"Father," he said, "have you guessed yet?"
"Guessed what?" I asked.
"What I want for my birthday?"
"A nice little chair to sit before the fire in?"
"Horrors! a chair! why, I said a four-legged thing."
"Well, how many legs has a chair?"
"Father," he said, "has a rocking-chair four legs?"
"Certainly."
"Then it must have four feet, hasn't it?"
"Cert—why—I—don't—know exactly about that," I stammered. "But if you want a rocking-chair for your birthday, you shall have it, feet or fins, four legs or two, though I must confess that I don't exactly know, according to legs, just where a rocking-chair does belong."