got it, for
good. We wished for it for so long that it really seemed to grow with
us; the older and bigger we grew, the stronger and bigger our wish
seemed to grow. We were only seven and five--that sounds rather awkward,
but I don't see how else to put it, for Persis is a girl, so I must put
her age first!--she was seven and I was five (that sounds better), when
we first began wishing for it. It was a story that first put it into our
heads, and after that, nearly every story we read or heard seemed to
have to do with it somehow, and to put it still more into them. And we
were--I mean to say Persis was eleven, and I was nine when what we
thought was going to be the fulfilment of our wish came. That was really
a long time. Four years--four summers and winters and autumns and
springs--to keep on thinking about a thing and wishing for it!

I have not yet said what it was we wished for so much. It was to have a
dog of our very own. Not a stupid little dog, though even that would
perhaps have been better than nothing, but a great beautiful _big_ dog.
We did change about a little, as to the exact kind we wished for most,
but that was partly because at first we didn't understand very well
about all the sorts of big dogs there are, and whatever kind we happened
to read about or see a picture of, we fancied would be the nicest. But
in the end we came back pretty near to what we had begun with. We
settled that we would like a collie best of all, because they are so
faithful and intelligent, and as the dog in the story which had made us
think of it first was a sheep-dog. That was almost the same thing, for
though all sheep-dogs are not collies, all collies _are_ sheep-dogs.

It was two years ago that it all happened. I am eleven now, and Persis
of course is thirteen, as she is two years older. That year we didn't
know where we were to go to for the holidays. Papa is a lawyer; I can't
exactly tell you what kind of a lawyer, but I think he is rather a grand
one, for he is always very busy, and I know he can't do half what people
want him to do, though there are many lawyers in London who have very
little indeed to do, mamma says. I always think it is such a pity papa
can't give them some of _his_ work, isn't it? But with being so busy, of
course he gets very few holidays, and sometimes he can't tell till just
the day or so before whether he will be able to go away or not. And
mamma doesn't like to go without him, so two or three ti