As Peggy was going out of Miss Betsy’s kitchen door, some hens straggled along the grass. Some were brown and some were white and some were yellow. Peggy thought they were all fat, prosperous-looking hens. She admired their red combs and their yellow legs.

“I wish we had some hens,” she said to Miss Betsy. “Eggs cost such a lot we can’t ever have any cake.”

“I’d give you some fresh eggs to take back to your mother, only I am afraid you might slip and break them.”

Peggy looked thoughtful. It would be nice to have the eggs, but it would be hard to have to walk home with the eggs on her mind.

“Mother, I wish we kept hens,” she said as she ran into the kitchen. “Miss Betsy has such nice ones.”

“How do you happen to know anything about Miss Betsy’s hens?” her mother asked. “Is calling on Miss Betsy your idea of coming straight home from the village?”

“You didn’t say to come straight home, truly, you didn’t, mother. I thought you wouldn’t mind my making a short call on her and the cat.”

Mrs. Owen found it as hard to find fault with Peggy as it had been to find fault with Peggy’s father.

“We’ve got a hen-house out in the yard,” Peggy went on. “The people who lived here before us must have kept hens, so it must be a good climate for them.”

“I have a few things to do besides taking care of hens,” said Mrs. Owen firmly.

“I’d take all the care of them.”

“I should as soon trust them to Lady Janet’s care.”

“But Alice could help me. She’d remind me to feed them.”

“And, besides, hens cost a great deal,” said Mrs. Owen. She had been thinking of the possibility of keeping hens.

“Do chickens cost a lot? Couldn’t we begin with little chickens and let them grow into hens?”

“If we want eggs this winter we’d have to buy hens.”

“Maybe people will give us a few hens,” said Peggy hopefully. “Miss Betsy has a lot, and the Hortons’ farmer has millions; and the Thorntons have some, and so has Michael Farrell.”

“My dear little girl, people who are so fortunate as to have hens prize them more than if they had gold. You might as well expect me to give away my preserves and canned vegetables.”

Peggy was never tired of looking at the rows of jars of preserves and vegetables, and the tumblers of jelly that her mother had put up. The greater part of them had been sent away, and there was enough money in the bank from their sale to buy winter coats and hats for both of the children, besides something toward then coal.

Peggy went into the pantry for another look at the shelves. There was a pint jar of the precious strawberry preserve and four pints of raspberries and a dozen pints of cherries from their own tree, and there were a great many jars of blueberries and blackberries, and there was currant jelly and grape jelly. Peggy liked the rich color of the strawberries and raspberries and cherries next the more somber blueberries and blackberries.

The shelf where the vegetables were was almost more delightful in color. The green peas and beans were next the red tomatoes, and beyond them were a few jars of pale yellow corn. They had turnips and carrots and beets stored in the cellar, ready for use.

The children felt very important, and as if their mother could not have had the garden without their help. As she believed in profit-sharing, she paid them for part of their work, while some they did just to help the garden along. At the end of the season they had each earned nearly two dollars. Their mother made it quite two dollars and told them they could spend the money exactly as they pleased, provided they did not get anything to eat with it, like candy.

“You can each get a toy if you like—something that won’t break too easily; or you can get something to wear, or something growing—like a house plant.”

As usual, Alice knew exactly what she wanted most. It was a doll carriage, and she and Peggy went down to the store and chose it.

Peggy did not care for any of the toys. “I want something that’s alive,” she said, “like a canary-bird, or one of Miss Betsy’s hens. I think I’ll buy a hen—that will be most useful. If she laid an egg every day we could take turns in having a fresh egg.”

“That would be great,” said Alice.

Miss Betsy Porter was greatly interested in the children’s plan. “Only, are you sure your mother will be willing to let you keep hens?” she asked prudently.

“Yes, we have a house for them, and she said we could get anything we liked. She had thought about keeping hens, only they are so expensive.”

“I will sell you a Rhode Island Red,” said Miss Betsy. “They lay well, and I will throw in a fine young cock. My neighbors are complaining because the young spring roosters are beginning to crow, and I was expecting to have to send them to the market. I’ll let Michael Farrell take them up to your house this afternoon, if your mother will let you have them. You can stop at his house and send me word by him whether or not your mother wants them.”

Peggy and Alice went out into the yard with Miss Betsy to choose a hen and a rooster.

“It is like a family,” said Peggy, “having two of them. They won’t be lonely. I shall call them Henry Cox and Henrietta Cox.”

“Well, children, what did you buy with your two dollars?” Mrs. Owen asked when they came home that morning.

“I got a carriage for Belle,” said Alice.

“And what did you get, Peggy?”

She hesitated—“Something very useful,” she said. “Guess, mother. It’s something that will grow and something that is alive.”

“A rose in a pot,” said her mother.

Peggy laughed. “Oh, mother, you are ’way off. It has feathers.”

“You haven’t bought a canary-bird?” Mrs. Owen said in tones of dismay.

