"Do chickens come out of shells?" said Rosy, making very large eyes, and looking quite puzzled.
"Yes, Rosy, out of just such shells as our eggs had this morning; and if in the summer we had given this good hen five or six of her own eggs in this little house of hers, she would have sat upon them, and spread her wings over them to keep them warm; and there she would have staid so patiently all day long, and day after day, until the dear little chickens were ready to come too."
"And wouldn't the hen get tired?" said Rosy. "I shouldn't like to stay still so long."
"No, I don't think you would," said her mamma, chucking her little girl under the chin; "but then, you see, you are like the little chickens, and not like the mamma hen. I think you will find that she has not got tired even yet, for if you peep down again you will see that she is keeping two of the little chickens warm under her even now. Little chickens are like little babies, and they very soon get cold, so they like keeping very close to their mammas."
"Are the little chickens naughty sometimes?" asked Rosy.
"If you stoop down you will see that she is keeping two of the little chickens warm under her."
"Well, I don't know, Rosy; but I know that I have often thought it very pretty to see how they will all run to their mother when the great hen clucks for them."