to death? Did he?
Well, he was a wicked thing, so he was."

The parrot closed his beak carefully about one of her fingers and was
lifted to her arm, where he sat in ruffled dignity and stared at Roy
with malevolent gaze. The rescued rabbit lay meanwhile, a palpitating
bunch of white, in the girl's other hand. Presently, having examined him
carefully for damages and found none, she stepped to one of the boxes
and deposited him on a litter of straw and cabbage leaves.

"I've had such horrid luck with the babies," she said confidently, her
indignation apparently forgotten. "There were three at first. Then one
died of rheumatism--at least, I'm almost sure it was rheumatism,--and
one was killed by a rat and now only poor little Angel is left. I call
him Angel," she explained, turning to her audience, "because he is so
white. Don't you think it is a very appropriate name?"

Roy nodded silently. Like the parrot, he had had his temper a bit
ruffled; the girl's remarks had not been especially complimentary. If
she guessed his feelings she showed no signs of it. Instead,

"You're a new boy, aren't you?" she asked.

"Yes," answered Roy.

"What's your name?"

"Roy Porter."

"Mine's Harry--I mean Harriet Emery; they call me Harry. Harriet's a
beast of a name, isn't it?"

Roy hesitated, somewhat taken back.

"Oh, you needn't mind being polite," continued the girl. "I hate polite
people--I mean the kind that say things they don't mean just to be nice
to you. Harriet is a beast of a name; I don't care if I was named for
Aunt Harriet Beverly. I hate it, don't you? Oh, I forgot! You're one of
the polite sort!"

"No, I'm not," answered Roy, laughing. "I don't like Harriet any better
than you do. But I like Harry."

"Do you?" she asked eagerly. "Honest? Hope to die?"

"Hope to die," echoed Roy gravely.

"Then you may call me Harry."

"Thanks. Is Doctor Emery your father?"

"Yes. Only they don't call him Doctor Emery--the boys, I mean."

"Don't they? What do they call him?"

"Emmy," answered Harry with a giggle. "It's such a funny name for papa!
And mamma they call 'Mrs. Em.'"

"And they call you Harry?" said Roy for want of something better to say.
Harry's head went up on the instant and her blue eyes flashed.

"You'd better believe they don't! That is, not many of them. They call
me _Miss_ Harry."

"Oh, excuse me," Roy apologized. "_Miss_ Harry."

Harry hesitated. Then,

"Those that I like call me Harry," s