“Dorothea,” said Leigh.
“Doro—” began Artie, stopping in the middle, as he forgot the rest.
“Dodo—” said Mary, stopping too. “It’s a difficult name, papa.”
“And I don’t think it’s very pretty,” said Leigh.
“Wait a minute,” said papa. “You’ll like it when I explain about it. You know that baby came on Mary’s birthday?”
“Yes,” said Mary. “She were my best birfday present.”
“That’s just it,” her father went on. ”‘Dorothea’ means a present—a present from God, which must mean the best kind of present.”
“Oh,” said Mary, “that’s very nice! Please say it again, papa, and I’ll try to learn it. Dodo—”
“No,” said Artie, looking very superior. “Doro—not Dodo.”
“You needn’t look down upon Mary,” said Leigh, “if you can’t get any further than that. It’s Dorothea. I can say it well enough of course, but I do think it’s a very long name, papa, for such a very little baby.”