment, Biddy Mother,” Margaret implored. “I want to hold just one.”
The one that was lifted ever so tenderly, begged so pitifully to be set free, that Megsy put it down close to the coop and smiled to watch it scud for the shelter of its mother’s wings.
“Lucky little puff-ball!” Betsy said with a note of sadness in her usually merry voice. “What wouldn’t I give to have a mother to run to.” Uncle Tex, who had remained outside, happened to call just then. “Better be hurryin’, Miss Virginia dearie. Pears like its mos’ lunch time as yo-all names it.”