Chapter II: Part 2

Before Lucy got the paste, Royal came back with his shingle, and he came into Miss Anne’s room, to see what had become of Lucy; and Miss Anne then said he might paste it there if he pleased. So she spread a great newspaper upon the table, and put the little bottle and the Indian upon it; and Royal and Lucy brought two chairs, and sat down to the work. They found that the table was rather too high for them; and so they took the things off again, and spread the paper upon the carpet, and sat down around it. Lucy could see now a great deal better than before.

“Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “I very much wish that you would give me your gum arabic bottle, and then I could make little books, and paste pictures in them, whenever I pleased.”

“Yes,” said Miss Anne, “and that would make me ever so much trouble.”

“No, Miss Anne, I don’t think it would make you much trouble.”

“Why, when I wanted a little gum arabic, to paste something, how would I get any?”

“O, then I would lend you mine,” said Lucy.

“Yes, if you could find it.”

“O, Miss Anne, I could find it very easily; I am going to keep it in my treasury.”

“Perhaps you might put it in once or twice, but after that you would leave it about anywhere. One day I should find it upon a chair, and the next day upon a table, and the next on the floor;--that is the way you leave your things about the house.”

“I used to, when I was a little girl,” said Lucy, “but I don’t now.”

“How long is it since you were a little girl?” asked Miss Anne.

“O, it was before you came here. I am older now than I was when you came here; I have had a birthday since then.”

“Don’t you grow old any, except when you have a birthday?” asked Miss Anne.

Lucy did not answer this question at first, as she did not know exactly how it was; and while she was thinking of it, Miss Anne said,

“It can’t be very long, Lucy, since you learned to put things in their places, for it is not more than ten minutes since I heard you throw down an umbrella upon the entry floor, and leave it there.”

“The umbrella?--O, that was because I heard Royal calling for his cap; and so I could not wait, you know; I had to leave it there.”

“But you have passed by it once since, and I presume you did not think of such a thing as taking it up.”

Lucy had no reply to make to this statement, and she remained silent.

“I have got a great many little things,” continued Miss Anne, “which I don’t want myself, and which I should be very glad to give away to some little girl, for playthings, if I only knew of some one who would take care of them. I don’t want to have them scattered about the house, and lost, and destroyed.”

“O, I will take care of them, Miss Anne,” said Lucy, very eagerly, “if you will only give them to me. I certainly will. I will put them in my treasury, and keep them very safe.”

“If I were a little girl, no bigger than you,” said Miss Anne, “I should have a great cabinet of playthings and curiosities, twice as big as your treasury.”

“How should you get them?” asked Lucy.

“O, I know of a way;--but it is a secret.”

“Tell me, do, Miss Anne,” said Lucy.--“You would buy them, I suppose, with your money.”

“No,” said Miss Anne, “that is not the way I meant.”

“What way did you mean, then?” said Lucy. “I wish you would tell me.”

“Why, I should take such excellent care of everything I had, that my mother would give me a great many of her little curiosities, and other things, to keep.”

“Would she, do you think?”

“Yes,” said Miss Anne, “I do not doubt it. Every lady has a great many beautiful things, put away, which she does not want to use herself, but she only wants to have them kept safely. Now, I should take such good care of all such things, that my mother would be very glad to have me keep them.”

“Did you do so, when you were a little girl?” said Lucy.

“No,” said Miss Anne; “I was just as careless and foolish as you are. When I was playing with anything, and was suddenly called away, I would throw it right down, wherever I happened to be, and leave it there. Once I had a little glass dog, and I left it on the floor, where I had been playing with it, and somebody came along, and stepped upon it, and broke it to pieces.”

“And would not your mother give you things then?” asked Lucy.

“No, nothing which was of much value.--And once my uncle sent me a beautiful little doll; but my mother would not let me keep it. She kept it herself, locked up in a drawer, only sometimes she would let me have it to play with.”

“Why would not she let you keep it?” said Lucy.

“O, if she had, I should soon have made it look like old Margaret.”

Here Royal said he had got his Indian pasted; and he put away the gum arabic bottle, and the sheet of paper, and then he and Lucy went away.

CONVERSATION VI.

MIDNIGHT.

One night, while Miss Anne was undressing Lucy, to put her to bed, she thought that her voice had a peculiar sound, somewhat different from usual. It was not hoarseness, exactly, and yet it was such a sort of sound as made Miss Anne think that Lucy had taken cold. She asked her if she had not taken cold, but Lucy said no.

Lucy slept in Miss Anne’s room, in a little trundle-bed. Late in the evening, just before Miss Anne herself went to bed, she looked at Lucy, to see if she was sleeping quietly; and she found that she was.

But in the night Miss Anne was awaked by hearing Lucy coughing with a peculiar hoarse and hollow sound, and breathing very hard. She got up, and went to her trundle-bed.

“Lucy,” said she, “what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” said Lucy, “only I can’t breathe very well.”

