After all this, the little boy was both tired and hungry: so he went back to the house, and sat down on the broad stone steps outside the kitchen-door to rest. Mrs. Hill was busy in the kitchen, frying doughnuts, and, when Willie saw what she was doing, he was more hungry than ever. The doughnuts looked very brown and nice; but Willie was too bashful to ask for one. At last Mrs. Hill looked up, and, seeing Willie's blue eyes fixed upon her with such an eager gaze, she guessed at once what he wanted. She gave him a doughnut and a kiss, and he sat down on the doorstep with the doughnut in his hand. But he had hardly taken two bites of it, when a strange thing happened. Some hens were scratching around in the yard to find food for themselves and their chickens. Now one old Biddy, who had a large family to provide for, and who was almost tired out with hunting for worms, looked at Willie's doughnut with a longing eye. She walked close up to the doorstep, arched her neck, and clucked, asking as plainly as she knew how for a piece of doughnut. But Willie was too busy even to look at her. At last Biddy became impatient. As no notice was taken of her civil request, she made up her mind to take, without further asking, what Willie did not seem inclined to give. She was a little afraid to do it; but her chickens were teasing for more food, and she was determined to get enough for them. So she stepped up beside Willie, snatched the doughnut out of his hand, and ran away with it as fast as she could. Her chickens ran after her, screaming for the fine feast which their mother had stolen for them. And there sat Willie on the doorstep, his eyes bigger and bluer than ever, amazed to find himself robbed in this way by a respectable looking old hen. He did not know what to do, and was half inclined to cry. But, when little children are in trouble, there is always one thing they can do: they can go to their mamma, and ask her help. Willie thought of this, and trotted off with a very sober face to tell his mamma this wonderful story of the hen who helped herself. L.R. [Illustration] [Illustration] THE GREAT JOURNEY. "Come, my baby, all alone!" Was so long a baby-journey ever known? All the way, so wide and bare, From the table to the chair; 'Tis no wonder he should linger, Holding on to papa's finger, Though his mother beckons there From her throne, With, "Come, baby, all alone!" "Come, my baby, all alone!" Were such mingled doubt and daring ever shown? Now he drops his hold, and then Closer clings to it again; Now he steps out with a shiver, As one tries a rapid river, And shrinks back, and wonders when, Taller grown, Baby shall go all alone.