"Oh, I think a milk-room is just the place for a kitten. Couldn't you give her a little drink of milk, she's awfully fond of it."
"Why I s'pose I could give her a little. Such a mite of a cat wouldn't want much; but I do hate cats; they're such pestering creatures."
"But this one doesn't pester, Mrs. Hickox," said Fairy, earnestly. "She's such a dear good little kitty. Her name is Mike."
"What a ridiculous name! I'm surprised that you should call her that."
"It isn't much of a name," said Fairy, apologetically. "But you see it's only temporaneous. I couldn't think of just the right name, so I just call her Mike, because that's short for my kitten."
"Mike! short for my kitten! Well so it is, but I never thought of it before."
"All our other animals have regular names," volunteered Fairy. "Our dog,—his name's Dare; our two rabbits are Gog and Magog,—Leicester named them; or at least he named one, and let Lilian name the other. They're twins you know,—the rabbits, I mean. Then we have a canary bird and he's named Bobab. That's a nice name, isn't it?"
"Nice name? It's heathenish! What a queer lot of children you are, anyway."
"Yes, aren't we?" said Fairy, agreeably. "We Dorrances are all queer. I guess we inheritated it from my grandpa's people, because my grandma isn't a bit queer."
"Oh, isn't she? I think she's queer to let you children come up here, and do what you are doing."