“By and by there came along a flock of petrels, who are Mother Carey’s own chickens…. They flitted along like a flock of swallows, hopping and skipping from wave to wave, lifting their little feet behind them so daintily that Tom fell in love with them at once.”

Nancy stopped reading and laid down the copy of “Water Babies” on the sitting-room table. “No more just now, Peter-bird,” she said; “I hear mother coming.”

It was a cold, dreary day in late October, with an east wind and a chill of early winter in the air. The cab stood in front of Captain Carey’s house, with a trunk beside the driver and a general air of expectancy on the part of neighbors at the opposite windows.

Mrs. Carey came down the front stairway followed by Gilbert and

Kathleen; Gilbert with his mother’s small bag and travelling cloak,

Kathleen with her umbrella; while little Peter flew to the foot of the stairs with a small box of sandwiches pressed to his bosom.

Mrs. Carey did not wear her usual look of sweet serenity, but nothing could wholly mar the gracious dignity of her face and presence. As she came down the stairs with her quick, firm tread, her flock following her, she looked the ideal mother. Her fine height, her splendid carriage, her deep chest, her bright eye and fresh color all bespoke the happy, contented, active woman, though something in the way of transient anxiety lurked in the eyes and lips.

“The carriage is too early,” she said; “let us come into the sitting room for five minutes. I have said my good-byes and kissed you all a dozen times, but I shall never be done until I am out of your sight.”

“O mother, mother, how can we let you go!” wailed Kathleen.

“Kitty! how can you!” exclaimed Nancy. “What does it matter about us when mother has the long journey and father is so ill?”

“It will not

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MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS

Table of Contents

Chapter I. Mother Carey Herself

Chapter I.
Mother Carey Herself