He looked again, and a most unexpected sight met his eyes. Water was dripping from the trays, and the fine gravel beneath had become mud.
And there was a vacant space in the tray. An egg had gone—and it was from the third row, the row which he had been so careful about, which contained the best eggs.
And, yes, surely there was another hole. Another egg gone! What could have happened?
He ran up stairs three steps at a time, shouting for Martha.
"What have you been doing, Martha?" he cried. "Two eggs are gone, and the thermometer way below 80°, and all that water!"
"Sure, Mr. Jack, I haven't been there at all! You were at home yourself to-day, and I never go near the place of a Saturday."
"Well, some one has been at it. Where's Cynthia? Where's Edith? Why isn't somebody at home to attend to things?"
No one could be found. Jack rushed frantically about, and at last heard the sound of wheels. Edith was returning from the tea. And at the same moment, around the corner of the house came Cynthia, leading two crying children.
They all met on the front porch.
"They've been up to mischief, Jack," said Cynthia; "I hope they haven't done much harm. I found them on the bank behind the carriage-house. They must have been at the incubator, for they had two eggs and the chickens are dead. And they are two bad, naughty children!"