'And I'm past seven,' I said, 'I wish I wasn't so little. It's like being a baby, and I don't care for babies.'
'Never mind,' replied Sharley consolingly, 'you needn't be at all babyish because you're little. One of our boys is very little, but he's not a bit of a baby. I'm sure Val will like to play with you, and so will Anna—and all of us, for that matter.'
I began to think Sharley a very nice girl. I put my hand in hers confidingly.
'I'd like to come,' I said, 'and I'd like to play that funny name down the grass-bank here, if you'll show me how.'
'All right,' she said. 'We'll have to ask leave, I suppose. But you haven't told me your name yet. The children are sure to ask me.'
I repeated it—or them—solemnly.
'"Charlotte"—that's my name,' Sharley remarked.
'I'm never called it,' I said. 'I'm always called Helena.'
Sharley looked rather surprised.
'Fancy!' she said. 'We all call each other by short names and nicknames and all kinds of absurd names. Anna is generally Nan, and the boys are Pert and Quick—at least those are the names that have lasted longest. I daresay it's partly because they are just a little like their real names—Percival and Quintin.'