Here Lucy began to cough again; and the cough sounded so hoarse and hollow, that Miss Anne began to be quite afraid that Lucy was really sick. She put on a loose robe, and carried her lamp out into the kitchen, and lighted it,--and then came back into her room again. She found that Lucy was no better, and so she went to call her mother.

She went with the lamp, and knocked at her door; and when she answered, Miss Anne told her that Lucy did not seem to be very well,--that she had a hoarse cough, and that she breathed hard.

“O, I’m afraid it is the croup,” she exclaimed; “let us get up immediately.”

“We will get right up, and come and see her,” said Lucy’s father.

So Miss Anne put the lamp down at their door, and went out into the kitchen to light another lamp for herself. She also opened the coals, and put a little wood upon the fire, and hung the tea-kettle upon the crane, and filled it up with water; for Miss Anne had observed that, in cases of sudden sickness, hot water was one of the things most sure to be wanted.

After a short time, Lucy’s father and mother came in. After they had been with her a few minutes, her mother said,

“Don’t you think it is the croup?”

“No, I hope not,” said her father; “I presume it is only quinsy; but I am not sure, and perhaps I had better go for a doctor.”

After some further consultation, they concluded that it was best to call a physician. Lucy’s mother recommended that they should call up the hired man, and send him; but her father thought that it would take some time for him to get up and get ready, and that he had better go himself.

When he had gone, they brought in some hot water, and bathed Lucy’s feet. She liked this very much; but her breathing seemed to grow rather worse than better.

“What is the _croup_?” said Lucy to her mother, while her feet were in the water.

“It is a kind of sickness that children have sometimes suddenly in the night; but I _hope_ you are not going to have it.”

“No, mother,” said Lucy; “I think it is only the quinsy.”

Lucy did not know at all what the quinsy was; but her sickness did not seem to her to be any thing very bad; and so she agreed with her father that it was probably only the quinsy.

When the doctor came, he felt of Lucy’s pulse, and looked at her tongue, and listened to her breathing.

“Will she take _ipecacuanha_?” said the doctor to Lucy’s mother.

“She will take anything you prescribe, doctor,” said her father, in reply.

“Well, that’s clever,” said the doctor. “The old rule is, that the child that will take medicine is half cured already.”

So the doctor sat down at the table, and opened his saddle-bags, and took out a bottle filled with a yellowish powder, and began to take some out.

“Is it good medicine?” said Lucy, in a low voice, to her mother. She was now sitting in her mother’s lap, who was rocking her in a rocking-chair.

“Yes,” said the doctor; for he overheard Lucy’s question, and thought that he would answer it himself. “Yes, ipecacuanha is a very good medicine,--an excellent medicine.”

As he said this, he looked around, rather slyly, at Miss Anne and Lucy’s father.

“Then I shall like to take it,” said Lucy.

“He means,” said her mother, “that it is a good medicine to cure the sickness with; the _taste_ of it is not good. It is a very disagreeable medicine to take.”

Lucy said nothing in reply to this, but she thought to herself, that she wished the doctors could find out some medicines that did not taste so bad.

Miss Anne received the medicine from the doctor, and prepared it in a spoon, with some water, for Lucy to take. Just before it was ready, the door opened, and Royal came in.

“Why, Royal,” said his mother, “how came you to get up?”

“I heard a noise, and I thought it was morning,” said Royal.

“Morning? no,” replied his mother; “it is midnight.”

“Midnight?” said Lucy. She was quite astonished. She did not recollect that she had ever been up at midnight before, in her life.

“Is Lucy sick?” said Royal.

“No, not very sick,” said Lucy.

Royal came and stood by the rocking-chair, and looked into Lucy’s face.

“I am sorry that you are sick,” said he. “Is there anything that I can do for you?”

Lucy hesitated a moment, and then her eye suddenly brightened up, and she said,

“Yes, Royal,--if you would only just be so good as to take my medicine for me.”

Royal laughed, and said, “O Lucy! I guess you are not very sick.”

In fact, Lucy was breathing pretty freely then, and there was nothing to indicate, particularly, that she was sick; unless when a paroxysm of coughing came on. Miss Anne brought her medicine to her in a great spoon, and Royal said that he presumed that the doctor would not let him take the medicine, but that, if she would take it, he would make all the faces for her.

Accordingly, while she was swallowing the medicine, she turned her eyes up towards Royal, who had stood back a little way, and she began to laugh a little at the strange grimaces which he was making. The laugh was, however, interrupted and spoiled by a universal shudder which came over her, produced by the taste of the ipecacuanha.

Immediately afterwards, Lucy’s mother said,

“Come, Royal; now I want you to go right back to bed again.”

“Well, mother,--only won’t you just let me stop a minute, to look out the door, and see how midnight looks?”

“Yes,” said she, “only run along.”

So Royal went away; and pretty soon the doctor went away too. He said that Lucy would be pretty sick for about an hour, and that after that he hoped that she would be better; and he left a small white powder in a little paper, which he said she might take after that time, and it would make her sleep well the rest of the night.

