Part 3 (1/2)

As soon as she was free, away went Anna-Margaret back to the house.

”Muvver, Muvver,” cried Anna-Margaret almost breathless as she entered the big kitchen, ”tell Edith I laced up my shoes, tell 'er, Muvver, will yo', Muvver?”

Mother stopped her work at the breakfast table. ”Anna-Margaret, I could not do that because you didn't.”

”But tell 'er I did, won't you, Muvver,” she pleaded.

”Anna-Margaret, I can't do that because I would be telling a lie. Don't I whip Ruth and Edith for telling lies?”

”Tell a lie, Muvver, tell a lie, _I won't whip you_.”

Mother Dear was forced to smile. ”Here, eat your breakfast, I can't promise my baby I will tell a lie, even if she won't whip me.”

Fortunately no one questioned Mother Dear and Anna-Margaret ate her breakfast in silence. Then kissing her mother in a matter of fact way, she went out to play with her sisters.

”Ah, here comes Anna-Margaret to knock down our things,” moaned Edith.

”Let her come on,” cried Ruth, ”and we'll go down in the bottom and build sand forts; it rained yesterday and the sand is nice and damp.”

”Oh-oo, let's,” echoed Edith, and off they scampered. Anna-Margaret saw them and started after them as fast as her little chubby brown legs could carry her, which wasn't very fast. The other children were far in front of her. Anna-Margaret stopped suddenly,--she heard a little biddie in distress. There was a mother hen darting through the gra.s.s after a fleeing gra.s.shopper, and close behind her was the whole flock save one.

Anna-Margaret watched them as the young chickens spread open their wings and hurried in pursuit of their mother. Far behind one little black, fuzzy biddie struggled and tripped over the tall gra.s.s stems. The baby looked at the little chick and then at the other ones and saw that they were different. She didn't know what the difference was. She could not understand that the other chickens were several days older and that this one had only been taken away from its own mother hen that morning in order that she would remain on her nest until all her chicks were hatched. All Anna-Margaret knew was that they were different.

”Poor l'll biddie, dey don't want you to play wif them,” she sympathized, ”come, come to Anna-Margaret.”

With little difficulty she captured the young chick and started back to the house.

”Dat's all 'ight, I know what I'm gonna do,” she decided, ”I'm gonna play Dod. Poor l'll biddie, just wait, Anna-Margaret'll fix yo', so you can run and fly and keep up with the biddies. Won't dat be nice, uh?”

And she put her curly head down close to the little chick as if to catch its answer.

Anna-Margaret went straight to the big sewing-basket and placing the biddie on the machine extracted a threaded needle. Cutting two small pieces of black cloth for wings, she took the chick and seated herself on the drop-step between the sewing-room and dining-room. She then attempted to sew one of the little black pieces of cloth to one of the tiny wings of the young chick.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

”There, there, yo'll be all 'ight in dest a minute,” she said amid the distressful chirping of the chick. The biddie's cries brought Mother Dear to the scene.

”Anna-Margaret, what on earth are you doing to the little chicken?”

Anna-Margaret turned her big brown eyes upon her mother. ”I'm playin'

Dod and I'm puttin' some wings on des l'll biddie so it can run and fly like the oo-ver ones, and so they won't run off all the time and leave it.”

”But Anna-Margaret, don't you know you are hurting the little biddie?”

”No-o, Muvver,” she said slowly, ”but I know what it is to be always runned off and lef'.”

Mother Dear understood what was in her baby's mind as she gathered her up in her arms. Anna-Margaret dropped the sewing, cuddled the little biddie close in one arm and clasped her mother's neck with the other.