He gave a great sigh.

"What do you mean by that?" asked the baker.

"I hardly know what I mean," answered Clare.

"When I'm loving anybody I always feel I shall see that person again
some time, I don't know when--somewhere, I don't know where."

"That don't apply to the lower animals; it's nothing but a foolish
imagination," said the baker.

"But if I love them!" suggested Clare.

"Love a bull, or a horse, or a pig! You can't!" asserted the baker.

"But I _do_," rejoined Clare. "I love my father and mother much more
than when they were alive!"

"What has that to do with it?" returned the baker.

"That I know I love my father and mother, and I know I love that
fierce bull that would always do what I told him, and that dear old
horse that was almost past work, and was always ready to do his
best.--I'm afraid they've killed him by now!" he added, with another
sigh.

"But beasts 'ain't got souls, and you can't love them. And if you
could, that's no reason why you should see them again."