"She was a pretty creature, with a speckled coat and a comb the color of
red coral: very small, but lively and vigorous, and exhibiting in all
her movements both grace and stateliness. She would nestle in my lap,
take a ride on my shoulder, and walk the length of my arm to peck at a
bit of cake in my hand, regarding me all the while with a queer
sidelong glance, and croaking out her satisfaction and content. When she
was ready to go she walked to the kitchen door, and asked in a very
shrill voice to be let out. She continued these visits till late in the
fall, when she was shut up with the rest of our neighbor's flock for the
winter.
"One bitter cold day in January we heard a faint cackle outside, and,
opening the kitchen door, found our poor widow in a sorry plight. One
foot was frozen, her feathers were all rough and dirty, her wings
drooping, her bright comb changed to a dull red. How she escaped from
the hen-house, surmounted the high fence, and hobbled or flew to our
door, we did not know; but there she was, half-dead with hunger and
cold.
"We did what we could for her. I bathed and bandaged the swollen foot,
and made a warm bed for her in a box in the shed, from which she did not
offer to stir for many days.
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