"That's so," chimed in Frank; "the farmers at the Cape use incubators, invented by Mr. Arthur Douglas. Not only do they get more chickens from a given number of eggs, but they get three broods a year instead of two."
"Hurrah!" said Fred, "three broods in place of two; and, besides, we can defy the crows, and the hyena and his kindred, who rob the nests. We'll keep the chicks housed till they are too big for the hawks. We'll herd them carefully, so they sha'n't have any of the distempers that come from inattention; and as for food, they shall have just what is best for them. I've heard of feeding ostriches on old boots, pocket-knives, and similar things; and if mine want anything of the kind I'll buy all the old boots in New York, and all the cutlery in Connecticut, to give them a wholesome diet."
The Doctor suggested that nutritious grass for the young birds, and Indian corn and green food of different kinds for the old ones, was about all that was needed. Still, he said, they devoured a good many pebbles, which seemed to serve the same purpose as the gravel in the gizzard of an ordinary hen. A farmer once found nine hundred and thirty stones in the gizzard of an ostrich, varying from the size of a pea to that of a walnut. There were no old boots or pocket-knives among them; but it has sometimes happened that an ostrich has helped himself to a button from the coat of an incautious visitor or a diamond pin from his shirt-front.
Here the conversation ended, and Fred retired to think over his scheme for supplying the market of New York with ostrich plumes. He told Frank he might write to Mary and Miss Effie, promising them in a few years all the feathers they desired, and the prettiest ones, too.
THE OSTRICH'S NATURAL ENEMY.