It was as the doctor had predicted. Lucy was quite sick for an hour, and her father and mother, and Miss Anne, all remained, and took care of her. After that, she began to be better. She breathed much more easily, and when she coughed she did not seem to be so very hoarse. Her mother was then going to carry her into her room; but Miss Anne begged them to let her stay where she was; for she said she wanted to take care of her herself.

“The doctor said he thought she would sleep quietly,” said Miss Anne; “and if she should not be so well, I will come and call you.”

“Very well,” said her mother, “we will do so. But first you may give her the powder.”

So Miss Anne took the white powder, and put it into some jelly, in a spoon; and when she had covered the powder up carefully with the jelly, she brought it to Lucy.

“_Now_ I’ve got some good medicine for you,” said Miss Anne.

“I am glad it is good,” said Lucy.

“That is,” continued Miss Anne, “the jelly is good, and you will not taste the powder.”

Lucy took the jelly, and, after it, a little water; and then her mother put her into her trundle-bed. Her father and mother then bade her good night, and went away to their own room.

Miss Anne then set the chairs back in their places, and carried out all the things which had been used; and after she had got the room arranged and in order, she came to Lucy’s bedside to see if she was asleep. She was not asleep.

“Lucy,” said Miss Anne, “how do you feel now?”

“O, pretty well,” said Lucy; “at least, I am better.”

“Do you feel sleepy?”

“No,” said Lucy.

“Is there any thing you want?” asked Miss Anne.

“Why, no,--only,--I should like it,--only I don’t suppose you could very well,--but I should like it if you could hold me a little while,--and rock me.”

“O yes, I can,” said Miss Anne, “just as well as not.”

So Miss Anne took Lucy up from her bed, and wrapped a blanket about her, and sat down in her rocking-chair, to rock her. She rocked her a few minutes, and sang to her, until she thought she was asleep. Then she stopped singing, and she rocked slower and slower, until she gradually ceased.

A moment afterwards, Lucy said, in a mild and gentle voice,

“Miss Anne, is it midnight now?”

“It is about midnight,” said Miss Anne.

“Do you think you could just carry me to the window, and let me look out, and see how the midnight looks?--or am I too heavy?”

“No, you are not very heavy; but, then, there is nothing to see. Midnight looks just like any other part of the night.”

“Royal wanted to see it,” said Lucy, “and I should like to, too, if you would be willing to carry me.”

When a child is so patient and gentle, it is very difficult indeed to refuse them any request that they make; and Miss Anne immediately began to draw up the blanket over Lucy’s feet, preparing to go. She did not wish to have her put her feet to the floor, for fear that she might take more cold. So she carried her along to the window, although she was pretty heavy for Miss Anne to carry. Miss Anne was not very strong.

Lucy separated the two curtains with her hands, and Miss Anne carried her in between them. There was a narrow window-seat, and she rested Lucy partly upon it, so that she was less heavy to hold.

“Why, Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “isn’t it any darker than this?”

“No,” said Miss Anne; “there is a moon to-night.”

“Where?” said Lucy. “I don’t see the moon.”

“We can’t see it here; we can only see the light of it, shining on the buildings.”

“It is pretty dark in the yard,” said Lucy.

“Yes,” said Miss Anne, “the yard is in shadow.”

“What do you mean by that, Miss Anne?” asked Lucy.

“Why, the moon does not shine into the yard; the house casts a shadow all over it.”

“Then I should think,” said Lucy, “that you ought to say that the shadow is in the yard,--not the yard is in the shadow.”

Miss Anne laughed, and said,

“I did not say that the yard was in _the_ shadow, but in _shadow_.”

“And is not that just the same thing?” said Lucy.

“Not exactly; but look at the stars over there, beyond the field.”

“Yes,” said Lucy, “there’s one pretty bright one; but there are not a great many out. I thought there would be more at midnight.”

“No,” said Miss Anne, “there are no more stars at midnight than at any other time; and to-night there are fewer than usual, because the moon shines.”

“I don’t see why there should not be just as many stars, if the moon does shine.”

“There _are_ just as many; only we can’t see them so well.”

“Why can’t we see them?” said Lucy.

But Miss Anne told Lucy that she was rather tired of holding her at the window, and so she would carry her back, and tell her about it while she was rocking her to sleep.

“You see,” said Miss Anne, after she had sat down again, “that there are just as many stars in the sky in the daytime, as there are in the night.”

“O Miss Anne!” exclaimed Lucy, raising up her head suddenly, as if surprised; “I have looked up in the sky a great many times, and I never saw any.”

“No, we cannot see them, because the sun shines so bright.”

“Did you ever see any, Miss Anne?”

“No,” said she.

“Did any body ever see any?”

“No,” said Miss Anne, “I don’t know that any body ever did.”

“Then,” said Lucy, “how do they know that there are any?”

“Well--that is rather a hard question,” said Miss Anne. “But they do know; they have found out in some way or other, though I don’t know exactly how.”

“I don’t see how they can _know_ that there are any stars there,” said Lucy, “unless somebody has seen them. I guess they only _think_ there are some, Miss Anne,--they only _think_.”

