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h a socket attached。 “Fasten this through
the hole in the Plexiglas。 I'll find some
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thermometers。”
“Some？ We need more than one？”
“We have to make you a hygrometer。”
“A hygrometer？” “To check the humidity inside the incubator。 It's just a thermometer with wet
gauze around the bulb。”
I smiled。 “No mushy chick disease？”
He smiled back。 “Precisely。”
By the next afternoon I had not one； but six chicken eggs incubating at a cozy 102 degrees
Fahrenheit。 “They don't all make it； Juli；” Mrs。 Brubeck
told me。 “Hope for one。 The record's three。 The grade's in the documentation。 Be a scientist。
Good luck。” And with that； she was off。
Documentation？ Of what？ I had to turn the eggs three times a day and regulate the
temperature and humidity； but aside from that what was there
to do？
That night my father came out to the garage with a cardboard tube and a flashlight。 He taped
the two together so that the light beam was forced
straight out the tube。 “Let me show you how to candle an egg；” he said； then switched off the
garage light。
I'd seen a section on candling eggs in Mrs。 Brubeck's book； but I hadn't really read it yet。
“Why do they call it that？” I asked him。 “And why do you
do it？”
“People used candles to do this before they had incandescent lighting。” He held an egg up to
the cardboard tube。 “The light lets you see through
the shell so you can watch the embryo develop。 Then you can cull the weak ones； if
necessary。”
“Kill them？”
“Cull them。 Remove the ones that don't develop properly。”
“But … wouldn't that also kill them？”
He looked at me。 “Leaving an
