“The boy's.”
“Herbert Mason.”
“Herbert? I thought it might be Jonathan, or Zeke, or some such name. Herbert isn't at all countrified.”
“No,” said Tom, slyly; “of course not. We all know why you like that name.”
“Oh, you're mighty wise, Mr. Tom!” retorted his sister.
“It's because you like Herbert Dartmouth; but it isn't any use. He's in love with Lizzie Graves.”
“You seem to know all about it,” said Maria, with vexation; for Tom was not far from right in speaking of her preference for Herbert Dartmouth.
“Of course I do,” said Tom; “I ought to, for he told me so himself.”
“I don't believe it!” said Maria, who looked ready to cry.
“Well, you needn't; but it's so.”