Just at this moment happened the first real adventure of my quest, and at that time it seemed a serious one, though now I would regard it as of very little moment.  Suddenly there came the noise of snipping cords, the feeling of jar and upheaval, and before I could turn more than half-way around for purposes of observation, the entire feminine Bird family in their temporary crate abode slid down into the dust of the road with a great crash.  I held my breath while, with a jolt and a bounce and a squeak of the heavy old springs, Uncle Cradd brought the ancestral family coach to a halt about ten feet away from the wreck, which was a melee of broken timber, squeaking voices, and flapping wings.  As soon as I recovered from the shock I sprang from my cushions beside Mr. G. Bird, who was fairly yelling clucks of command at this family-to-be, and ran to their assistance.  Now, I am very long and fleet of limb, but those white Leghorn ladies were too swift for me, and before I reached the wreck, they had all ten disentangled themselves from the crushed timbers and had literally taken to the woods, through which the Riverfield ribbon was at that moment winding itself.  Clucking and chuckling, they concealed themselves in an undergrowth of coral-strung buck bushes, little scrub cedars, and dried oak leaves, and I could hear them holding a council of war that sounded as if they were to depart forever to parts unknown.  In a twinkling of an eye I saw my future fortune literally take wings, and in my extremity I cried aloud.

“Oh, call them all back, Mr. Golden Bird,” I pleaded.

“Now, Nancy, that is always what I said about hens.  They are such pesky womanish things that it’s beneath the dignity of a man to bother with ’em.  I haven’t had one on the place for twenty years.  We’ll just turn this rooster loose with them and we can go on home in peace,” said Uncle Cradd as he peered around the side of the coach while father’s mild face appeared on the other side.  As he spoke, he reached back and released my Golden Bird from his crate and sent him flying out into the woods in the direction of his family.

“Oh, they are the only things in the world that stand between me and starvation,” I wailed, though not loud enough for either father or Uncle Cradd to hear.  “Please, please, Golden Bird, come back and bring the others with you,” I pleaded as I held out my hand to the proud white Sultan, who had paused by the roadside on his way to his family and was now turning bright eyes in the direction of my outstretched hand.  In all the troubles and trials through which that proud Mr. G. Bird and I went hand in hand, or rather wing in hand, in which I was at times hard and cold and disappointed in him, I have never forgotten that he turned in his tracks and walked majestically back to my side and peered into the outstretched hand with a trustful and inquiring peck.  Some kind fortune had brought it to pass that I held the package of tea biscuits in my other