One can hardly imagine what that means exactly. Of course, we have had other things, chickens and pigs and calves, rabbits, turtles, bantams, the woods and fields, books and kindling—and I have had Her and the four boys,—the family that is,—till at times, I will say, I have not felt the need of anything more. But none of these things is a dog, not even the boys. A dog is one of man's primal needs. "We want a dog!" had been a kind of family cry until Babe's last birthday.
Some six months before that birthday Babe came to me and said:—
"Father, will you guess what I want for my birthday?"
"A new pair of skates with a key fore and aft," I replied.
"Skates in August!" he shouted in derision. "Try again."
"A fast-flyer sled with automatic steering-gear and an electric self-starter and stopper."
"No. Now, Father,"—and the little face in its Dutch-cut frame sobered seriously,—"it's something with four legs."
"A duck," I suggested.
"That has only two."
"An armadillo, then."