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The barnyard world was settling for the night with much cackling, grunting, lowing and stamping. Under a near-by shed a flock of fowls was clucking and fussing as they sought the highest perches.

“Look at those chickens, now. Aren’t they just like humans?” demanded our visitor. “I sit out here and watch them by the hour.”

“Caw, caw-rr,” croaked a haughty grenadier of a hen, taking a sharp peck at a handsome young pullet who had endeavoured to perch on the topmost roost.

“Hear what she says? I’ll tell you,” the little woman interpreted eagerly.

“‘Get right away from here, you impudent, upstart dominick. Go back with the lower clawsses where you belong and don’t try to crowd in here with your betters.’

“Do you know, we got a woman living on the other side of town who’s the perfect spit and image of that old hen. There, hear her talking?

“‘These nobodies try to push in everywhere.’

“Now the old rooster is a cuttering.... ‘She seems rather a nice little thing, but of course, as you say, she’ll never be able to attain to any position in life, but really for one of her social standing, she’s quite chick.’