“Ugly,” said her husband, “do you know what this name means?—but no—I heard you say the other day that you had never read Gulliver’s Travels, my dear Winny,” blushing deeply as he said it—“Glumdalclitch is the name of a giantess!”
“Well, this comes of so much reading; I bless my want of taste that way; it is enough to make one forswear books; never reproach me again for my indifference towards them. I am sure I wish Mr. Gulliver had staid at home, if he could have communicated nothing better than such a hideous name. But where is the use of fretting? since it is so, we must make the best of it, and then you know we need not call the name out in full; you never call me Winnifred, nor do I call you Ahasuerus. Let us shorten the name to Glummy—no? Well, how would Clitchy sound—you don’t like that. Let us shorten it to Dally, that I know will please you, for it is the name of a flower.”
“How often Winny,” said her fretted husband, “have I told you that the flower is called Dahlia;” suspending for a moment his right to feel indignant and irritable, to do justice to the pronunciation of the name of a flower.
“Dahlia is it? well, that is the way an Irishman would call Delia. Let us call her Delia then, it is a pretty pastoral name;” and as she said this, she cast a side glance at her husband.
After this, and other conversations of the kind, they agreed to give the child this uncouth name, for the charm of living in the country was hourly growing more captivating to Mr. Webb, and Mrs. Webb had a great reverence for a thousand dollars a year. Besides, the misery of living where they would daily be subject to the coarse mirth of her uncle, when he made his regular visits to the city, which he had until of late years, been always in the habit of doing, was becoming more and more apparent. She even with more alacrity than one could expect, set about making preparations for her departure to Oak Valley.
“This is all very hard upon you, my dear wife,” said Mr. Webb to her one day when he saw how cheerfully she was preparing for their removal; “this is worse for you than for me. With the one part, at least, I am more than gratified, whereas your feelings and taste have not been consulted at all. You have neither the satisfaction of living where you like best, nor the pleasure of having a decent name for your child.”
“But I have the pleasure of knowing that my little girl will have a handsome independence—and do you think, my dear Hassy, that it is no gratification to me to see that our going to the country is an event of great importance to your health and happiness?”
“My dearest Winny,” said her tender-hearted, conscience-stricken husband, “I do not deserve this goodness. I cannot enjoy the thought of going into the country, unless I tell you how it has been brought about. You were manœuvred into this scheme, my dear wife; and I here declare, that much as I wish to leave the city, you shall yet remain if you wish it. Your uncle had no intention of living near us, if we remained here; he was eager to get us all into the country, on the score of our health, and he made use of this stratagem to induce you to consent to it. Now that I have told you the truth, pray do as you like best; but with respect to the settlement on our child, much as I dislike the name, I fear she would not thank us if we gave that up for a thing of such little consequence. Giving up the farm,” continued he, sighing deeply, “is another affair.”
“Yes,” said his wife laughing, “I see it is, and it would be a worse affair if you knew what a sweet spot Oak Valley is; but here is this money, this two thousand dollars—would you think it right to return this too,—my part of it I need not return, for I am persuaded it was to purchase furniture, which will suit me either for a town or a country house. Your’s was no doubt, for purchasing stock for the farm; if we live in the city we can have no pretence for keeping that part of it.”
But Mr. Webb did not like this view of the business at all, and he was besides getting quite uneasy, notwithstanding his late compunctious feelings, lest his wife should take him at his word, and remain where she was.