Royal. Well, about my turtle, Miss Anne. Do you think that I can keep him in his pen?
Miss Anne. Yes, unless he digs out.
Royal. Dig?—Can turtles dig much?
Miss Anne. I presume they can work into mud, and sand, and soft ground.
Royal. Then I must get a great, flat stone, and put into the bottom of his pen. He can’t dig through that.
Miss Anne. I should rather make his pen larger, and then perhaps he won’t want to get out. You might find some cove in the brook, where the water is deep, for him, and then drive your stakes in the shallow water all around it. And then, if you choose, you could extend it up upon the shore, and so let him have a walk upon the land, within his bounds. Then, perhaps, sometimes, when you come down to see him, you may find him up upon the grass, sunning himself.
Royal. Yes, that I shall like very much. It will take a great many stakes; but I can cut them with my hatchet. I’ll call it my turtle pasture. Perhaps I shall find some more to put in.
Lucy. I don’t think it is yours, altogether, Royal.
Royal. Why, I found him.
Lucy. Yes, but I watched him for you, or else he would have got away. I think you ought to let me own a share.