“How silly mothers are!  And such cowards too!” he said to himself.  “I am sure there’s nothing here to hurt me.  I would like to see any one meddle with me!”

At this instant he felt a sharp peck; and a voice said close to his ear, “Halloo, little one, you had better start for home!”

He looked up, and saw young Green-Wing, who was two months older, and boasted a comb of good size, to say nothing of his sharp spurs.

Brownie thought it best to say nothing after the first “peep,” and hid, trembling with fright, under the first leaf he could find.  But the sun shone, the sky was a lovely blue, the ground was bright with flowers, and there were many bugs crawling about.  Brownie had quite a feast, and was beginning to regain his spirits, when something happened which turned all his thoughts topsy-turvy.

The sky grew dark all at once.  Something caught hold of him, and Brownie felt himself going up, up, so swiftly, that it quite took his breath away.  “It must be a thousand miles,” he thought.

Crack! went a gun.  Then the hawk let go and Brownie went down, down to the ground, where he lay for a long time as if he were dead.

When he opened his eyes it was almost dark.  The sun had set, and he had forgotten the way home.  “I shall never see mamma again,” he sobbed.  “I wish I had been good and not run away.”

“Why, here’s Brownie!” cried Grace’s voice.  “The hawk did not get him after all.  Come, Willie, and help me drive him to the hen-house.”

“I hope, my dear, you will never be so very naughty again,” said Mrs. Speckle, as he crept under her wing.

MRS. B.P.  SIBLEY.

[Illustration:  Hen and Chicks]

A MISJUDGED FRIEND.

    The gardener shut the garden gate,
    And went to weed the onion-bed: 
    The growing plants stood tall and straight;
    “But what is this?” surprised he said. 
    Some broken bricks, some stones and sticks,
    And underneath them, crushed and dead,
    A large brown toad!  “James, Martin, Fred!”
    He called three little boys, who played
    Near by, beneath a pear-tree’s shade,
    And sternly asked, “What cruel play
    Is this you’ve been about to-day?”

    “’Tis very hard we should be blamed,
    I’m sure!” poor little James exclaimed: 
    “We only killed the toad because
    An ugly-looking thing he was,—­
    So very ugly, that we knew
    He surely would some mischief do. 
    He had great warts upon his back,
    And curious blotches, greenish black,
    And darting tongue, and strange flat head”—­
    “And how he sprawled his legs!” cried Fred. 
    “His mouth,” said Martin, “was so wide,
    It reached far round on either side;
    And queer winks with his eyes he’d give: 
    We did not dare to let him live. 
    We had to kill that toad because
    An ugly-looking thing he was.”