Now, the old white hen, although plain, was very smart. If there was a good fat worm to be found anywhere, she was sure to scratch it up. This was what caused the fuss. Old Whitey scratched up a worm. Three tufted hens at once tried to take it away from her. There was a chase all around the barnyard. Old Whitey, with the worm in her mouth, kept the lead. Out she dashed through an opening in the fence. Down she went, down the hill back of the barn. The three tufted hens, like three highwaymen, were close upon her. Well, what was the end of it? They didn't get the worm; I can tell you that. But there was a fight, and I can't say that poor Whitey got off without being badly pecked. UNCLE CHARLES. [Illustration] WHAT'S UP? [Illustration] [Illustration] WHY does Miss Prim; So stylish and slim, Hold up her head so high? What does she see? A bird in the tree? Or is it a star in the sky? And here is young Jane In bonnet so plain: And why is she looking up too? Do they seek at high noon For the man in the moon? Now, really, I wish that I knew? V. W. [Illustration] MINDING MOTHER. "OROOK, orook, orook!" It is the half-grown turkeys going, In the hot sunshine, through the fields; Their black feet trampling down the mowing. Across the clover rosy red, Through the tall brake-leaves in the hollow, The old hen-turkey, calling, goes; And close behind the others follow. "Old birds know best," the young ones say, "And we let mother choose the way." The dancing oats, all tasselled green, Are full of grasshoppers and crickets; The raspberry-bushes, red with fruit, Grow round the rocks in thorny thickets; The partridge-plants beside the wall Lift up their clustered purple berries; And from the wind-stirred branches fall Upon the grass the small wild cherries: Just where they are the old hen knows, And all her noisy brood she shows. Why feast all day?--the trodden oats Will scarce be worth the mowing;-- "'Tis time," the old bird says, "at last We home again were going." Back through the clover-bloom she strides, Down through the braky hollow: She flies up on the fence to roost, And all the others follow. "We always have," the young ones say, "When mother leads, a pleasant day." MARIAN DOUGLAS. [Illustration] OUR CHARLEY. CHARLEY was our horse, and a more gentle and kind horse never drew a carriage. He would carry four boys on his back, and walk off from the watering-trough to the barn as carefully as if he knew that small boys could not hold on very well. He seemed to feel that the boys were in his charge.