"Jehosephat, the way that does take the wrinkles out down here," said Shorty, rubbing appreciatively the front of his pantaloons. "I feel as smooth as if I'd bin starched and ironed, and there's new life clear down to my toe-nails. If me and Si could only have a chicken a day for the next 10 days we'd feel like goin' up there on the Ridge and bootin' old Bragg off the hill. Wouldn't we, Si?" "Guess so," acceded Si cheerily, "if every one made us feel as much better as this one has. How in the world did you git the chicken, Pap?" "Little boys should eat what's set before 'em, and ask no questions," said the father, coloring. "It's bad manners to be pryin' around the kitchen to find out where the vittles come from." "Well, I've got to take off my hat to you as a forager," said Shorty. "A man that kin find a chicken in Chattenoogy now, and hold on to it long enough to git it in the pot, kin give me lessons in the art. When I git strong enough to travel agin I want you to learn me the trick." The Deacon did not reply to the raillery. He was pondering anxiously about the preservation of his four remaining chickens. The good results manifest from cooking the first only made him more solicitous about the others. Several half-famished dogs had come prowling around, from no one knew where. He dared not kill them in daylight. He knew that probably some, if not all, of them had masters, and the worse and more dangerous a dog is the more bitterly his owner resents any attack upon him. Then, even hungrier looking men with keen eyes and alert noses wandered near, with inquiry in every motion. He would have liked to take Shorty into his confidence, but he feared that the ravenous appetite of convalescence would prove too much for that gentleman's continence. He kept thinking about it while engaged in what he called "doin' up the chores," that is, making Si and Shorty comfortable for the day, before he lay down to take a much-needed rest. He had never been so puzzled in all his life. He thought of burying them in the ground, but dismissed that because he would be seen digging the hole and putting them in, and if he should escape observation, the dogs would be pretty certain to nose them out and dig them up. Sinking them in the creek suggested itself, but had to be dismissed for various reasons, one being fear that the ravenous catfish would devour them. "If I only had a balloon," he murmured to himself, "I might send 'em up in that. That's the only safe way I kin think of. Yes, there's another way. I've intended to put a stone foundation under that crib, and daub it well, so's to stop the drafts. It orter be done, but it's a hard day's work, even with help, and I'm mortal tired. But I s'pose it's the only way, and I've got to put in stones so big that a dog can't pull 'em out."