class="i0cap">Biddy watched for a time and then softly said,
"I ought to be dusting my feathers and head;"
So off to the roadside she hastily went,
And there in the soft sand, a few moments spent.

What was it made Biddy's heart quiver and leap?
It wasn't the sound of a young chicken's peep—
But the splashing of water and flutt'ring of wings—
And leaving the road side she screamed, "Of all things!"

Her babies were all in the watering trough,
Regardless of sickness, disease, and of cough.
"Oh dear," cried poor Biddy, "What now shall I do?
My children will drown and before my eyes too!"

And mistress cried, "Biddy, now please don't you fear,
They simply love water, and oh! aren't they dear?
I'll keep them all safe, so Biddy go 'way!
And let your poor children have freedom to play."

Each day in the trough and the puddles they played
And off where the grass was the deepest they stayed
While Biddy would search for them, clucking for hours
Over the barnyard and in 'mong the flowers.

The little log barn was a refuge at night
Where often poor Biddy for courage would fight;
And there, with her feathers above her young brood,
She tried to instruct them in ways to be good.

Where apples were juicy and mellow, one day,
These ten naughty children were gathered to play,
When suddenly one of them, leading the band,
Said, "Come, let us travel," and there a trip planned.

So off they