“I believe I don’t know enough about it myself,” said Miss Anne, “to explain it to you,--and besides, you ought to go to sleep now. So shut up your eyes, and I will sing to you, and then, perhaps, you will go to sleep.”

Lucy obeyed, and shut up her eyes; and Miss Anne began to sing her a song. After a little while, Lucy opened her eyes, and said,

“I rather think, Miss Anne, I should like to get into my trundle-bed now. I am rather tired of sitting in your lap.”

“Very well,” said Miss Anne; “I think it will be better. But would not you rather have me bring the cradle in? and then you can lie down, and I can rock you all the time.”

“No,” said Lucy; “the cradle has got so short, that I can’t put my feet out straight. I had rather get into my trundle-bed.”

So Miss Anne put Lucy into the trundle-bed, and she herself took a book, and sat at her table, reading. In a short time, Lucy went to sleep; and she slept soundly until morning.

CONVERSATION VII.

JOANNA.

The next morning, when Lucy waked up, she found that it was very light. The curtains of the room were up, and she could see the sun shining brightly upon the trees and buildings out of doors, so that she supposed that it was pretty late. Besides, she saw that Miss Anne was not in the room; and she supposed that she had got up and gone out to breakfast.

Lucy thought that she would get up too. But then she recollected that she had been sick the night before, and that, perhaps, her mother would not be willing to have her get up.

Her next idea was, that she would call out for Miss Anne, or for her mother; but this, on reflection, she thought would make a great disturbance; for it was some distance from the room which she was in to the parlor, where she supposed they were taking breakfast.

She concluded, on the whole, to wait patiently until somebody should come; and having nothing else to do, she began to sing a little song, which Miss Anne had taught her. She knew only one verse, but she sang this verse two or three times over, louder and louder each time, and her voice resounded merrily through all that part of the house.

Some children _cry_ when they wake up and find themselves alone; some call out aloud for somebody to come; and others sing. Thus there are three ways; and the singing is the best of all the three;--except, indeed, for very little children, who are not old enough to sing or to call, and who, therefore, cannot do anything but cry.

They heard Lucy’s singing in the parlor, and Miss Anne came immediately to see her. She gave her a picture-book to amuse herself with for a time, and went away again; but in about a quarter of an hour she came back, and helped her to get up and dress herself.

Her mother told her that she must not go out of doors that day, but that she might play about in any of the rooms, just as she pleased.

“But what shall I do for my breakfast?” said Lucy.

“O, I will give you some breakfast,” said Miss Anne. “How should you like to have it by yourself, upon your little table, in the kitchen?”

“Well,” said Lucy, “if you will let me have my own cups and saucers.”

“Your cups won’t hold enough for you to drink,--will they?”

“O, I can fill them up two or three times.”

Miss Anne said she had no objection to this plan; and she told Lucy to go and get her table ready. So Lucy went and got her little table. It was just high enough for her to sit at. Her father had made it for her, by taking a small table in the house, which had been intended for a sort of a light-stand, and sawing off the legs, so as to make it just high enough for her.

Lucy brought this little table, and also her chair; and then Miss Anne handed her a napkin for a table-cloth, and told her that she might set her table,--and that, when it was all set, she would bring her something for breakfast; and so she left Lucy, for a time, to herself.

Lucy spread the napkin upon her table, and then went and got some of her cups and saucers, and put upon it. Joanna was ironing at the great kitchen table, and Lucy went to ask her how many cups and saucers she had better set.

“I should think it would take the whole set,” said Joanna, “to hold one good cup of tea.”

“But I am going to fill up my cup three times, Joanna; and if that isn’t enough, I shall fill it up four times.”

“O, then,” said Joanna, “I would not have but one cup,--or at most two. I think I would have two, because you may possibly have some company.”

“I wish you would come and be my company, Joanna.”

“No, I must attend to my ironing.”

“Well,” said Lucy, as she went back to her table, “I will have two cups, at any rate, for I may have some company.”

She accordingly put on two cups and a tea-pot; also a sugar-bowl and creamer. She placed them in various ways upon the table; first trying one plan of arrangement, and then another; and when at last they were placed in the best way, she went and called Miss Anne, to tell her that she was ready for her breakfast.

Miss Anne came out, according to her promise, to give her what she was to have to eat. First, she put a little sugar in her sugar-bowl; then some milk in her cream-pitcher; then some water, pretty hot, in her tea-pot.

“Could not you let me have a little real tea?” said Lucy.

“O, this will taste just as well,” said Miss Anne.

“I know it will taste just as well; but it will not _look_ just right. Real tea is not white, like water.”

“Water is not white,” said Miss Anne; “milk is white; water is very different in appearance from milk.”

“What color is water, then?” said Lucy.

“It is not of any color,” said Miss Anne. “It is what we call colorless. Now, you want to have something in your tea-pot which is colored a little, like tea,--not perfectly colorless, like water.”

Lucy said yes, that that was exactly what she wanted. So Miss Anne took her tea-pot up, and went into the closet with it, and presently came out with it again, and put it upon the table. The reason why she took all this pains to please Lucy was, because she was so gentle and pleasant; and, although she often asked for things, she was not vexed or ill-humored when they could not be given to her.

