Edith was four years old, and had come the day before, for the first time in her life, to stay on a large farm. She had never seen young chickens, except in picture-books: so you can imagine how pleased she was at the thought of seeing real live ones.
She was soon in the farmyard, and after feeding the little things with meal and water,—hasty-pudding she called it,—she seemed to long so to pet them, that her kind grandmother said, "Well, dear, hold up your apron, and I will put some of the chickens in; but you must handle them very gently."
Edith was delighted, and begged to carry them into the house for mamma to see. Old mother-hen, who was busy scratching for the rest of her brood, did not at first notice what was going on. But, when she saw Edith walking off with some of her darlings, she began to spread her wings, and puff out her feathers, and scold in hen fashion.

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