Well, with plenty of food the chickens grew, Biddy the Bantam was happy, and all went along nicely till quite lately, when the chickens, having become about a quarter grown, it was discovered that Biddy could not cover them all at the same time, exert herself as best she might. Hence on each frosty morning it was evident that the chickens had suffered a good deal during the night. Their cries could be heard late at night and early in the morning as they crowded each other out into the bitter cold, the stronger ones striving to secure the warmest place under mamma’s soft feather coverlet. Now a dire emergency had come and something had to be done, and done it was in a most mysterious manner; and herein, also, is contained the gist of our story. The grievous complaint of the chickens came to a sudden discontinuation. Did the little hen mother in her deep affliction appeal to Sir Duke, the big rooster, for advice and succor? The sequel would certainly argue in favor of such a conclusion, for now he comes regularly every evening at early candle light, squeezes his bulky form through the bars of the coop, sits down by the side of Biddy the Bantam and spreads his broad wings over more than half of the chickens. Peace, indeed, has returned and there are no more family jars in that little household. It is a pleasant pastime to take a lantern and make a social evening call at the coop after Papa and Biddy have put their children to sleep. The most amusing thing of all is to hear the old rooster talk to the chickens. Thus, if anything goes wrong, any naughty crowding or some little foot trodden upon so as to cause an outcry, Papa slowly rises, shakes out his feathers, readjusts his great spreading toes, pokes in with his beak any little protruding head and then settles down again, all the while talking and saying in plain chicken lingo, “There, little dears, now nestle down and go to sleep.” In conclusion I will say to the readers of Birds and Nature that this little story is no fancy sketch but a true recital of events that took place at Vashon College while I was a member of the faculty of that institution. The chanticleer of every farmyard is a noble bird and a hero in his own sovereign right. L. Philo Venen. THE DAMSEL FLY.