When the puppies grew to be boisterous, I perceived that Em’ly’s mission was approaching its end. They were too heavy for her, and their increasing scope of playfulness was not in her line. Once or twice they knocked her over, upon which she arose and pecked them severely, and they retired to a safe distance, and sitting in a circle, yapped at her. I think they began to suspect that she was only a hen after all. So Em’ly resigned with an indifference which surprised me, until I remembered that if it had been chickens, she would have ceased to look after them by this time. But here she was again “out of a job,” as the Virginian said. “She’s raised them puppies for that triflin’ setter, and now she’ll be huntin’ around for something else useful to do that ain’t in her business.” Now there were other broods of chickens to arrive in the hen-house, and I did not desire any more bantam and turkey performances. So, to avoid confusion, I played a trick upon Em’ly. I went down to Sunk Creek and fetched some smooth, oval stones. She was quite satisfied with these, and passed a quiet day with them in a box. This was not fair, the Virginian asserted. “You ain’t going to jus’ leave her fooled that a-way?” I did not see why not. “Why, she raised them puppies all right. Ain’t she showed she knows how to be a mother anyways? Em’ly ain’t going to get her time took up for nothing while I’m round hyeh,” said the cow-puncher. He laid a gentle hold of Em’ly and tossed her to the ground. She, of course, rushed out among the corrals in a great state of nerves. “I don’t see what good you do meddling,” I protested. To this he deigned no reply, but removed the unresponsive stones from the straw. “Why, if they ain’t right warm!” he exclaimed plaintively. “The poor, deluded son-of-a-gun!” And with this unusual description of a lady, he sent the stones sailing like a line of birds. “I’m regular getting stuck on Em’ly,” continued the Virginian. “Yu’ needn’t to laugh. Don’t yu’ see she’s got sort o’ human feelin’s and desires? I always knowed hawsses was like people, and my collie, of course. It is kind of foolish, I expect, but that hen’s goin’ to have a real aigg di-rectly, right now, to set on.” With this he removed one from beneath another hen. “We’ll have Em’ly raise this hyeh,” said he, “so she can put in her time profitable.” It was not accomplished at once; for Em’ly, singularly enough, would not consent to stay in the box whence she had been routed. At length we found another retreat for her, and in these new surroundings, with a new piece of work for her to do, Em’ly sat on the one egg which the Virginian had so carefully provided for her. Thus, as in all genuine tragedies, was the stroke of Fate wrought by chance and the best intentions.