"Are you the lady what's coming to live with my Granny?" he asked, slipping his hand confidingly in mine, as we turned our steps homewards.
"Yes," I replied.
"I'm called Chris, but my proper name is Christopher," he stated, pronouncing it slowly and with some difficulty.
"It's very pretty," I answered, smiling at the diminutive little figure by my side, "but a very long name for such a little person."
"That's not my only name," he said proudly. "Did you think it was?"
And he laughed pityingly at my ignorance.
"What is your other?" I inquired, as I was intended to.
"Why, I have two others," he answered with still greater pride. "Three names altogether. Christopher, that's only like myself; and Godfrey, that's like my Uncle Godfrey; and Wyndham, that's like my Uncle Godfrey and my Granny too. All our names is Wyndham. What's your name?"
"Baggerley."
"Beggarley! That's something like what Uncle Godfrey calls me. He says I'm a little beggar."