Immediately after breakfast, the next morning, Lucy went out to look at the coop, to see if any hens had been caught; and when she came back, and said that there were none there, her father said that she must not despair too soon,—sometimes a trap was out several nights before anything was taken.

That day, after Royal had finished his lessons, Lucy called upon him to fulfil his promise of making her a garden.

“Why, Lucy,” said Royal, “I don’t think I am under any obligation to make you any garden.”

“Yes, Royal,” said Lucy, “you promised me that you would, if I would help you make the coop.”

“Well, that was because I expected that we could have some hens; but, now that we cannot have any hens, the coop will not do us any good at all; and I don’t see that I ought to make you a garden for nothing.” Lucy did not know how to answer this reasoning, but she was very far from being satisfied with it. She, however, had nothing to say, but that he had agreed to make her a garden, and that she thought he ought to do it.

Royal said that he meant if they got any hens to put into the coop; and Lucy said she did not believe that he meant any such thing.

Royal was wrong in refusing thus to fulfil his agreement. And the reason which he gave was not a good reason. He did, indeed, expect, when he made the promise, that he should have some hens to put into his hen-coop; but he did not make his promise on that condition. The promise was absolute—if she would help him make his coop, he would make her a garden. When she had finished helping him make the coop, her part of the agreement was fulfilled, and he was bound to fulfil his.

At last Lucy said,

“If you don’t make me a garden, I shall go and tell Joanna of you.”

“Very well,” said Royal; “we will go and leave it to Joanna, and let her decide.”

They went in and stated the case to Joanna. When she heard all the facts, she decided at once against Royal. “Certainly you ought to make her a garden,” said Joanna. “There being no hens has nothing to do with it. You took the risk. You took the risk.”

Lucy did not understand what Joanna meant by taking the risk, but she understood that the decision was in her favor, and she ran off out of the kitchen in great glee. Royal followed her more slowly.

“Well, Lucy,” said he, “I’ll make you a garden. I’d as lief make it as not.”

He accordingly worked very industriously upon the garden for more than an hour. He dug up all the ground with his hoe, and then raked it over carefully. Then he marked out an alley through the middle of it, for Lucy to walk in, when she was watering her flowers. He also divided the sides into little beds, though the paths between the beds were too narrow to walk in.

“Now,” said he, “Lucy, for the flowers.”

So they set off upon an expedition after flowers. They got some in the garden, and some in the fields. Some Royal took up by the roots; but most of them were broken off at the stem, so as to be stuck down into the ground. Lucy asked him if they would grow; and he said that he did not know that they would grow much, but they would keep bright and beautiful as long as she would water them.

Miss Anne lent Lucy her watering-pot, to water her flowers, and she said that, after dinner, she would go out and see her garden. Accordingly, after dinner, they made preparations to go. While Miss Anne was putting on her sun-bonnet, Royal waited for her; but Lucy ran out before them. In a moment, however, after she had gone out, she came running back in the highest state of excitement, calling out,

“O Royal, we have caught them! we have caught them! O, come and see! come, Miss Anne, come quick and see!”

And before they had time to speak to her, or even to ask what she meant, she was away again, calling, as she passed away from hearing, “Come, come, come!”

Royal left Miss Anne, and ran off after Lucy.

Miss Anne herself walked along after them, and found them looking through the bars of the hen-coop, and in a state of the highest delight at the sight of a hen and a large brood of chickens, which were walking about within.

“O, look, Miss Anne!” said Lucy, clapping her hands as Miss Anne came up. “A real hen, and ever so many chickens!” “Where could they have come from?” said Miss Anne.

“O, we caught them,” said Lucy; “we caught them. I told you, Royal, that perhaps we should catch some.”

“How did they get here?” said Royal. “It is some of father’s sly work, I know. Do you know, Miss Anne, how they came here?”

“Let us see how many chickens there are,” said Miss Anne. “One, two, three,”—and so she went on counting up to thirteen.

“Thirteen,” said Lucy; “only think! More than Joanna’s, isn’t it, Royal? Thirteen is more than eleven, isn’t it?”

“Yes, two more,” said Royal; “but, Miss Anne, don’t you know how they came here?”

Miss Anne looked rather sly, but did not answer. She said to Lucy,

“Well, Lucy, let us go and see your garden.”

Lucy did not now care so much about her garden; she was more interested in the chickens; however, they all went to look at it, and Miss Anne praised it very highly. She said the flowers looked beautifully.

“And now, Miss Anne,” said Lucy, “whenever I want any flowers, I can come out here and gather them out of my garden.” “Yes,” said Miss Anne, “as long as they last.”

“O, they will last all the time,” said Lucy.

“Will they?” said Miss Anne, rather doubtfully.

“Yes,” said Lucy; “I am going to water them.”

“That will help,” replied Miss Anne, “I have no doubt.”

“I can keep them fresh as long as I want to, in that way,” said Lucy. “Royal said so.”

“Did you, Royal?” asked Miss Anne.

“No,” said Royal. “I said that they would keep fresh as long as she watered them.”

“That wasn’t quite honest, was it, Royal? for they won’t keep fresh more than two days.”

