"There, there, yo'll be all 'ight in dest a minute," she said amid the distressful chirping of the chick. The biddie's cries brought Mother Dear to the scene.
"Anna-Margaret, what on earth are you doing to the little chicken?"
Anna-Margaret turned her big brown eyes upon her mother. "I'm playin' Dod and I'm puttin' some wings on des l'll biddie so it can run and fly like the oo-ver ones, and so they won't run off all the time and leave it."
"But Anna-Margaret, don't you know you are hurting the little biddie?"
"No-o, Muvver," she said slowly, "but I know what it is to be always runned off and lef'."
Mother Dear understood what was in her baby's mind as she gathered her up in her arms. Anna-Margaret dropped the sewing, cuddled the little biddie close in one arm and clasped her mother's neck with the other. Mother Dear held her closely.
"I love yo', Muvver Dear," whispered Anna-Margaret.
"I love you, baby dear," was the whispered answer.
Being the baby of the family to Anna-Margaret's mind, just now, was awfully nice.