She straightened herself up, her face
redder than ever, and looked at the windows with a pleased smile.
"Yes, there's not a hen house in New Hampshire with such big windows.
Whenever I look at them, I think of my mother's hens, and wish that they
could have had a place like this. They would have thought themselves in
a hen's paradise. When I was a girl we didn't know that hens loved light
and heat, and all winter they used to sit in a dark hencoop, and the
cold was so bad that their combs would freeze stiff, and the tops of
them would drop off. We never thought about it. If we'd had any sense,
we might have watched them on a fine day go and sit on the compost heap
and sun themselves, and then have concluded that if they liked light and
heat outside, they'd like it inside. Poor biddies, they were so cold
that they wouldn't lay us any eggs in winter."
"You take a great interest in your poultry, don't you auntie?" said Miss
Laura.
"Yes, indeed, and well I may. I'll show you my brown Leghorn, Jenny,
that lay eggs enough in a year to pay for the newspapers I take to keep
myself posted in poultry matters. I buy all my own clothes with my hen
money, and lately I've started a bank account, for I want to save up
enough to start a few stands of bees.
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