Miss Anne then cut some thin slices of bread, and divided them into square pieces, so small that they could go on a small plate, which she brought from the closet. She also gave her a toasting-fork with a long handle, and told her that she might toast her own bread, and then spread it with butter. She gave her a little butter upon another plate.

When all these things were arranged, Miss Anne went away, telling Lucy that she had better make her breakfast last as long as she could, for she must remember that she could not go out at all that day; and that she must therefore economize her amusements.

“Economize? What do you mean by that, Miss Anne?” said Lucy.

“Why, use them carefully, and make them last as long as you can.”

Lucy followed Miss Anne’s advice in making the amusement of sitting at her own breakfast table last as long as possible. She toasted her little slices of bread with the toasting-fork, and poured out the tea from her tea-pot. She found that it had a slight tinge of the color of tea, which Miss Anne had given it by sweetening it a little, with brown sugar. Lucy enjoyed her breakfast very much.

While she was eating it, Joanna, who was much pleased with her for being so still, and so careful not to make her any trouble, asked her if she should not like a roasted apple.

“Yes,” said Lucy, “very much indeed.”

“I will give you one,” said Joanna, “and show you how to roast it, if you will go and ask your mother, if she thinks it will not hurt you.”

Lucy accordingly went and asked her mother. She said it would not hurt her at all, and that she should be very glad to have Joanna get her an apple.

Joanna accordingly brought a large, rosy apple, with a stout stem. She tied a long string to the stem, and then held the apple up before the fire a minute, by means of the stem. Then she got a flat-iron, and tied the other end of the string to the flat-iron. The flat-iron she then placed upon the mantle shelf, and the string was just long enough to let the apple hang down exactly before the fire.

When it was all arranged in this way, she took up the apple, and twisted the string for some time; and then, when she let the apple down again gently to its place, the weight of it began to untwist the string, and this made the apple itself turn round quite swiftly before the fire.

Joanna also put a plate under the apple, to catch any of the juice or pulp which might fall down, and then left Lucy to watch it while it was roasting.

Lucy watched its revolutions for some time in silence. She observed that the apple would whirl very swiftly for a time, and then it would go slower, and slower, and slower, until, at length, she said,

“Joanna, Joanna, it is going to stop.”

But, instead of this, it happened that, just at the very instant when Lucy thought it was going to stop, all at once it began to turn the other way; and, instead of going slower and slower, it went faster and faster, until, at length, it was revolving as fast as it did before.

“O no,” said she to Joanna; “it has got a going again.”

It was indeed revolving very swiftly; but pretty soon it began to slacken its speed again;--and again Lucy thought that it was certainly going to stop. But at this time she witnessed the same phenomenon as before. It had nearly lost all its motion, and was turning around very slowly indeed, and just upon the point of stopping; and in fact it did seem to stop for an instant; but immediately it began to move in an opposite direction, very slowly at first, but afterwards faster and faster, until it was, at length, spinning around before the hot coals, as fast as ever before. Pretty soon, also, the apple began to sing; and Lucy concluded that it would never stop,--at least not before it would have time to be well roasted.

“It goes like Royal’s top,” said Lucy.

“Has Royal got a top?” said Joanna.

“Yes,” said Lucy, “a large humming-top. There is a hole in it. It spins very fast, only it does not go first one way and then the other, like this apple.”

“_I_ never saw a top,” said Joanna.

“Never saw one!” exclaimed Lucy. “Did not the boys have tops when you were little?”

“No boys that I ever knew,” answered Joanna.

“Did you have a tea-set when you were a little girl?” asked Lucy.

“No,” said Joanna, “I never saw any such a tea-set, until I saw yours.”

“What kind of playthings did you have, then, when you were a little girl?”

“No playthings at all,” said Joanna; “I was a farmer’s daughter.”

“And don’t the farmers’ daughters ever have any playthings?”

“_I_ never did, at any rate.”

“What did you do, then, for play?”

“O, I had plenty of play. When I was about as big as you, I used to build fires in the stumps.”

“What stumps?” said Lucy.

“Why, the stumps in the field, pretty near my father’s house. I used to pick up chips and sticks, and build fires in the hollow places in the stumps, and call them my ovens. Then, when they were all heated, I used to put a potato in, and cover it up with sand, and let it roast.”

“I wish I had some stumps to build fires in,” said Lucy. “I should like to go to your house and see them.”

“O, they are all gone now,” said Joanna. “They have gradually got burnt up, and rotted out; and now it is all a smooth, green field.”

“O, what a pity!” said Lucy. “And an’t there any more stumps anywhere?”

“Yes, in the woods, and upon the new fields. You see, when they cut down trees, they leave the stumps in the ground; and pretty soon they begin to rot; and they rot more and more, until, at last, they tumble all to pieces; and then they pile up the pieces in heaps, and burn them. Then the ground is all smooth and clear. So I used to build fires in the stumps as long as they lasted. One day my hen laid her eggs in a stump.”

