ll'--ain't that grand? And here's another, 'Gabrielle Flora
Folwell'--"

"What in the world are you reading?" asked the puzzled boy, craning his
neck out of the window to see what sort of a Bible it could be with such
names as these in it.

"Aunt Maria said it was an old Bible that we've carted around for years
and it is such a nuisance to move that they don't mean to pack it this
time at all. There are a lot of names in the back and some awfully
homely pictures. I rubbed my finger on one and it smooched the nose
clear off and blurred both eyes, but he wasn't good looking anyway. It
isn't much worse now. On one page it says 'Births,' and on another
'Deaths,' and on the third 'Marriages.'"

"Oh!" Tom was suddenly enlightened. "Hold the book fast now and I'll
come down where you are and get it. Don't fall."

His instructions were unnecessary. Tabitha's legs were curled around the
big bough so tightly that it would have taken a cyclone to dislodge her,
and the mammoth Bible hung suspended by its broken back from an adjacent
branch in such a fashion that as long as its heavy binding held it could
not fall. But it took considerable effort to haul it up into the house
again, and this was finally accomplished only after Tabitha had crawled
back through the window to tug at it from above, while Tom pushed at it
from below, swaying and bumping in the sycamore until both children held
their breath for fear boy and Bible would land in a heap on the ground.

"There!" breathed Tabitha with a sigh of relief when at last the volume
lay safe on the wide window-sill. "Now you can see all the names
yourself. I never heard such grand ones before. How do you pronounce
A-m-a-r-i-a-h? And here's a perfectly beautiful one D-i-o-n-y-s-i-u-s
Carpenter. It has him down under the marriages with Pen-e-lope Miranda
Folwell. Don't you think that is pretty? They are all so different from
John and Frank and--and--Thomas and Tabitha. I wish I could pick out a
pretty name for my very own and have folks call me that always. Don't
you?"

Tom was intently studying the records penned in faded ink on the yellow
pages, and now he raised his head and looked into the eager black eyes
upturned to his, as he said slowly,

"Puss, this must be the family Bible that belonged to Mother's folks. I
can remember Dad used to call her Dora, and I have an old letter I found
in a book a long time ago that has the name Folwell on it. Yes, here's
the record. See, Puss