Peggy hesitated. It was one of the great decisions of her life. On her answer depended the success or failure of her intercourse with her grandmother. If she said, “I like them well enough,” they would remain just seven Rhode Island hens and a cock, so far as her grandmother was concerned. She looked up at her grandmother, inquiringly. Her grandmother smiled down at her pleasantly.
“I just love them!” said Peggy.
“What a handsome cock!” said her grandmother.
This compliment to her favorite pleased Peggy. “Isn’t he a beauty?” she said.
“He certainly is,” said her grandmother warmly.
“His name is Mr. Henry Cox,” said Peggy, in a burst of confidence.
“What a nice name,” said her grandmother.
And so it was that the elder Mrs. Owen became interested in feeding the hens and chickens and helping hunt for eggs, and when she went home, at the end of the visit, they were all glad to think that she was to spend the summer with them.
“I am glad she is coming back,” said Peggy to Alice. “Do you know, Alice, I think when she comes back, we’ll teach her the geography game.”
“I don’t think she’s got a very nice name,” said Alice. “I’m glad they didn’t call me Rebecca, for her. And she can only live in one State.”