LIVER TWIST was the name of a fine rooster or gamecock which belonged to Toots' grandpa, and many were the stories told of him. He became quite famous in the family, and out of it, and none of the children wanted him killed or sold even if he grew too old to walk. When grandpa bought Oliver he carried him home between his knees in the carriage, while he drove Frisk, the pony. Toots' mamma sat by his side with a huge basket in her lap containing a fine old mother hen with ten little chicks. They were all going into grandpa's coop at the farm, and then he would take care of them for Toots.

"I suppose I have been very foolish to pay such a price for this fellow," said grandpa, "but he is smart enough to peck pretty hard."

All the way to the farm the new rooster made himself as disagreeable as he could, now biting grandpa's hands, and now his knees, until the dear old man wished he had never seen him. At last he was safe in the hen-house, where he soon began to eat, and, as he never seemed satisfied, he was called Oliver Twist.

"There has been an old fox about here stealing chicks," said the hired man, "but this Oliver will tackle him, I reckon."

The hired man was right. Only a few days after grandpa heard a great noise among the poultry, and there was a large fox trying to get into the chicken-yard from the barn. Grandpa stole softly into the house and got his gun. When he went back Oliver was pecking at the head and eyes of the fox with all his might. Oliver was very angry but did not show any signs of fear, while the fox tried in vain to get nearer. At last the old fox made up his mind to spring over and eat chicken for his lunch, but just then, bang! went grandpa's gun, and the sly enemy tumbled over on the barn floor.

When Oliver heard the gun he thought he was shot too, for he fell down and closed his eyes. When grandpa petted and praised him, and held out a dish of corn, he seemed to think better of it, and began to strut about, while all the hens cackled in chorus and seemed very proud of their defender.

Poor Oliver met with an accident during the cold winter weather; his beautiful red comb was frozen and fell off. He seemed so ashamed of it that he could not or would not hold up his head, but a nice new comb has grown now and he is as proud and lordly as ever. Indeed, only yesterday he was seen driving a strange cat out of the yard.

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