nderhill. Everybody called him
Familiar, but Mrs. Underhill shortened it to 'Milyer.

The little girl's name was Hannah Ann. The school children called her
Han and Hanny. One grandmother always said Hanneran. But being the
youngest, the most natural name seemed "little girl."

There were three sons to lead off, Stephen Decatur, Joseph Bennett, and
John Fowler. Then a daughter was most welcome, and she was called
Margaret Hunter after her mother, and shortened to Peggy. They used
nicknames and diminutives, if they were not as fanciful as ours.

After Margaret came George Horton, Benny Franklin, and James Odell. The
poor mother gave a sigh of disappointment, she had so longed for another
girl. When Jim had outgrown babyhood altogether and was nearly five, the
desired blessing came.

There was a great discussion about her name. Grandmother Hunter had
married a second time and was a Van Kortlandt now. She had named her
only daughter after her mother and was a bit offended that Margaret was
not named for her. Now she came with a fairy god-mother's insistence,
and declared she would put a hundred dollars in the bank at once, and
remember the child in her will, besides giving her the old Hunter
tablespoons made in London more than a hundred years ago, with the crown
mark on them.

Grandmother Underhill's name was Ann. She lived with her eldest son at
White Plains, who had fallen heir to his grandfather's farm. When a
widow she had gone back to her girlhood's home and taken care of her old
father. David, her eldest son, had come to work the farm. She had a
"wing" in the house, but she never lived by herself, for her son and the
grandchildren adored her.

Now she said to the baby's mother: "You put in Ann for a middle name and
I'll give her a hundred dollars as well, and my string of gold beads
that came from Paris. And I'll make her a nice down bed and pillows."

So Hannah Ann it was, and the little girl began life with a bank
account. She was a grave, sweet, dainty sort of baby, with wondering
eyes of bluish violet, bordering on gray. I think myself that she should
have had a prettier name, but people were not throwing away even
two-hundred-dollar chances in those days. Neither had they come to
Ediths and Ethels and Mays and Gladys. And they barbarously shortened
some of their most beautiful names to Peggy and Betsey and Polly and
Sukey.

Left to herself the little girl went on with her patchwork, and recalled
her vi