“You must keep him in a cage with the door always open, so that, as soon as he is old enough to fly away, he may go if he chooses.”
“Then he will certainly fly away, and we shall lose him forever,” said Lucy.
“That is the only condition,” replied Rollo’s mother.
“But why, mother,” said he, “why may we not keep him shut up safe?”
“If I were to tell you the reasons now, they would not satisfy you, you are so eager to keep him. I think you had better determine to comply with the condition, good-humoredly, and say no more about it, but try to think of a name for him.”
“Well, mother, what do you think would be a good name?”
“I do not know: you and Lucy must think of one.”
Just then uncle George finished tying his horse, and came along to where the children were standing, and, hearing their conversation, and finding that Lucy and Rollo were perplexed about a name, he told them he thought they might, not improperly, call him Noah, as, like Noah, by floating in a sort of ark, he was saved from a flood.
“I think he was more like Moses than Noah,” said Lucy.
“Why?” said her father.