“Well, what do you think of my big boy?” asked Mr. Aston. “I’ve been scolding him for not sending you to bed.”
Christopher looked from one to the other with solemn eyes, blinking in the light.
“Scolding him? Isn’t he too big to be scolded?”
The men laughed and involuntarily glanced at each other in a curiously conscious manner.
“He does not think anyone too big to scold,” sighed Aymer resignedly. “Father, about the name: I’d rather tell him to-night.” His voice was a little hurried. Mr. Aston glanced at him questioningly.
“As you like, Aymer—if he’s not too sleepy to listen. Are you, Christopher?”
“I’m not tired,” answered Christopher, valiantly blinking sleep out of his eyes.
It was Aymer who spoke, slowly and directly. Mr. Aston kept his eyes on the boy and tried not to see his son.
“What is your real name, Christopher, do you know?”
“James Christopher Hibbault, but they calls me Jim, except him.”