CHRISTMAS IN AMERICA. 9

young man, quoting provincial poetry. ‘“ You will have zm on
the table to-morrow, won't you, parson?”
“Ves; but, but —”
The old man held out a piece of bread. The pullet walked
up to it like a child, and swallowed it so

fast that it choked desperately.

 

 

 

  

“ But what,
i pansone 2

The pullet wiped her bill on grand-
father’s dressing-gown, which seemed to please him ercatly,

“ But I would kind o’ hate to cut her head off.”

“Ts that so, parson? Well, I’ll save you the trouble. You
just let me take your hatchet, and Ill —”

“No, no,” said grandfather, with a distressed look, “Ill
attend to the matter. I’Il attend to the matter. I always was
kind 0’ chicken-hearted, myself.”