As 'twas, what wi' anxi'ty an' too little food, her wore to a shadow.

I seed her was boun' to die, anyway; an' wan arternoon, as I was in the cowshed, I heerd a weakly sort o' cluckin' overhead, an' went up to look.

'Twas too late, sir.
Th' ould hen was lying beside th' egg, glazin' at et in a filmy sort o' way, an' breathin' terrable hard.

When I comes, she gi'es a look same as to say, 'I reckon I've a-got to go.

I've a-been a mother to that there egg; an' I'd ha' liked to see't through afore I went.
But, seemingly, 'twarn't ordained.' An' wi' that there was a kind o' flutter, an' when I turned her over I seed her troubles were done.
Thet fowl, sir, had _passed_." "You tell the story with such sympathy, Caleb, that I appeal to you the more readily for advice.