“Your hen?” said Lucy; “did you have a hen?”

“Yes,” replied Joanna; “when I was a little older than you are, my father gave me a little yellow chicken, that was _peeping_, with the rest, about the yard. I used to feed her, every day, with crumbs. After a time, she grew up to be a large hen, and laid eggs. My father said that I might have all the eggs too. I used to sell them, and save the money.”

“How much money did you get?” asked Lucy.

“O, considerable. After a time, you see, I let my hen sit, and hatch some chickens.”

“Sit?” said Lucy.

“Yes; you see, after hens have laid a good many eggs, they sit upon them, to keep them warm, for two or three weeks; and, while they keep them warm, a little chicken begins to grow in every egg, and at length, after they grow strong enough, they break through the eggs and come out. So I got eleven chickens from my hen, after a time.”

“Eleven?” repeated Lucy; “were there just eleven?”

“There were twelve, but one died,” replied Joanna. “And all these chickens were hatched in a stump.”

“How did that happen?” asked Lucy.

“Why, the hens generally used to lay their eggs in the barn, and I used to go in, every day, to get the eggs. I carried a little basket, and I used to climb about upon the hay, and feel in the cribs; and I generally knew where all the nests were. But once I could not find my hen’s nest for several days; and at last I thought I would watch her, and see where she went. I did watch her, and I saw her go into a hollow place in a great black stump, in the corner of the yard. After she came out, I went and looked there, and I found four eggs.”

“What did you do then?” said Lucy.

“Why, I concluded, on the whole, to let them stay, and let my hen hatch her eggs there, if she would. And I told my brother, that, if he would make a coop for me, around that stump, I would give him one of the chickens.”

“A _coop_? What is a coop?”

“O, a small house for hens to live in. My brother made me a coop. He made it immediately after the hen had hatched her chickens. I will tell you how he made it. He drove stakes down all around the stump, and then put some short boards over the top, so as to cover it over. My hen staid there until her chickens got pretty well grown, and then we let her run about the yard.”

“That is pretty much the way that Royal made his turtle-pen,” said Lucy; “but I should rather have a hen-coop, because of the chickens.”

“Yes, I had eleven. I gave my brother one, and then I had ten. These all grew up, and laid more eggs; and at last I got money enough from my eggs and poultry to buy me a new gown.”

“I wish I was a farmer’s daughter,” said Lucy.

“Farmers’ daughters have a very good time,” said Joanna, “I think myself.”

CONVERSATION VIII.

BUILDING.

In one of the yards belonging to the house that Lucy lived in, was a border for flowers; and in this border Royal had an apple-tree, which had grown up from a seed which he had planted himself. It was now nearly as high as his head, and Royal said that he meant to graft it the very next spring.

At the end of this border, near one corner of the yard, there was a vacant place, where some flowers had been dug up, and Lucy had it to plant beans in. She used often to dig in it, and plant, when she had nothing else to do. Miss Anne gave her several different kinds of flower seeds in the spring, and she planted them. Generally, however, she had not patience enough to wait for them to come up; but dug the ground all over again, with her little hoe, before the flowers, which she had planted, had had time to show themselves above the ground.

She was digging, one day, in this garden, and Royal was hoeing up the weeds around his apple-tree. Royal said that his apple-tree was growing crooked, and that he was going to get a stake, and drive it down by the side of his tree, and tie a string to it, and so straighten the tree up.

Lucy came to see Royal stake up his tree. He made the stake very sharp, and when he got it all ready to drive, he said that he must go and get the iron bar to make a hole.

“O, you can drive it right in,” said Lucy, “without making any hole.”

“Not far enough,” said Royal. “It must be driven in very deep and strong, or else the string which ties the apple-tree to it, will pull it over to one side.”

So Royal went and got the small crowbar, and came back dragging it along. He made a deep hole by the side of the apple-tree, but not very near it, for he did not want to hurt the roots. Then he took out the bar, and laid it down upon the grass, and inserted the point of the stake into the hole which he had made.

While he was doing this, Lucy took hold of one end of the iron bar, and tried to lift it.

“O, what a heavy bar!” said she.

“I don’t think it is very heavy,” said Royal. So saying, he drove down his stake with repeated blows of his hatchet.

“You are a great deal stronger than I am,” said Lucy. “You can drive the stake down very hard indeed. I don’t believe but that you could make a hen-coop.”

“Who told you anything about a hen-coop?” said Royal.

“Joanna,” said Lucy. “She said that she was a farmer’s daughter when she was a little girl, and that she had a hen and some chickens; and that her brother made her a hen-coop pretty much like the turtle-pen you made down by the brook.”

“I could make a hen-coop,” said Royal, “I know,--and I mean to. Perhaps I can get some hens to put into it. At all events, I shall have a hen-_coop_.”

“If I was a farmer’s daughter,” said Lucy, “I should have hens.”

“But you can have hens without being a farmer’s daughter,” said Royal.

“How?” said Lucy.

