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let the others help themselves first. And one
fine day she stood on the barn steps, flapped her
wings, and crowed—a regular hoarse, cracked
chicken’s crow—but crow she did. Of course
she had to be christened over again, and so I
called her Carolus.
And it is Carolus’ doings that I want to tell
about. Not the first year he lived; lie was well
enough behaved then. All summer the
chickens were up in the salt stall, but when
winter came they were moved down into our
cellar because of the cokl. Br-r-r-r! Hens
have a wretched time in winter. The snow lay
thick against the cellar window and shut out
what little grav daylight there was, and down
there on the stone floor in the dampness sat all
four chickens and moped, their heads drawn
down into their feathers. At such times one
can be very glad not to have been born a hen.
However, I went down there every day and
comforted them.
“ Think of the summer,” I said, “ think of
the rich ground under the dewberry hedges,
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