Feat Achieved By A Hen

You kin talk about yer new -fangled inkybators jest ez much ez ye like," said Uncle Cephas, "but they ain't In it wlth one thet a leetle ol'-fashionecl hen o' my father's set up fer hersell when I wuz a small boy," quotès the Boston Herald. "You see, this warn't no fashionable bred hen- nuthin' fancy 'bout her- jest a plain, ord'nary, business hen. Father had a pooty big flock on 'em, and I, tein' the youngest boy lu the family, uster chase roun' an' gether up the eggs- some in the barn, some in the woodshed, some out under the fence - in all sorts o' places. They wuz all pooty smart hens, an' cal'lated they could hide thelr egga, but I spotted 'em every time- thet is, all but the eggs laid by thet little ol' hen I'm tellin' ye on. She'd cackle an' cackle encugh ter raise the dead, a'most, an' make a terrible fuss all over the lot, sometimes in one spot an' sometlmes In another, but all one spring she beat me, an' I couldn't no how find her eggs. I'd watch her fer houra an' hcurs, an' then she'd be out o' my sight afore I knowed it, an' poty soon I'd hear her a-cacklin' away somewheres ez ef she wuz laffln' 'cause she'd fooled me. I notlced after awhile that she s.pent a good deal of her time a-roostin' on an ol' bar'l that laid on lts side back o' the barn, but I knowed she couldn't lay no eggs on the roundin' stavps, 'cause they'd roll off an' I'd find 'em. But one day after she'd left It, an' wuz a-hollerln' out in the lot I went over an' wuz a-lookln' at the bar'l, when I heerd a sort o' peepln' thet seemed ter come from the inslde. Í couldn't see nothla' thronh tho bunghole on top, an' eo I roüed the bar'l over, an' jest ez sure ez I'm astandin' here they wuz 168 ehiokens run one by one out o' thet bunghole! S prised! Wall, I jez' guess I wuz. But I seed how it wuz in a minute. Thet yer little ol' hen hed jes' laid thet bar'l full of eggs, an' set on the bunffhole teil they wuz all hatched. Talk about yer inkybators! They ain't In It with thet little ol' hen. No, sir, b'gosh!" "Got any of the same breed on your farm now, Uncle Cephas?" asked the poultry faneier. "Not a one, more's the pity. Thet h?n killed herself a-tryin' ia brood over all them chickens at oncet." "Didn't you raise any of her chlckene?" "All on 'em but two." "Wouldn't they lay?" "They wuz all roosters."