"And in a few years more," said Romeo, hopefully, "we'll have lots more dogs, though probably not as many as we've got now."
Juliet sighed heavily but was in honour bound to make no objections, for long ago, when they arbitrated the dog question, it was written in the covenant that no dogs should be imported or none killed, except by mutual consent. And Minerva had five puppies, and if each of the five should follow the maternal example, and if each of those should do likewise—Juliet fairly lost her head in a maze of mental arithmetic.
"We ought to go into deep mourning," Romeo was saying.
"I've been thinking of that. We should repent in sackcloth and ashes, only I don't know what sackcloth is."
"I guess it's that rough brown stuff they make potato bags of."
"Burlap?"
"Yes. But we haven't many ashes at this time of year and we'll have still less if we live on mush and milk."
"Maybe we could get ashes somewhere," she said, thoughtfully.
"We'd have to, because it would take us over a year to get enough to repent in."
"There'll be ashes left from the automobile and the suits, and if you can get enough potato bags, I'll fix 'em so we can wear 'em at the sacrifice and afterwards we can buy deep mourning."