with you?"

"Think nice-cums," Miss Pratt responded. "Flopit an' me think
nice-cums."

"No," said William; "I mean what name do you have for me when you're
when you're thinking about me?"

Miss Pratt seemed to be puzzled, perhaps justifiably, and she made a
cooing sound of interrogation.

"I mean like this," William explained. "F'rinstance, when you first
came, I always thought of you as 'Milady'--when I wrote that poem, you
know."

"Ess. Boo'fums."

"But now I don't," he said. "Now I think of you by another name when I'm
alone. It--it just sort of came to me. I was kind of just sitting around
this afternoon, and I didn't know I was thinking about anything at all
very much, and then all of a sudden I said it to myself out loud. It was
about as strange a thing as I ever knew of. Don't YOU think so?"

"Ess. It uz dest WEIRD!" she answered. "What ARE dat pitty names?"

"I called you," said William, huskily and reverently, "I called you 'My
Baby-Talk Lady.'"

BANG!