140 THE LAND OF PLUCK

Harris Brown, aged three, and Miss Brown of hardly any
age at all. These were the Brown children.

“Dear me! a bonny little lady !” said Uncle Tom, who
had come all the way from Philadelphia to take a look at
the baby.

At this point of time, as he gazed at her through his
spectacles, all the family crowded around ; the boys, proud
and happy, stood on either side of him to hear what his
opinion might be.

“A bonny little lady,” repeated Uncle Tom; “and now,
Stephania, what are you going to call her ?”

He turned so suddenly upon Mrs. Brown, in his brisk
way, that it made her start.

“Dear me! I—I—don’t know,” she answered. “Some
novel, pretty name, of course ; something fanciful; but we
have nt settled upon one yet.”

“Why not call her Stephania, after you and me?” asked
Grandmama, brightly.

“Oh, dear, no,” sighed Mrs. Brown; “I ’d like some-
thing not so horri—, I mean, something more fanciful
than that!”

“Well, I declare!” exclaimed Grandmama, and she
closed her lips as if resolved never to say another word
about it.

“We have thought of Marjorie,” remarked Mr. Brown,
with a funny twinkle in his eyes, “and, ahem! two or
three others,—Mabel, for instance, and Ida, and Irene,
and Clara, and Jean, and Olivia; Florence, and Francesca,
too, and Lily; Alice, and Elinor, and Anita, and Jessie,
and Dora, and Isabel, and Bertha, and Louise, and Can-