It happened that she did not encounter Doctor Gowdy until some time later, on an occasion which turned out to be more or less momentous. Pottering about among the flower beds, she heard without heeding a piping excitement in the other back yard, and only looked across at last when a heavier voice was added to the children’s. “Now, we must have a coop, you know, boys. They have to be kept in a coop,” Doctor Gowdy was expounding. “Let’s see! What shall we do? Oh, I’ll tell you! There’s that old peach crate over there; you get that, Robbie, and I shouldn’t wonder if Tom could nail some strips up the sides. Everybody must help, that’s the only way to get along----” he kept on fluently in his trained, carrying voice, while the boys circled about, squabbling over his directions. Then, as he caught Mrs. Shields’s eye, smiled with a gesture toward the basket in his hands. “Day-old chicks. Wouldn’t you like to see them?” And in the direct, hearty way which everybody so liked, without any ado of formalities, he came over, the children hanging on and hampering him. The basket was full of soft cheepings and movement; looking down into it, one got an impression of little round, animated, cuddling patches of brown velvet, striped with yellow, of little yellow heads and eyes with the bright fixity of beads. Mrs. Shields exclaimed delightedly. “Aren’t they cunning?” said the minister in sympathetic pleasure. “The kiddies and I--we’re great pals, all of us together, you know--we’re going to make a coop and raise them. First thing you know, we’ll have a regular chicken farm!” Mrs. Shields looked at his kind, eager face, at the basket of chickens, at the surging children, at the littered yard, and spoke diffidently. “Well, they’re awful cute, but--I guess it’s kinda work to bring up chickens, ain’t it? I mean I thought people got all fixed for it, and didn’t do nothing else.” “Oh, no, you just feed and water them,” said Doctor Gowdy buoyantly. “They ‘_do the rest_’--hey? Ha, ha!” He dropped to a confidential tone. “It will be good for the children. Teaches them practical humanity--Joe, Florence, stop it! You can’t both of you play with the same chicken!” Mrs. Shields returned to her gardening with an oddly dubious expression. Judging by what she could hear, the coop was finally erected to everybody’s satisfaction, and after an hour or so of vociferous children and chickens, the latter appeared to lose their charm of novelty temporarily, at least. There was quiet in both back yards; she was trowelling industriously around the roots of a rosebush when Wilbur was brought downstairs from his nap, and released from the house; and directly his voice arose in gleeful squealings. “Chicky! Chicky!”