"Rebecca," was the reply.
"Why," I said, "I was pitying you all this time, thinking you were called Tobacco."
"Oh, no!" she cried, "it is not so bad as that. You have a funny name, though. I have often wondered how you came to have such a name. Perhaps you were born on Easter-Monday, or were very fond of eggs."
"What can you mean?" I replied. "I don't see any thing funny about my name: I am told it is pretty."
"Well, I should not call it pretty exactly," she giggled: "it always makes me feel hungry."
"Hungry?" I was trying to be friendly; but I did feel slightly offended at this. At last, just as tears of vexation were rising to my eyes, I thought of asking, "What do you think my name is?"
"Why, Egg, of course."
"Oh the idea of such a thing!" We both laughed till we nearly fell off our perches. As soon as I was sober enough, I made haste to explain that my name was Agnes, but that my brothers and sisters called me "Ag." It must have been "Ag" that she heard, and thought it was Egg.
Agnes.
