There, close by the nest, lay the queer something on the floor. "I 'll tuck it in right under the old hen's breast, 'n' then, if there 's any life in it, it 'll come to by mornin'." He examined it closely. "I 'll come out 'n' see. Come, we 'd better be gettin' in 'fore 't is dark again--"
He put the poor mite of a would-be chicken carefully under the old hen, where it was warm and downy, and as he did so, he caught sight of the rag hanging over the edge of the nest. He looked at it closely; then slapping his thigh, he burst into a roar of laughter.
"What is it, Chi?" said Hazel, laughing, too, at Chi's mirth.
"Look here, Lady-bird! you 've got the Prize Chicken, after all. That boy could n't tell green from blue in the moonlight, 'n' he 's hatched out one of yours. By George Washin'ton! that's a good one,--serves him right," he said, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes.
The chicken lived, but never seemed to belong to any one in particular; and as Chi said solemnly the next morning, "The less said on this Mountain about prize chickens, the better it 'll be for us all."
X
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
It was a busy summer in and about the farmhouse on Mount Hunger. What with tending the chickens--there were four hundred and two in all--and strawberry-picking and preserving, and in due season a repetition of the process with raspberries and blackberries, the days seemed hardly long enough to accomplish all the young people had planned.
Mr. Clyde came up for two days in June, and upon his return told Doctor Heath that he, too, felt as if he needed that kind of a cure.
Hazel was the picture of health and fast becoming what Chi had predicted, "an A Number 1" beauty. Her dark eyes sparkled with the joy of life; on her rounded cheeks there was the red of the rose; the skull-cap had been discarded, and a fine crop of soft, silky rings of dark brown hair had taken its place.