"My mother did not think of that," said Loony John, and at once he went and sat on the nest in the hen's place. When his mother returned home she called for her son. "John! Oh, John! where are you?" "Here, in a corner of the hen-house!" "Where?" exclaimed the mother. "I do not see you." "Cluck—cluck—cluck!" said Loony John. "Why don't you answer?" cried his mother. "Cluck—cluck—cluck!" said Loony John. His mother at last found him quietly sitting on the eggs. "What are you doing there?" she asked, angrily. "Sh—h!" replied Loony John. "Don't make any noise. I am setting." "Did you put the hen in the stew-pan?" "Cluck—cluck—cluck!" "What do you mean by that?" inquired the good woman. "Speak!" "I say that I am setting!" said Loony John, "and I will fly off the nest and scratch in the garden if you continue to disturb me in this manner." "Why do you set?" his mother asked. "Because the hen that sat on these eggs is about to boil." "Why, that is not the hen that was to be cooked for dinner to-day, but the one that I picked yesterday and put in the cupboard!" The good woman shook her head in despair and went away. How long Loony John sat on the nest cannot be told, but one day, some time afterward, he was passing by a farm where he saw a woman picking a chicken and carefully placing the feathers to one side. Loony John was very much interested in this, and so he said to her: "Please, ma'am, tell me what you are doing with those feathers?" The woman was not without humor, and she replied: "Why do you ask such a simple question? I am going to plant the feathers, of course. Doesn't your mother plant the feathers she picks from chickens?" "My gracious! No!" "Well, then, it is because she doesn't own any Catchmeddler hens." "Why do you plant the feathers?" inquired Loony John. "Well, well! your country must be a very poor place, young man. Is it possible you don't know that one of these feathers, carefully cultivated, will yield each month a fat, frying-size chicken?" "If that is so," said Loony John, "sell me two hundred dollars' worth of your largest and finest feathers." The woman laughed in her sleeve. She had never dreamed that an old hen could bring her so much money. She hastened to close the trade with Loony John, and, to show that she was not at all picayunish, she threw in the two feet of the old hen for good measure. Loony John went on his way happy. When he reached home he got the hoe, went out into the garden, and began to plant his fine feathers. "How everybody will admire my fine square of feathers!" he said to himself. "I will call to every passer-by and say, 'Behold the beautiful hen-patch! Has ever such a wonder been seen before?'" The next week, however, Loony John went all in tears to find the farm-woman. "Well, well! my good young man!" exclaimed the woman when she saw him, "what do you cry for? Has your house been burnt?" "That would be but a trifle," replied Loony John. "Alas! is your mother dead?"