uld not cling to him; they fell
off at once. Pop he was always called to his face, whether he were
referred to abroad as "the old man," "the governor," or "our dear
father."

The evolution of the Grout family could be traced still more clearly in
the names the parents had given the children. The eldest was a daughter,
though when she grew up she dropped back in the line and became ever so
much younger than her next younger brothers. She might have fallen still
farther to the rear if she had not run up against another daughter who
had her own age to keep down.

The eldest daughter, born in the grim days of early penury, had been
grimly entitled Julia. The following child, a son, was soberly called by
his father's given and his mother's maiden names--John Pennock Grout, or
Jno. P., as his father wrote it.

A year or two later there appeared another hostage. Labeling him was a
matter of deep concern. John urged his own father's name, William; but
the mother wafted this away with a gesture of airy disgust. There was a
hired girl in the kitchen now and mother was reading a good many novels
between stitches. She debated long and hard while the child waited
anonymous. At length she ventured on Gerald. She changed that two or
three times and the boy had a narrow escape from Sylvester. He came
perilously near to carrying Abelard through an amused world; but she
harked back to Gerald--which he spelled Jerrold at times.

Then two daughters entered the family in succession and were stamped
Beatrice--pronounced Bay-ah-treat-she by those who had the time and the
energy--and Consuelo, which Pop would call Counser-eller.

By this time Julia had grown up and was beginning at finishing-school.
She soon saw that Julia would never do--never! She had started with a
handicap, but she caught up with the rest and passed them gracefully by
ingeniously altering the final _a_ to an _e_, and pronouncing it
Zheelee.

Her father never could get within hailing distance of the French _j_ and
_u_, and teetered awkwardly between Jilly and Jelly. He was apt to relax
sickeningly into plain Julia--especially before folks, when he was
nervous anyway. Only they did not say "before folks" now; the Grouts
never said "before folks" now--they said, "In the presence of guests."

By the time the next son came the mother was shamelessly literary enough
to name him Ethelwolf, which his school companions joyously abbreviated
to Ethel, overlooking the wolf.