is not essential to the construction of a factory farm,
and it may be omitted by those who have no daughter Jane.

There were other things hinging on Jane's home-staying which made me
think that, from the standpoint of economy, I had made a mistake in not
sending her back to Farmington. It was not long before the dog
proposition was sprung upon me; insidiously at first, until I had half
committed myself, and then with such force and sweep as to take me off
my prudent feet. My own faithful terrier, which had dogged my heels for
three years, seemed a member of the family, and reasonably satisfied my
dog needs. That Jane should wish a terrier of some sort to tug at her
skirts and claw her lace was no more than natural, and I was quite
willing to buy a blue blood and think nothing of the $20 or $30 which it
might cost. We canvassed the list of terriers,--bull, Boston, fox,
Irish, Skye, Scotch, Airedale, and all,--and had much to say in favor of
each. One day Jane said:--

"Dad, what do you think of the Russian wolf-hound?"

"Fine as silk," said I, not seeing the trap; "the handsomest dog that
runs."

"I think so, too. I saw some beauties in the Seabright kennels. Wouldn't
one of them look fine on the lawn?--lemon and white, and so tall and
silky. I saw one down there, and he wasn't a year old, but his tail
looked like a great white ostrich feather, and it touched the ground.
Wouldn't it be grand to have such a dog follow me when I rode. Say, Dad,
why not have one?"

"What do you suppose a good one would cost?"

"I don't know, but a good bit more than a terrier, if they sell dogs by
size. May I write and find out?"

"There's no harm in doing that," said I, like the jellyfish that I am.

Jane wasted no time, but wrote at once, and at least seventeen times
each day, until the reply came, she gave me such vivid accounts of the
beauties of the beasts and of the pleasure she would have in owning
one, that I grew enthusiastic as well, and quite made up my mind that
she should not be disappointed. When the letter came, there was
suppressed excitement until she had read it, and then excitement
unsuppressed.

"Dad, we can have Alexis, son of Katinka by Peter the Great, for $125!
See what the letter says: 'Eleven months old, tall and strong in
quarters, white, with even lemon markings, better head than Marksman,
and a sure winner in the best of company.' Isn't that great? And I don't
think $125 is much, do you?"

"Not for