He stood looking down thoughtfully at the ground. Chicken Little hurried to him elated, but her joy was short-lived. Snuggled among the grasses was an empty nest.
117“Oh, do you ’spose she was on the nest? But I couldn’t have seen her if she had been–and it’s empty.”
By way of reply, Sherm stooped again and picked up a baby grouse from a clump of weeds. Fear had frozen it into a motionless wee brown image.
“Oh, the poor little darling! I took its mother.” Chicken Little looked ready to cry.
Bending down Sherm parted the weeds and grasses cautiously.
“Here’s another–and another. We must hunt them, Chicken Little, and take them home or they will all starve. Gee, what can we put them in?”
Jane slipped her hat elastic from under her braid, and taking a handful of long grass to line it with, soon made a snug nest. They tucked the mottled downy bunches into it.
“What in Sam Hill are you people doing over there?” called Ernest.
“Little grouse–come help us find them,” Sherm called back. “Be careful now or you’ll step on them,” he warned as Ernest and the girls came running up. “They are the slyest little codgers–you don’t see them until you are right on them.”
Gertie was on her knees peering before the words were out of his mouth. She lifted a fourth mite from its hiding place, and a fifth, and a sixth, almost as fast as she could pick them up. “Oh, aren’t they 118dear? May I hold them, Jane, when we get back to the wagon?” Gertie was caressing them with hands and eyes.