“Well,” said Royal, “and she won’t have patience to water them more than one day.”

“That’s equivocation,” said Miss Anne.

“Equivocation?” repeated Royal; “what do you mean by that?”

“It is when anything you say has two senses, and it is true in one sense, and not true in another; and you mean to have any person understand it in the sense in which it is not true.”

“What do you mean by that?” said Lucy.

“Why, I will give you an example. Once there was a boy who told his brother William, that there was a black dog up in the garret, and William ran up to see. His brother came up behind him, and, when they opened the garret door, he pointed to an old andiron, such as are called dogs, and said, ‘See! there he is, standing on three legs.’”

Royal laughed very heartily at this story. He was much more amused at the waggery of such a case of equivocation, than impressed with the dishonesty of it.

“Miss Anne,” said he, “I don’t see that there was any great harm in that.”

“Equivocation is not wrong always,” said Miss Anne. “Riddles are often equivocations.”

“Tell us one,” said Royal.

“Why, there is your old riddle of the carpenter cutting the door. He cut it, and cut it, and cut it, and cut it too little; then he cut it again, and it fitted.”

“Is that an equivocation?” said Royal.

“Yes,” said Miss Anne; “the equivocation is in the word little. It may mean that he cut too little, or that he cut until the door was too little. Now, when you give out that riddle, you mean that the person whom you are talking with, should understand it in the last sense; that is, that he cut until the door was too little, and then that he cut it more, and it was just right. But it cannot be true in that sense. It is true only in the other sense; that is, that he did not cut it enough, and then, when he cut it more, he made it fit. So that he cut it too little, has two senses. The words are true in one sense; but you mean to have them understood in the other sense, in which they cannot be true. And that is an equivocation.

“But, then,” continued Miss Anne, “equivocations in riddles are certainly not wrong; but equivocations in our dealings with one another certainly are.”

“I don’t think that the boy that said there was a dog up garret did any thing wrong,” said Royal.

“I do,” said Lucy, putting down her little foot with great emphasis. “I think he did very wrong indeed.”

“O no, Lucy,” said Miss Anne, “not very wrong indeed. Perhaps it was not quite right. But it is certainly wrong to gain any advantage from any person in your dealings with them, by equivocation.”

“Did I?” said Royal.

“Yes, I think you did, a little. You told Lucy that the flowers would keep fresh as long as she would water them. You meant her to understand it absolutely; but it is true only in another sense.”

“In what sense?” said Royal.

“Why, as long as she would be likely to water them; which is a very different thing. Perhaps she would not have been willing to make the bargain with you, if she had understood that she could not keep them fresh by watering them, more than a day or two.”

While they had been talking thus, they had gradually been walking towards the house, and they had now reached the door. Miss Anne went in, and Lucy and Royal went to the hen-coop to see the hen and chickens.

Lucy went to get some corn, but Joanna told her that crumbs of bread would be better, and then the old hen could break them up into small pieces, and feed her chickens with them. She accordingly gave her some small pieces of bread, which Lucy carried back; and she and Royal amused themselves for a long time, by throwing crumbs in through the spaces between the sticks.

While they were talking about them, Royal happened to speak of them as his hen and chickens, and Lucy said that she thought he ought not to have them all. She wanted some herself,—at least some of the chickens. “O no,” said Royal; “they are altogether mine; it is my coop.”

“No,” replied Lucy; “I helped you make the coop, and I mean to have some of the chickens.”

“Yes, but, Lucy, you promised me that I should have the coop and the hens, if I would make you a garden.”

“Yes, but not the chickens,” said Lucy; “I did not say a word about the chickens.”

“O Lucy, that was because we did not expect to have any chickens; but it is all the same thing.”

“What is all the same thing?” said Lucy.

“Why, hens and chickens,” said Royal.

“O Royal,” said Lucy, “they are very different indeed.” Lucy looked through the bars of the hen-coop, at the hen and chickens, and was quite surprised that Royal could say that they were all the same thing.

“In a bargain, Lucy, I mean; in a bargain, I mean. If you make a bargain about hens, you mean all the chickens too.”

“I didn’t, I am sure,” said Lucy; “I never thought of such a thing as the chickens; and besides, you did not make me such a garden as you promised me.”

“Why, yes I did,” said Royal. “No,” said Lucy, “you told me an equivocation.”

Royal laughed.

“You did, Royal; you know you did; and Miss Anne said so.

“I think it was a falsehood, myself,” continued Lucy, “or almost a falsehood.”

“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.”

“O, well,” said Royal, “only give him to me, and let me carry him. You will hurt him.”

“No, I won’t hurt him,” said Lucy; “I will be very careful indeed.”

So she put the tender little animal very gently in one of her hands, and covered him with the other.

“O, what soft feathers!” said Lucy.

“Yes,” said Royal; “and see his little bill sticking out between your fingers!”

Thus they went into the house,—first to Joanna, and afterwards to Miss Anne; and the hen, when the lost chicken was out of hearing, soon regained her composure. She had a dozen chickens left, and as she could not count, she did not know but that there were thirteen.