“Because it isn't pretty like the others. You see, I was the first baby, and mother hadn't begun ter read so many stories with the pretty names in 'em, then.”
“But I love 'Nancy,' just because it's you,” declared Pollyanna.
“Humph! Well, I guess you could love 'Clarissa Mabelle' just as well,” retorted Nancy, “and it would be a heap happier for me. I think THAT name's just grand!”
Pollyanna laughed.
“Well, anyhow,” she chuckled, “you can be glad it isn't 'Hephzibah.'”
“Hephzibah!”
“Yes. Mrs. White's name is that. Her husband calls her 'Hep,' and she doesn't like it. She says when he calls out 'Hep—Hep!' she feels just as if the next minute he was going to yell 'Hurrah!' And she doesn't like to be hurrahed at.”
Nancy's gloomy face relaxed into a broad smile.
“Well, if you don't beat the Dutch! Say, do you know?—I sha'n't never hear 'Nancy' now that I don't think o' that 'Hep—Hep!' and giggle. My, I guess I AM glad—” She stopped short and turned amazed eyes on the little girl. “Say, Miss Pollyanna, do you mean—was you playin' that 'ere game THEN—about my bein' glad I wa'n't named Hephzibah'?”
Pollyanna frowned; then she laughed.