“No, mother, she is much more useful. It is a hen, and her name is Henrietta Cox, and Miss Betsy gave me a young cock because he crowed so he woke up the neighbors; and we haven’t any near neighbors. And his name is Henry Cox.”

“A hen and a cock! Peggy, what will you think of next!”

“You said I could get anything I liked, mother, and I am sure a hen is much more useful than a doll’s carriage. I’ll let you have one of her eggs every third morning for your breakfast.”

“Did you ever stop to think how they were to be fed? Grain is so high now many people have stopped raising hens.”

“Miss Betsy says the Rhode Island Reds aren’t so particular as some hens. She says you can feed them partly with sour milk and scraps off the table.”

“Sour milk!” said Mrs. Owen; “it’s all very well for Miss Betsy to talk about sour milk, for her brother keeps a cow, and he sends her all the skim milk she can use. I am surprised she let you have a hen and cock without consulting me.”

“She did say she would send them up this afternoon by old Michael if you would let me have them,” faltered Peggy. “But, oh, mother dear, I do want them so much. It isn’t as if I had spent my money on something foolish, like candy.”

“No, that is true,” said Mrs. Owen. After all, she had thought of keeping hens herself.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Peggy,” she said. “You can sell Henrietta’s eggs to me, when she begins to lay, at whatever the market price is, and the money can go toward their food, and if there is any left you can have it to spend. That will be a good lesson in arithmetic for us.”

So Peggy and Alice ran over to old Michael’s house, where he was always to be found at his dinner-hour, to tell him the glad news.

Mrs. Farrell came to the door. She was a prosperous, comfortable looking person, with a plump, trig figure and smoothly arranged white hair. Peggy thought of telling her about the geography game, but there was something about her that made her hesitate. She was afraid Mrs. Farrell would think it a crazy game.

“Won’t you come in, you little dears?” said Mrs. Farrell.

Alice looked pleased at being called a “little dear,” but Peggy was all the more sure that Mrs. Farrell would not care for the geography game.

“I just wanted to see Mr. Farrell a minute,” she said.

“He is at dinner. Can’t you give me the message?”

“I don’t think I could,” said Peggy. “It is very important, and it is not easy to remember all of it. We’ll not keep him a minute—truly, we won’t.”

“I guess I can remember the message if you can.”

“It is about a hen and a rooster that Miss Betsy Porter wants him to call for to send down to our house—only mother wants our hen-house fixed first.”

How bald it seemed put in this way! If only she could have seen old Michael himself, how differently she would have worded the message!

“It isn’t very hard to remember that message, dearie,” said Mrs. Farrell, in her cooing voice.

Peggy hated to have her call her “dearie.” Half the pleasure in her purchase would be gone if she could not see old Michael. Suddenly, she had a bright idea. She ran around the side of the house to the kitchen window and waved her hand to old Michael.

It was one of the warm days in late autumn, and she was still wearing one of her blue frocks. Her hair was flying about and she pushed it back. Old Michael loved children, and he never hesitated to come at their call. He hastily shoved a large piece of apple pie into his mouth, and, seizing a piece of cheese, he came out of the kitchen door. They were out of hearing of Mrs. Farrell—that unfortunate “Hattie,” who was doomed always to live in New Hampshire, while her husband was free to travel into any State, beginning with M, where his imagination led him.

“Well, what is it now?” he asked.

“Oh, Mr. Farrell, the most wonderful thing has happened!” said Peggy; “I have bought such a lovely hen from Miss Betsy Porter, and she has given me a young rooster, and I am going to play they are people from the State of Rhode Island; and their names are Mr. Henry Cox and Mrs. Henrietta Cox—only, of course, for most people, they are just a cock and hen—just two Rhode Island Reds.”

“I see,” said old Michael. “But why are you telling me about it?”

“Miss Betsy said you could bring them to us this afternoon. She said you were working for her, but mother wanted the hen-house fixed up a little first. Can you do it to-morrow?”

“I see,” said old Michael; “you want the apartment in the hotel made ready for Mr. and Mrs. Cox?”

“Oh, yes,” Peggy said, laughing with delight; “I want everything done for the people who are renting my house.”

“All right, Peggy, I’ll look out for the comfort of your tenants.”

“My tenants are not going to keep any maid, Mr. Farrell; I’ve got to give them most of their meals, although they will get some out, and I thought you’d advise me what food is cheapest and best.”

They talked about the best food for Mr. and Mrs. Cox all the way to Peggy’s house, where Mr. Farrell stopped to inspect the hen-house on his way to Miss Porter’s.

“I always meant to keep hens sometime,” Mrs. Owen confided to Mr. Farrell, “but I did not mean to begin this winter.”

“If you have them at all, you might as well have a few more,” he said; “it is a little like summer boarders—the more you have, the more profit you get.”

“I know,” said Mrs. Owen, “but unfortunately, you have to begin by buying the hens.”