"A ball?" guessed Bobby.

"No. One more guess," said Father.

"I don't know anything else that flies," said Bobby, "except a b.u.t.terfly."

"How about a b.u.mblebee?" asked Father.

"Oh, Father, you couldn't catch a b.u.mblebee," said Bobby. "And if you did, it would sting you."

"How about a kite?" asked Father.

"That would be grand," said Bobby. "Did you get one in the city?"

"Look under the buggy seat," said Father.

Bobby climbed into the buggy and reached under the seat and began to pull something out.

"Why, it looks just like the tail to my kite," said he.

"Why, it _is_ my kite," he shouted, as he saw his name on the cross-piece. "Where did you get it?"

Father told him.

"I'll tie the string together and fly it again," said Bobby.

"You had better get some stronger cord," said Father. "I might not happen to find it if it flew away again."

Bobby rode to the village when John went to the blacksmith shop. He went to Mr. Brown's store and bought a ball of strong cord. Then he ran all the way home with it, because he did not want to wait for the blacksmith to finish shoeing the horse.

And it wasn't long before Bobby's kite had climbed high into the sky again.

People driving along the road saw it and said, "What a fine kite!"

Father saw it this time.

As he was going down the lane, he stopped a few moments to watch it.

Then he waved his hand to Bobby and started on.

"I am glad it flew across my path," he said.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE OLD BROWN HEN]

III

In the Spring, at Cloverfield Farm, all the family made gardens and sowed seeds.

Mother sowed pansy seed in a round bed in the side yard. When the little plants came up, she watered them and weeded them and kept the ground soft and fine, so they could grow.

All the time she was tending them, she kept thinking, "How nice it will be to have all these lovely pansies to look at this Summer!"

Father sowed some radish seed in the garden. When the little plants came up, he weeded them and hoed them and kept the ground soft and fine, so the little radish plants could grow.

All the time he was doing it, he was thinking, "How fine it will be to have lots of good radishes for the table!"

Bobby had a little corner all his own in Father's big garden. He sowed some onion seed in his garden. When the little plants came up, he weeded them and hoed them and kept the ground soft and fine, so they could grow.

All the time he was doing it, he was thinking, "How nice it will be to have all these onions, so I can give them to Mother for the cooking!"

One day, while the family were all away, the Old Brown Hen, who had stolen her nest, came along with her thirteen chickens.

She was hunting for a good place to scratch and find something for them to eat.

First, she tried to scratch in the gravel driveway, but that was too hard.

Next, she tried to scratch by the wood-pile, but the ground was covered with little chips, so she could not scratch there.

Then she found Mother's pansy bed. The ground in it was so soft that it was beautiful for scratching.

So she called, "Cluck, cluck, cluck!" and her thirteen chicks came running, and she scratched all over the pansy bed, to find bugs and worms for them to eat.

And all the little pansy plants were scratched up.

Next, she went over to the big garden and found Father's radish bed. The ground in it was so soft that it was a fine place for scratching.

So she called, "Cluck, cluck, cluck!" and her thirteen chicks came running, and she scratched all over the radish bed, to find something for them to eat.

And all the little radish plants were scratched up.

One would think that the Old Brown Hen would not have needed to scratch any more. But it takes a great deal to feed thirteen hungry, growing chicks.

So she kept hunting for other places to scratch; and it was not long before she found Bobby's onion bed.

Now Bobby had hoed in it and dug in it so much just the day before, that it was _very_ soft and just beau-ti-ful for scratching.

"What good luck!" thought the Old Brown Hen. "A finer place for scratching I never saw."

"Cluck, cluck, cluck!" she called; and her thirteen chicks came running, and she scratched all over the onion bed, to find something for them to eat.

And all the little onion plants were scratched up.

Then, because they had eaten all they wanted, she wallowed in the soft earth until she had made a nice, comfortable place to sit.

There she sat, in the middle of Bobby's onion bed, and the thirteen chicks went under her wings to have a mid-day nap.

The Old Brown Hen went to sleep, too.