"Perhaps, some day, the churchyard will have to be enlarged," I explained to the Rector, who was puzzled by my choice of a burying-place, "and then Rubens will _get taken in_." My father was most anxious to get me another pet.

I might have had a dog of any kind.

Dogs of priceless breeds, dogs for sporting, for ratting, and for petting; dogs for use or for ornament.

From a bloodhound and mastiff almost large enough for me to ride, to a toy poodle that would go into my pocket--I might have chosen a worthy successor to Rubens, but I could not.
"I shall never care for any other dog," I was rash enough to declare.
But my resolve melted away one day at the sight of a soft, black ball, like a lump of soot, which arrived in a game-bag, and proved to be a retriever pup.

He grew into a charming dog, of much wisdom and amiability.