|Come with mamma, Willie, and we will hunt for eggs."
We went out to the barn, Willie knew how to find the clean white eggs.
I carried the basket, and the little boy hunted. Up and down the barn
he trotted, and tumbled into the sweet-smelling hay. He found eggs by
dozens.
"Come, Willie! I think there are no more."
"Yes, there are, mamma, for old Blackie is on her nest."
"Never mind, dear. Don't drive her off." I had spoken too late, for
"Shoo," said Willie, and away flew Blackie.
"O mamma, mamma! look, look!"
He was bending over the nest, and beckoning to me with one hand. I
jumped down into the bin and peeped over his shoulder. There, in old
Blackie's nest, were three little kittens that had not "lost their
mittens."
Willie was wild with joy, and every day he came to visit them. He always
found old Blackie brooding them, while the kittens purred contentedly
under her warm feathers.
The old mother cat enjoyed the strange sight as she nestled in the hay
near by.
When the kittens' eyes were open they began to wander about at their
own sweet will. Then Blackie was in trouble. In vain she clucked and
scratched on the barn floor. The strange little nurslings would not come
to her.
[Illustration: 0156]
At last Blackie went away by herself. In a few weeks we saw her proudly
marching along with six little downy chickens running after her.
"Cluck, cluck!" said the hen.
"Twee, twee!" said the chickens; and Blackie was contented.
--CHRISTINE GOLDERMAN