The Greeneville Daily Sun

In Chicago on Madison street, No. 235, there are baby chickens in the window, fluffy, yellow things, six hundred of them, newly born, very happy, with fresh water and crushed wheat and a perfectly good "Mother" made out of tin, felt and an oil lamp. If into that show case there suddenly dropped a weasel and six young weasels to begin tearing at the throats of the little chickens you would have a good imitation of Europe in war. You would pity the little creatures, badly frightened, driven hither and thither. What would you say if told that one-half of the chickens-Germans-had invited the weasels in, and proudly said to them: "They are our royal family, and we are only fighting because the chickens over in that corner attacked them."