“Why, you and I could buy some hens with our own money, if mother would let us; and then I could make a coop.”

“Well,” said Lucy, “I mean to go and ask her this very minute.”

“No; stop,” said Royal. “That won’t do any good. She will tell you to ask father, and then he won’t believe that we can make a coop, and he won’t want to take the trouble to have one made for us, and so he will say no. I’ll tell you what we must do. We must make the coop first, and then, when it is all ready, we can ask father if we may buy some hens.”

“Well,” said Lucy, in a tone of great satisfaction, “let us go and make it now.”

“But _you_ can’t help make it, Lucy. I shall have to make it myself, all alone; and so the hens must be mine.”

Lucy did not like the plan of giving up all the hens to Royal; but Royal insisted upon it that he should have to do all the work, and, of course, that he must have the hens himself. At last, Lucy said that, if he did not let her have a share, she should not stay with him, but should go into the house.

But Royal did not like at all to stay and work alone. He tried to get Lucy to remain, and at last he said that, if she would, he would make her a garden in the corner,--a beautiful garden, full of flowers.

“Real flowers?” said Lucy.

“Yes, real flowers,--all in blossom.”

“How shall you get the flowers to grow?” said Lucy.

“O, I shall get them already grown, in the gardens, and in the fields, and stick them down in the beds. I shall make beds and little alleys just like a real garden.”

“And how long will the flowers keep bright?” said Lucy.

“O, as long as you take the trouble to water them. You will have to water them, you know,--and Miss Anne will lend you her watering-pot.”

Lucy was pleased with this proposal. She liked the plan of having such a garden very much; and as to watering it, she said that it would be no trouble at all; she should like to water it. So it was agreed that Lucy should stay and keep Royal company, while he was making the coop, and help him all she could; and that he should make her a flower-garden, and stock it well with real flowers,--and so have all the hens himself.

They then walked along together, to look out a place for a coop. Lucy said that she wished there was an old hollow stump in their yard, but there was nothing like one. Royal said that he had heard of a barrel for a hen-coop; and he just then recollected that there was a corner round behind the barn, where there were several old boxes and barrels; and he and Lucy went there to see if they could find one which would do. He found one that would answer the purpose very well.

Lucy wanted to help Royal roll it along, and Royal allowed her to do it, though he could roll it very easily himself alone; for it was empty and light. It seemed to please Lucy to help him, and so Royal allowed her to push it with him.

They were, for some time, in doubt where it would be best to put their coop; but at last they concluded to put it under the trees, by the side of the great, flat stone. Lucy said that this was an excellent place, because she could sit at Miss Anne’s window, when it was rainy, so that she could not go out, and see the hens and chickens.

Royal placed the barrel down upon its side, near the great stone, and drove down stakes on each side of it, to keep it from rolling. Then he made a great many other stakes out of narrow pieces of board, which he found around a pile of lumber behind the barn.

As fast as these stakes were finished, Lucy wheeled them along, upon a little wheelbarrow, to the place where the coop was to be made. So Royal found that, besides keeping him company, Lucy could really assist him, much more than he had at first supposed she could.

Royal drove the stakes down into the ground, in such a way as to enclose a square place. The fence formed the back side of this enclosure, and it was big enough to hold several hens, and to give them room to walk about a little. When it was nearly done, Lucy said that she meant to go and ask Joanna to come out and see it, to tell them if it would do.

Royal said that he should like to have her go, very much; though he was pretty sure that the coop would do very well. Lucy ran off into the house, and after a little while she appeared again leading Joanna.

“Yes,” said Joanna,--after she had looked at the coop a minute or two, with a smile upon her countenance,--“yes, that is quite a coop, really.”

“Isn’t it a _good_ coop?” said Royal. “See how strong these stakes are driven into the ground.”

“It is a great deal better than I thought you could make,” said Joanna.

Joanna’s commendations were not quite so unqualified as Royal wished them to be.

“Well, don’t you think,” said he, “that it will do very well to keep hens in?”

“Why, it is an excellent coop for you and Lucy to play with,” said Joanna; “but as to keeping hens in it, there are two objections.”

“What are they?” said Royal.

“Why, the foxes and cats can get in, and the hens and chickens can get out.”

“How?” said Royal. “How can the hens get out?”

“They can jump over,” said Joanna.

“Well, the chickens can’t jump over, at any rate,” said Lucy; “how can they get out?”

“They can creep through,” said Joanna, gravely.

Royal and Lucy both looked rather blank at these very serious objections to their work. After a moment’s pause, Royal said,

“Do foxes and cats kill hens and chickens?”

“They kill chickens,” said Joanna, “and that is one great reason for making a coop.”

“Is there any other reason?”

“Yes; sometimes they want to keep the hens from straying away to the neighbors’, or getting into the garden, and scratching up the seeds and flowers.”

“There are no seeds in our garden now,” said Royal.

“No,” added Lucy, “but I don’t want to have them scratch up my flowers.”

“But, Joanna,” said Royal, “is not this just such a coop as your brother made for you? Lucy said it was.”

