She was taking the chicken out of the cage.
"Let it alone!" he broke out, sharply.

"Where are you going with it ?" "Home," she said, with a queer, quizzical face.

"Let it smell the green fields, Doctor.

Ledgers and copperas are not good food for a chicken's soul, or body either." "Let it alone!" he growled.

"You take it for a type of yourself, eh?
It has another work to do than to grow fat and sleep about the barnyard." She opened the cage.
"I think I will take it." "No," he said, quietly.