her say once to Father that she didn't see why, when there were so
many, many stars, a paltry one or two more need to be made such a fuss
about. And _I_ don't, either.

But Father just groaned, and shook his head, and threw up his hands,
and looked _so_ tired. And that's all he said. That's all he says lots
of times. But it's enough. It's enough to make you feel so small
and mean and insignificant as if you were just a little green worm
crawling on the ground. Did you ever feel like a green worm crawling
on the ground? It's not a pleasant feeling at all.

Well, now, about the name. Of course they had to begin to talk about
naming me pretty soon; and Nurse said they did talk a lot. But they
couldn't settle it. Nurse said that that was about the first thing
that showed how teetotally utterly they were going to disagree about
things.

Mother wanted to call me Viola, after her mother, and Father wanted to
call me Abigail Jane after his mother; and they wouldn't either one
give in to the other. Mother was sick and nervous, and cried a lot
those days, and she used to sob out that if they thought they were
going to name her darling little baby that awful Abigail Jane, they
were very much mistaken; that she would never give her consent to
it--never. Then Father would say in his cold, stern way: "Very
well, then, you needn't. But neither shall I give my consent to
my daughter's being named that absurd Viola. The child is a human
being--not a fiddle in an orchestra!"

And that's the way it went, Nurse said, until everybody was just about
crazy. Then somebody suggested "Mary." And Father said, very well,