although her mother had been aghast before the propo-
sition. "Name a girl Daniel, uncle!" she had cried.

"She is going to have what I own after I have
done with it, anyway," declared Daniel, gazing with
awe and rapture at the tiny flannel bundle in his
niece's arms. "That won't make any difference, but
I do wish you could make up your mind to call her
after me, Dora."

Dora Lee was soft-hearted. She named her girl-
baby Daniel, and called her Danny, which was not,
after all, so bad, and her old uncle loved the child
as if she had been his own. Little Daniel -- he always
called her Daniel, or, rather, "Dan'l" -- was the only
reason for his descending into the village on summer
days when the weather was hot. Daniel, when he
visited the village in summer-time, wore always a
green leaf inside his hat and carried an umbrella
and a palm-leaf fan. This caused the village boys to
shout, "Hullo, grandma!" after him. Daniel, being
a little hard of hearing, was oblivious, but he would
have been in any case. His whole mind was con-
centrated in getting along that dusty glare of street,
stopping at the store for a paper bag of candy, and
finally ending in Dora's little dark parlor, holding his
beloved namesake on his knee, watching her bliss-
fully suck a barley stick while he waved his palm-
leaf fan. Dora would be fitting gowns in the next
room. He would hear the hum of feminine chatter