"It must be turrible stupid in there," said Janet, pityingly. "Shouldn't you think those chickens would be tired of waiting to come out?"
"Yes. We might crack a lot and help 'em out."
"Oh, no. Jack says they won't be ready for two days. But I'll tell you what we might do. We might see whether it's hot enough for 'em in there. I guess Jack's forgotten all about 'em. I don't believe he's been near 'em to-day, nor Martha, either."
"How d'yer find out whever it's hot enough?"
"I don't know. Guess you open the door, and put your hand in and feel."
For Janet had never been taught the significance of the thermometer inside, and knew nothing of the proper means of ventilating the machine.
No sooner said than done. One of the doors was promptly opened, and two fat hands were thrust into the chamber.
"My goodies, it's hot there!" cried Janet. "We ought to cool it off. Let's leave the door open and turn down the lamp, and open the cellar window."
Mounted on an old barrel, Janet, at the risk of her life, struggled in vain with the window. She chose one that was never used, and it refused to respond to her efforts. Then she descended, and returned to the incubator.
"Can't do it," she said. "But I'll tell you what we'll do."