too pleased with her fancy to give it up, and
she smilingly overcame this objection and all others. It was a pretty,
simple, and modest-sounding name, she said, with nothing in it that
could be made laughable. It was short to say, and above all it had the
advantage of being uncommon; as it was, so many mothers had desired the
honour of naming their daughters after the rector's wife, that the
number of "Annies" was overwhelming, but there certainly would not be
two "Lilac Whites" in the village. In short, as Mrs White told Jem
that evening, Mrs Leigh was "that set" on the name that she had to give
in to her. And so it was settled; and wonderfully soon afterwards it
was rumoured in the village that Mrs James White on the hill meant to
call her baby "Lilac."

This could not matter to anyone else, Mrs Leigh had said, but she was
mistaken. Every mother in the parish had her opinion to offer, for
there were not so many things happening, that even the very smallest
could be passed over without a proper amount of discussion when
neighbours met. On the whole they were not favourable opinions. It was
felt that Mrs White, who had always held herself high and been severe
on the follies of her friends, had now in her turn laid herself open to
remark by choosing an outlandish and fanciful name for her child.
Lilies, Roses, and even Violets were not unknown in Danecross, but who
had ever heard of Lilac?

Mrs Greenways said so, and she had a right to speak, not only because
she lived at Orchards Farm, which was the biggest in the parish, but
because her husband was Mrs White's brother. She said it at all times
and in all places, but chiefly at "Dimbleby's", for if you dropped in
there late in the afternoon you were pretty sure to find acquaintances,
eager to hear and tell news; and this was specially the case on
Saturday, which was shopping day.

Dimbleby's was quite a large shop, and a very important one, for there
was no other in the village; it was rather dark, partly because the roof
was low-pitched, and partly because of the wonderful number and variety
of articles crammed into it, so that it would have puzzled anyone to
find out what Dimbleby did not sell. The air was also a little thick to
breathe, for there floated in it a strange mixture, made up of
unbleached calico, corduroy, smockfrocks, boots, and bacon. All these
articles and many others were to be seen piled up on shelves or
counters, or dangling from the lo