"I now want some moist sugar, sir," said Rose.
Harry began to weigh some sand in a pair of scales that their mama had made of orange peel. Rose asked the price, and was beginning to complain of it.
"Your sugar is—Fairy! Oh Harry, Fairy!" she cried, instead of what she was going to say.
The scales dropped from Harry's hands. A long while had passed. They both ran to the hen-house.
Poor Fairy was wandering restlessly before the closed door, ruffling her feathers, and sometimes flying up and pecking at it. Rose opened it. The eggs felt quite cold to her hand. Fairy jumped in and settled on them instantly.
"Run to mama, Harry," cried Rose, the tears filling her eyes. "Ask her to come. See if she can do anything."
Harry ran into the cottage, and brought back his mama, followed by Mary.
"Oh Miss Rose!" said Mary, "what a pity. The eggs must all be spoiled."
"Do you think so?" sobbed Rose. "Oh mama, mama, how sorry I am!"
"Might they be put near the kitchen fire?" asked Harry with a faltering voice.