.

.

by youthful curiosity: p33.jpg} When we have closed all our small hen-nurseries for the night, there is still the large house inhabited by the thirty-two full-grown chickens which Phoebe calls the broilers.

I cannot endure the term, and will not use it.

"Now for the April chicks," I say every evening.
"Do you mean the broilers ?" asks Phoebe.
"I mean the big April chicks," say I.
"Yes, them are the broilers," says she.
But is it not disagreeable enough to be a broiler when one's time comes, without having the gridiron waved in one's face for weeks beforehand?
{Nine huddle together: p34.jpg} The April chicks are all lively and desirous of seeing the world as thoroughly as possible before going to roost or broil.