Aunt Selina smiled sympathetically at Ruth’s words, but, recalled to her condition by a twinge of pain, she moaned, “Child, poor old Aunt Selina would make a wretched specimen of a bird nowadays. The only kind I feel that I could represent truly is a raven—for it always croaks.”
Ruth laughed consolingly, but cried, “Oh, Aunt Selina, that is just because you feel blue with those old rheumatics. Mother says we always look at life through dark spectacles when we’re in pain, and we b’lieve the lovely world has lost all its brightness. Now, I’ve come to make you forget your blues and I must have a new name to say, because there is so much to tell you that I would lose time if I had to say ‘Aunt Selina’ every time. Besides, a new name will make you forget yourself.”
“What could you call me?” questioned her aunt, trying to fall in with the child’s whim.
“We’ll have to think! It isn’t as easy as it may sound to find a name to suit. We had a dreadful hard time to do it.”
“‘Fluff’ suits you beautifully. Who found it?” said the old lady interestedly.
“I chose two, but we can only have one. One was ‘Flutey’ the other ‘Fluff’; Ned and the Blue Birds liked ‘Fluff’ best, and they have called me by that name ever since we were christened in the Nest.”
“When I was a little girl like you I used to enjoy whistling about the place so much that father called me his little flute. I can still see the shocked expression of my aunt who visited us, when she heard me running about whistling like a boy. She was a grand dame of society in New York, and her girls were doing embroidery and being taught how to curtsey and behave in the drawing-room.” And Miss Selina smiled at Ruth who fully understood the remark and clapped her hands delightedly at her aunt who had been a hoyden so long ago.
“I just love to whistle, too. Ned says I can pipe higher and carry a tune better than anyone he knows!” declared Ruth, and aunt and grand-niece felt a common bond of unity.
Ruth was about to demonstrate her accomplishment to Aunt Selina, when her face puckered into a funny expression and her shoulders hunched up about her ears as they usually did when some secret thought gave her a surprise. She leaned over the couch and confidentially whispered, “Aunt Selina, I’ll tell you what! We both love to whistle, don’t we? Then, you shall be christened with my other name! You shall be ‘Flutey,’ eh?”
“Oh, dear child, it would be sarcasm to name me that now! Why, the only claim I have to that name would be because of my fluted skin. Just look at my neck and face!” said Aunt Selina.