"Of course you can change your mind. But I thought you wanted a coat of those things." "Yes, I suppose I do. But I don't want to shoot it, that's all." Judd snorted. "I think you have a streak of softness someplace in that pretty head of yours!" "Maybe. I don't know. But I'd still like the pelt. Funny, isn't it?" "Okay, okay! But don't ask to use the gun again." Judd snatched it from her hands. "If you don't want to shoot it, then I will. Maybe we can make you a pair of gloves or something from the pelt." And Judd pointed his ancient rifle at the little animal preparing to snap off a quick shot. It would be a cinch at this distance. Even Lindy wouldn't have missed, if she hadn't changed her mind. Judd yawned. He'd failed to realize he was so tired. Not an aching kind of tiredness, but the kind that makes you feel good all over. He yawned again and lowered the rifle. "Changed my mind," he said. "I don't want to shoot it, either. What say we head back for camp?" Lindy gripped his hand impulsively. "All right, Judd--but I had a brainstorm! I want it for a pet!" "A pet?" "Yes. I think it would be the cutest thing. Everyone would look and wonder and I'll adore it!" "We don't know anything about it. Maybe Earth would be too cold, or too dry, or maybe we don't have anything it can eat. There are liable to be a hundred different strains of bacteria that can kill it." "I said I want it for a pet. See? Look at it! We can call it Black Eyes." "Black Eyes--" Judd groaned. "Yes, Black Eyes. If you don't do this one thing for me, Judd--" "Okay--okay. But I'm not going to do anything. You want it, you take it." Lindy frowned, looked at him crossly, then sloshed across the swamp toward Black Eyes. The creature waited on its stump until she came quite close, and then, with a playful little bound, it hopped onto her shoulder, still squatting on its haunches. Lindy squealed excitedly and began to stroke its silvery fur. * * * * * A month later, they returned to Earth. Judd and Lindy and Black Eyes. The hunting trip had been a success--Judd's trophies were on their way home on a slow freighter, and he'd have some fine heads and skins for his study-room. Even Black Eyes had been no trouble at all. It ate scraps from their table, forever sitting on its haunches and staring at them with its big black eyes. Judd thought it would make one helluva lousy pet, but he didn't tell Lindy. Trouble was, it never did anything. It merely sat still, or occasionally it would bounce down to the floor and mince along on its hind-legs for a scrap of food. It never uttered a sound. It did not frolic and it did not gambol. Most of the time it could have been carved from stone. But Lindy was happy and Judd said nothing. They had a little trouble with the customs officials. This because nothing unknown could be brought to Earth without a thorough examination.