“Certainly, certainly; have Peter bring some over to-night,” her father replied.
“Oh, thank you!” Stella cried. “And will you have Peter tell us their names?”
“Their what?” exclaimed Mrs. Eckstrom.
“Oh, haven’t they names? The poor things!” Stella said. “I shall name them as soon as they come.”
“What a quaint idea,” the girl said, with a smile. “Do you name all the creatures on the place?”
“Certainly,” said Stella. “Come, I’ll show you Epictetus and Luella.”
This was a new one on me, but I kept silent, while she led us around the house, and lifted the plank which led up from the sundial lawn to the south door. Under it were two enormous toads and two small ones.
“Those big ones are Epictetus and Luella,” she announced, “and, dear me, two children have arrived to visit them since morning! Let me see.”
She dropped on her knees and examined the toads carefully, while they tried to burrow into the soil backward, to escape the sun. Our callers regarded her with odd expressions of mingled amusement and amazement–or was it pity?
“A son and daughter-in-law,” she announced, rising. “They are Gladys and Gaynor.”