The care of the fowls had been committed to Jerry, but he did not feel much interest in them, and needed to be reminded of his duty pretty often.  His negligence had been more marked than ever since Oscar’s arrival, and more than once the hens had been without food and water nearly a whole day because he forgot to attend to them.  Jerry now went back, in obedience to his mother, and gave the fowls their usual allowance of corn, and a vessel of fresh water.  He also looked into the nests to see if there were any new-laid eggs; and he was not a little surprised to find in one of them a small billet, neatly folded up, and addressed, “To Master Jerry.”  He looked at it a moment, and tried to imagine what it could be; then he opened it, and read the following, which was neatly written with a pencil: 

“THE HENROOST, June 12th.

“MASTER JERRY:” 

“I have determined to write you a few words in behalf of my dear suffering family.  The sun is scorching hot, and yet we have not got a drop of water to save us from parching up.  My poor biddies have been walking back and forth all day, panting for water, and calling for it as plainly as they could speak; but all in vain.  We have received our food at very irregular times, too, and sometimes we have had to keep fast nearly all day.  If I were the only sufferer, I would say nothing about it; but I cannot bear to see my poor flock dying by inches in this way.  Do take pity on us, and see that we have plenty of corn and water hereafter.  Some of my family, who pride themselves on being good layers, complain that since you have kept us shut up in such narrow quarters they cannot find anything to make their egg-shells of.  Now, if you would give us some old burnt bones, pounded up fine, or a little lime, once in awhile, I do not think you would lose anything by it.  And as you will not let us go out to scratch for ourselves, what is the reason that you cannot dig us a few worms occasionally?  It would be a great treat to us.  I hope you will heed my suggestions.  If you do not, I can assure you of two things:  you won’t have many eggs this summer; and fat chickens will be a scarce article in this neighborhood next Thanksgiving time.  But Mrs. Yellowneck has just laid an egg, and I must help her cackle over it; so I will write nothing more at present, but sign myself

“Your faithful, but afflicted,

“SHANGHAE ROOSTER.”

Before Jerry had finished reading this mysterious letter, Oscar, who wondered at his long absence, went to see what the matter was, and found his cousin deeply absorbed in the document.  After Jerry had read it, he handed it to Oscar, telling him where he found it.

“Well, that is queer,” said Oscar, after he had read it.  “Who do you suppose wrote it?”

“I know where it came from well enough,” said Jerry; “keep dark—­don’t say anything about it,” he added, as he put the letter in his pocket.  Then stepping to the kitchen-window, he inquired, “Mother, was Clinton over here yesterday?”