Dallas blushed. The name called back his wolf adventure, then he roared with laughter, for the freckled-faced fat pudgy little boy known as Sojer was doing a goose-step toward the flower beds.
"And last, but not least," said Cassowary, "is dear baby John Graves Simcoe, who already has shown himself rather snobbish and is called Little Big-Wig."
Dallas looked admiringly at the beautiful child, who was blue-eyed, golden-haired, and as straight as a reed. He promised to be graceful and slender like my young master, and Dallas impulsively stretched out a hand which the pretty young creature took and pressed between his own like the little gentleman he was.
"Would like to ride your pony," he said. "Big-Wigth's ponyth very under-bred."
"You shall," said Dallas heartily, then he turned to Cassowary. "A fellow would want a double-barrelled memory to keep all your names straight. Let's see if I can rattle them off—Cassowary, Big Chief, Champ or Sleeping Dog, Dovey, Sojer, Little Big-Wig."
"Good," cried Cassowary. "Now you'll know what to call us. Only Dad and Mother use our real names, and even they forget sometimes. Now what shall we call you? Dallas is too grand."
My young master pressed his lips together. He wanted to tell them that he was their cousin, but he felt that he did not dare to spring another sensation on them. They might not believe him. They would think he was crying wolf again.
"Call him Stranger," said Dovey, "'cause he's new."
"No, that isn't polite," said Cassowary; "name him something friendly."
Her brothers suggested different names—Neighbour, Visitor, Crony, Chum, Pal, Mate, all but Big Chief, who stood aside smiling wickedly. Finally he shouted, "Let him swap nicknames with Sleeping Dog."