In the morning few remained , and Blot felt that she was a forlorn orphan , a thought which caused her to sit with her head under her wing for several hours , brooding over her sad lot , and longing to join her family in some safe and happy land , where fowls live in peace . She had her wish very soon , for one day , when the first snowflakes began to flutter out of the cold gray sky , Blot saw a little kitten mewing pitifully as it sat under the fence . ` What is the matter , dear ? ' asked kind Blot . ` I 'm lost , and I ca n't find my way home , ' answered the kitten , shivering with cold . ' I live at the red farm-house over the hill , only I do n't know which road to take . ' ` I 'll show you . Come at once , for night is coming on , and the snow will soon be too deep for us , ' said Blot . So away they went , as fast as their small legs could carry them ; but it was a long way , and dusk came on before the red farm-house appeared . ` Now I 'm safe ; thank you very much . Wo n't you come in , and stay all night ? My mother will be glad to see you , ' said the kit rubbing her soft white face against Blot 's little black breast . ` It 's against the rule to stay out all night , and I promised to be in early ; so , good-by , dear . ' And off trotted Blot along the snowy road , hoping to get home before the hen-house door was shut . Faster and faster fell the snow darker and darker grew the night , and colder and colder became poor Blot 's little feet as she waded through the drifts . The firelight was shining out into the gloom , as the half-frozen chicken came into the yard , to find all doors shut , and no shelter left for her but the bough of a leafless tree . Too stiff and weak to fly up , she crept as close as possible to the bright glow which shone across the door-step , and with a shiver put her little head under her wing , trying to forget hunger , weariness , and the bitter cold , and wait patiently for morning . But when morning came , little Blot lay frozen stiff under a coverlet of snow : and the tender-hearted children sighed as they dug a grave for the last of the unfortunate family of the Clucks . A CURIOUS CALL . I have often wondered what the various statues standing about the city think of all day , and what criticisms they would make upon us and our doings , if they could speak .
I frequently stop and stare at them , wondering if they do n't feel lonely ; if they would n't be glad of a nod as we go by ; and I always long to offer my umbrella to shield their uncovered heads on a rainy XXXXX , especially to good Ben Franklin , when the snow lies white on his benevolent forehead .
Blot day door-step farm-house first hen-house hours left morning night