“O no, Lucy; I don’t think you would water them more than one day, and I knew that they would keep fresh as long as that.”
Lucy was silent. She did not know exactly how to reply to Royal’s reasoning; but she thought it was very hard, that out of the whole thirteen chickens, Royal would not let her have any to call hers.
She told Royal that she only wanted two; if he would let her have two, she should be satisfied;—but Royal said that he wanted them all; that she had the garden, and he must have the hen and chickens.
Lucy might very probably have said something further on the subject; but at that moment she spied a little chicken, with black and yellow feathers, just creeping through between the bars of the coop. A moment more, and he was fairly out upon the grass outside.
“O Royal!” exclaimed Lucy, “one is out! one is out! I can catch him.”
“No,” said Royal, “let me catch him. You will hurt him.”
They both started up, and ran after the chicken; while he, frightened at their pursuit, and at his strange situation in the grass, ran off farther and farther, peeping with great earnestness and noise. Royal caught at him, but did not catch him. He darted off towards where Lucy was, and at that instant Lucy clapped her hand over him, and held him a prisoner.
The poor hen was much alarmed at the cries of the lost chicken; and she pushed her head through the bars of the cage, trying to get out, and apparently in great distress.
“Give him to me,” said Royal, “and I’ll put him back again.”
“No,” said Lucy, “I am going to carry him in, and show him to Joanna.”