Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy.

“Carefully! O, do be careful, Ethel Brown! I'm so afraid I'll drop one of them!”It was Ethel Blue Morton speaking to her cousin, who was helping her and their other cousin, Dorothy Smith, take Dicky Morton's newly hatched chickens out of the incubator and put them into the brooder.“I have dropped one,” exclaimed Dorothy. “Poor little dinky thing! It didn't hurt it a bit, though. See, it's running about as chipper as ever.”“Are you counting 'em?” demanded Dicky, whose small hands were better suited than those of the girls for making the transfer that was to establish the chicks in their new habitation.“Yes,” answered all three in chorus.“Here's one with a twisted leg. He must have fallen off the tray when he was first hatched.” cried Ethel Brown.“He lookth pretty well. I gueth he'll live if I feed him by himthelf tho the throng ones won't crowd him away from the feed panth,” said Dicky, examining the cripple, for in spite of his small supply of seven years he had learned from his big brother Roger and from his grandfather Emerson a great deal about the use of an incubator and the care of young chickens.

"Carefully! O, do be careful, Ethel Brown! I'm so afraid I'll drop one of them!" It was Ethel Blue Morton speaking to her cousin, who was helping her and their other cousin, Dorothy Smith, take Dicky Morton's newly hatched chickens out of the incubator and put them into the brooder. "I have dropped one," exclaimed Dorothy. "Poor little dinky thing! It didn't hurt it a bit, though. See, it's running about as chipper as ever."

The big brown automobile gave three honks as it swung around the corner from Church Street. Roger Morton, raking leaves in the yard beside his house, threw down his rake and vaulted over the gate. "Good afternoon, sir," he called to his grandfather, saluting, soldier fashion. "Good afternoon, son. I stopped to tell you that those pumpkins are ready for you. If you'll hop in now we can go out and get them and I'll bring you back again." "Good enough!" exclaimed Roger. "I'll tell Mother I'm going. She may have some message for Grandmother," and he vaulted back over the gate and dashed up the steps. In a minute he was out again and climbing into the car. "Where are the girls this afternoon?" inquired Mr. Emerson, as he threw in the clutch and started toward the outskirts of Rosemont where he had land enough to allow him to do a little farming.