Jovially he would put the question, "Which would you rather have, a husband or a fireless cooker?" He would argue it out--and he would sometimes get them all to laughing, only the argument was never a very long one. One day it occurred to him that the debates were short because the others didn't hold up their end. He was talking for the fireless cooker--if it was going to be a real debate, they ought to speak up for the husband. But there seemed to be so much less to be said for a husband than there was for a fireless cooker. This struck him as really quite funny, but it seemed it was a joke he had to enjoy by himself. Sometimes when he came home pretty tired--for you could get as tired at odd jobs as at jobs that weren't odd--and heard all about what the Cadaras were that night to eat out of their fireless cooker, he would wish that some one else would do the joking. It was kind of tiresome doing it all by yourself--and kind of lonesome. One morning he woke up feeling particularly rested and lively. He was going out to work on the _Lillie-Bennie_, and he always felt in better spirits when he was working on a boat. It was a cool, fresh, sunny morning. He began a song--he had a way of making up songs. It was, "I'd rather be alive than dead." He didn't think of any more lines, so while he was getting into his clothes he kept singing this one, to a tune which became more and more stirring. He went over to the window by the looking-glass. From this window you looked over to the Cadaras. And then he saw that from the Cadaras a new arrival looked at him. He stared. Then loud and long he laughed. He threw up the window and called, "Hello, there!" The new arrival made no reply, unless a slight droop of the head could be called a reply. "Well, you cap the climax!" called Joe Doane. Young Doanes had discovered the addition to the Cadara family and came running out of the house. "Pa!" Edgar called up to him, "the Cadaras have got a _Goat_!" "Well, do you know," said his father, "I kind of _suspected_ that was a goat." Young Cadaras came out of the house to let young Doanes know just what their privileges were to be with the goat--and what they weren't. They could walk around and look at her; they were not to lead her by her rope. "There's no hope now," said Joe, darkly shaking his head. "No man in his senses would buck up against a _goat_." The little Doanes wouldn't come in and eat their breakfast. They'd rather stay out and walk round the goat. "I think it's too bad," their mother sighed, "the kiddie-car and the ball-suit and the sail-boat were _enough_ for the children to bear--without this goat. It seems our children haven't got _any_ of the things the Cadaras have got." "Except--" said Joe, and waited for some one to fill it in. But no one did, so he filled it in with a laugh--a rather short laugh. "Look out they don't put you in the fireless cooker!" he called to the goat as he went off to work.