“It is like it in the stakes; but mine had a cover over the top of it.”

“I can put a cover over this,” said Royal.

“O, very well; if you can do that, I think it will answer.”

After Joanna went into the house, Royal tried to contrive some way to put a cover over his coop; but he found that it would be very difficult to fasten it on. The tops of the stakes were not steady enough to nail any thing to; and besides, they were not all of the same height; and, of course, if he should put boards over across, they would not be steady. At last he said,

“O Lucy, I have thought of another plan.”

“What is it?” said Lucy.

“Why,” said he, “you remember those great boxes around behind the barn, where we got our barrel.”

Lucy said that she remembered them very well.

“Now,” continued Royal, “I will get one of those great boxes for the roof of my coop. There is one large, flat box, which will be just the thing I will pull up all these stakes, and drive them down again, so as to make a square, just as big as the box.”

“I don’t understand, exactly,” said Lucy.

“Never mind,” said Royal, “it is not necessary to explain it. You shall see how I will do it; let us go and get the box.”

Royal and Lucy went together to get the box. They found one there which Royal said would do very well; the bottom of it was about as large as a common tea table; but the sides were narrow, so that, when it was placed upon the ground, with the open part up, it was not very deep.

Royal attempted to roll this box out; but he found it much harder to move than the barrel was. This was partly because it was larger and heavier, and partly because it would not roll, on account of its square form.

However, they contrived to get it out, and to work it along through a gate which led into a large outer yard. By this time, however, they both got tired, and Royal said that he meant to get some rollers, and roll it along.

So he brought some round sticks of wood from the wood pile, for rollers; and with a bar of wood, which he found also upon the wood pile, he pried the box up, and Lucy put two rollers under it, one at each end. They also placed another roller a little way before the box. Royal then went behind the box, and with his bar of wood for a lever, he pried the box along; and he found it moved very easily upon the rollers.

Lucy wanted a lever too,--and she went and got one; and then they could both pry the box along, one at each corner, behind. They had to stop occasionally to adjust the rollers, when they worked out of place; but, by patience and perseverance, they gradually moved the box along until they came to the gate leading into the inner yard, where the place for the coop had been chosen.

They found some difficulty in getting it through the gate, because it was too large to go through in any way but by being lifted up upon its side. Royal, however, succeeded in lifting it up, and then in getting it through; and after that it was but a short work to move it along upon its rollers to its place of destination.

Royal sat down upon the great, flat stone, and said that he was tired, and that he had a great mind not to make a coop after all,--it was such hard work.

“Then,” said Lucy, “I don’t think you will be very persevering.”

“I don’t believe you know what _persevering_ means,” said Royal.

“Yes, I do,” said Lucy; “Miss Anne told me. It is when you begin to make a coop, and then give up before you get it done.”

Royal burst into a fit of laughter.

“No,” said Lucy; “not that, exactly. I mean it is when you don’t give up--and I think you ought not to give up now--making this coop.”

“Well,” said Royal, “I believe you are right. It would be very foolish to give up our coop now, when we have got all the hardest part of our work done. I’ll go and get the corner stakes.”

Royal then went and made four strong stakes for the four corners, and brought them to the place, and drove them down into the ground. He took care to have them at just such a distance from each other, as that they should come as near as possible to the four corners of the box, when it should be placed over them.

Then he drove a row of stakes along where the sides of the box would come, between the corner stakes on each side; and he drove these all down a little lower than the corner stakes, so that, when the box should be placed over them, it would rest upon the corners, and not upon the sides. Before he closed the last side, he rolled the barrel in, and placed it along by the fence. Then he put a roller under it, on the outer side,--so that thus the barrel was confined, and could not move either way.

“Now, Lucy, we are ready for a raising,” said Royal; “but we shall never be able to get the box up, by ourselves, if we work all day.”

They concluded to ask Joanna to come out again, and help them get the box up. She came very willingly, and all three of them together easily succeeded in putting the heavy box into its place; and Royal had the satisfaction of perceiving that it fitted very well. Joanna then said that, for aught she could see, their structure would make a very safe and convenient coop.

When their father and mother came to see their work that evening, their father said that it would do very well for a coop, but that it was too late in the year to get hens.

“If I get some hens for you,” said he, “it will be several weeks before they lay eggs enough to hatch; and then the chickens would not have grown enough to get out of the way of the cold of the winter. It is full as late now as any brood of chickens ought to come out.”

Royal and Lucy looked greatly disappointed at this unexpected announcement. It was a difficulty that had not occurred to them at all. Their father was always very much pressed with his business, and could seldom give much time or attention to their plays; but they thought that, if they could make all the arrangements, so that they could take care of the hens without troubling him, there would be no difficulty at all. They did not know but that hens would lay and hatch as well and as safely at one time as at another.

Lucy had some corn in her hand. Her father asked her what that was for. She said it was to put into the coop for the hens. She had asked Joanna for some, and she had given it to her, because she said she wanted some corn all ready.

Here her mother whispered something to her father, which Lucy and Royal did not hear.