"He ain't old enough for pants. He's only two."
"Oh, mercy! He's lots bigger than Glen. But then Glen won't be two until next January."
"Is Glen your brother?" asked the other girl, somewhat mollified by the friendliness of the stranger's voice.
"No, he's the minister's little boy which we used to have in Parker where we lived 'fore we came here. What's your baby's name?"
"Rivers."
"His first name, I mean."
"That's his first name. Rivers Dillon, and I'm Fern."
"Oh! They're as bad as ours, ain't they? I'm always running up against horrid names. Gail says it's 'cause I am always looking for them—"
"Our names ain't horrid!" Fern Dillon bounced off the grass like an angry hornet, then collapsed beside the baby brother, who evidently was not given much to talking, for he had not said a word, but simply stared in round-eyed surprise at the pretty stranger child. "Oh, dear, everybody is so mean!"
"Fern, what have I done? I didn't mean to be hateful," cried Peace remorsefully. "Please, I'm sorry I've made you mad. Don't mind anything I said. I've always hated my own name so bad that I am always glad when I can find a worse one. That is all I meant."