“How old are you?” he asked.
“Nearly a year.”
“What is your name?”
“Richard the Lion-Hearted,” I said, thinking to impress him by its length, “but my mistress says that is too heavy a name for such a tiny bird, so she shortens it to Dicky-Dick and sometimes Dicky-Duck.”
“The Lion-Hearted,” repeated the sparrow. “That name doesn’t suit you. You seem to be a very gentle bird.”
“I am gentle till I am roused,” I said meekly;
“then I am a fair fighter. Now, will you tell me what your name is?”
“Chummy Hole-in-the-Wall.”
This beat my name, and I said, “That’s a double, double surname.”
“Yes,” he said proudly. “It’s a good name, given to me by all the sparrows of the neighborhood.”