While Mrs. Spencer was saying this, Robert had finished feeding the chickens, and he was sitting on the grass in front of one yard admiring a white hen with ten lovely white chickens.  “I think these are the prettiest little chickens I ever saw,” he said, “and their mother seems very proud of them.  Is the mother hen always fond of her chickens?”

“Almost always,” Mrs. Spencer replied, “but this white hen you admire so much is a queer creature.  If her chickens are not all white, she will not own them.

“We found it out in a strange way.  In her last brood all the chickens were white but one.  She was not kind to this one when it was little, and as it grew older she seemed to like it less and less.

“One day James saw her drive it away when the other chickens were going to bed under her wings at night, but he thought she would let it in to its shelter when the chickens she liked best were safe.  The next morning when James went out to milk the cows, he had a great surprise.

“A half-grown kitten, which had come to us, was waiting to go into the barn with him and get the breakfast which James always gave it when he had milked.  In company with this kitten was the poor little chicken that had been driven away by the hen.”

“That was very strange!” said Robert.

“We thought so,” answered Mrs. Spencer.  “After this the kitten and the chicken became fast friends.  They ate together, and slept together in the barn, and seemed very fond of each other.”

“Did you ever know of another cat that was friendly with a hen or a chicken?” asked Robert.

“Yes.  I remember that a cat which had been deserted, and had grown very wild, made friends with our hens.  He often used to be seen feeding with them in the barnyard.”

“I wonder the hens were not afraid of him.”

“They seemed really to pity him and never tried to drive him away.  At first, and for a long time, the cat was so wild he would not let any of the family come near him.  I think he had been ill-treated.  At last he learned that we were his friends, and he became very fond of us.  We kept him until he died of old age.”

“That speckled hen with eleven chickens looks gentle,” said Robert.

“She is brave, too,” said Mrs. Spencer.  “Last summer, when she was roaming about with a brood of chickens, a large dog came into the yard through the gate, which happened to be open.

“The brave mother hen flew at him and came down on his back.  She clung to him and pecked him with her sharp bill, until he ran howling out of the yard with the hen on his back.”

“How far did she go with him?”

“She flew off as soon as he was fairly out of the yard and came clucking back to her chickens, her feathers all bristled up, as proud a hen as I ever saw.  She is very fond of me.  Just see this!”

Mrs. Spencer opened the door of the little house and called the speckled hen, who ran out clucking and calling her chickens after her.  The whole brood crowded themselves into Mrs. Spencer’s lap, as she sat on the grass beside the house.