"Like as not she wouldn't tyke them now," said Phoebe, as she lifted the
hen off the broken egg-shells and moved her gently into a clean box, on a
bed of fresh hay. We put food and drink within reach of the family, and
very proud and handsome that highway robber of a hen looked, as she
stretched her wings over the seventeen easily-earned ducklings.
Going back to the old nesting-box, I found one egg forgotten among the
shells. It was still warm, and I took it up to run across the field with
it to Phoebe. It was heavy, and the carrying of it was a queer
sensation, inasmuch as it squirmed and "yipped" vociferously in transit,
threatening so unmistakably to hatch in my hand that I was decidedly
nervous. The intrepid little youngster burst his shell as he touched
Phoebe's apron, and has become the strongest and handsomest of the brood.
All this tending of downy young things, this feeding and putting to bed,
this petting and nursing and rearing, is such pretty, comforting woman's
work. I am sure Phoebe will make a better wife to the carrier for having
been a poultry-maid, and though good enough for most practical purposes
when I came here, I am an infinitely better woman now. I am afraid I was
not particularly nice the last few days at the Hydro. Such a lot of
dull, prosy, inquisitive, bothering old tabbies! Aunt Margaret
furnishing imaginary symptoms enough to keep a fond husband and two
trained nurses distracted; a man I had never encouraged in my life coming
to stay in the neighbourhood and turning up daily for rejection; another
man taking rooms at the very hotel with the avowed purpose of making my
life a burden; and on the heels of both, a widow of thirty-five in full
chase! Small wonder I thought it more dignified to retire than to
compete, and so I did.
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