For the first time that afternoon the Toyman, who had been so worried,
laughed his old hearty laugh, and Echo sent it back from her cave in
the hill.

"No!" said he, "I don't want any ole wife. Like as not she'd talk me
to death. Besides I don't feel lonely when you're along, little
fellow."

The little boy felt very happy over that, but, for some reason or
other, he felt quite embarrassed, too. Often, when he felt happiest,
he couldn't put his happiness into words--he just couldn't talk about
the particular thing that was making him happy. And, strange to say,
he would usually talk about something quite different. So he said,--

"Let's see your knife."

The Toyman took it out. It was a beauty, too, with _five_ blades,
all of different sizes, and a corkscrew.

Marmaduke tried to open one of the blades, but he couldn't, they were
too strong for his fingers.

So the Toyman took it.

"Which shall it be?" he asked.

"The very biggest," came the answer, "and oh, Toyman, let's play
'Mumbledy Peg!'"

"A galoochious idea!" exclaimed the Toyman, "how did you ever think of