BED TIME TALES

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12615, 27 November 1926, Page 16

BED TIME TALES

SPECKLES CHICKS My word, there was great excitement in Roberts’s fowl-house. You just can’t imagine it, and all because Speckly Winedotte would sit on all the eggs—and in the favourite nest-box, too. As is only natural, the rest of the family were awfully indignant. Whitey Leghorn pecked Speckly’s comb, and said, “Get off at once. How much longer are you going to sit there? You lazy thing.” Speckly pecked back, and that’s just how the trouble started. Soon all around was splashed with blood—but Speckly won that time, and hurried back to her nest—cluck—cluck—cluck. A little while later the fight started again. Presently Mrs Roberts came running to the rescue. “Well, I never!” she exclaimed, “Old Speckly’s gone broody.” “Oh, how lovely,” exclaimed the children. “Now we will have some baby chicks.’" “I don’t know,” she answered. “We can’t use our own eggs, and it would take too long to get eggs from town; but perhaps we can buy some day-old chicks, and Speckly would take to them. Yes, that’s just what we will do.” So Elsie, the big sister, hurried to the chicken shop, and c?me back with twelve darling little chicks in a boot box. You weald . have just loved them, the dear, wee, yellow fluffy things, and the tiny black eyes, as black as black. “Do they really and truly come out of an egg?” asked the little brother, with wonder in his eyes. “Yes, really and truly.” “Well, then, a chicken is an egg, and an egg is a chicken. I will never eat another egg, for it would be a shame to eat a dear little chicken.” Everybody laughed as mother put one on a saucer and handed ! it- to Valerie, saying, “Would you rather cat it or play with it?” “Oh, no,” cried the little girl, starting back in great alarm. “Just stroke it,” urged mother. “Oh, no—no.” “She’s frightened of the tiny thing,” they said. Then the chicken opened its beak, and said, “Tweet-tweet.” “Put it back now,” said mother, “and daddy will take them to their mummy. They were hatched in an incubator—see. That is, a big box, with a lamp which bums for twenty-one days. Then, out of each egg, comes a little chick.” “And haven’t they got a really and truly mother?” asked the little brother. “No, lovie. The lamp acts as their mother. So won’t they be delighted to find they have a real mother, after all?” When the shades of night had fallen, daddy went to Speckly’s nest, and, gently lifting her wings, slipped a little chick under, and so on, till all the twelve were there. Speckly said, “Cluck-cluck,” and settled down. Everybody was up at daybreak to see if the experiment was a Success—and wasn’t it, just? ! Surely there never has been such a proud mother. She had simply swelled with pride, and her pretty black and white feathers were spread out to keep the babies warm. Then out they came into the rays of the morning’s sun. One cheeky little chick jumped j right on her back. And next door, in the big run—oh, dear—you just can’t imagine the jealousy and the noise. Poor old Whitey stands on the perch, as near the brooding-pen as possible, and, talk—well, I don’t know what she’s saying, but I think it would be something like this: “You lucky thing. You always did have all the good things.” Speckly answers, “Cluck-cluck,” and her little family run to her. £ They settle in their comer, and mother hen covers them with the cosiest eiderdown in the world. CLAUDIA BROWNE 3 (Age ii). iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiii