To the present Pocahontas (the eighth in the line) it really seemed as
though the thing should stop. She yielded to the family fiat her own
case, because not having been consulted she had no option in the
matter, but when Grace's little daughter was born she put in a plea for
the child.

"Break the spell," she entreated, "and unborn generations will bless
you. We Virginians will keep on in one groove until the crack of doom
unless we are jerked out of it by the nape of the neck. Your heart
ought to yearn over the child--mine does. It's a wicked sin to call a
pretty baby by such a monstrous name."

Grace trampled on the protest: "Not name her Pocahontas? Why, of
_course_ I shall! If the name were twice as long and three times as
ugly my baby should bear it. I wonder you should object when you know
that every Pocahontas in the family has invariably turned out an
exceptionally fine woman. All have been noble, truthful, honorable;
quick to see the right and unswerving in pursuit of it. I shall call
my baby by that name, and no other."

Pocahontas opened her eyes. "Why, Grace," she said, "you talk as if
the name were a talisman; as if virtues were transmitted with it.
Isn't that silly?"

"Not at all," responded Grace promptly; "unless we cease to be
ourselves after death, we _must_ still take interest in the things of
this world, in our families and descendants. We may not be able
actually to transmit our virtues to them, but surely by guardian
influence we can help them imitate ancestral good qualities. Guardian
angels of our own blood are a great deal nearer than outside angels,