about the dog's nodding contentment started Stanton's mouth to yawning and
for almost an hour he lay in the lovely, restful consciousness of being at
least half asleep. But at ten o'clock he roused up sharply and resumed the
task at hand, which seemed suddenly to have assumed really vital
importance. "Laban--Lorenzo--Marcellus," he began again in a loud, clear,
compelling voice. "Meredith--" (Did the little dog stir? Did he sit up?)
"Meredith? Meredith?" The little dog barked. Something in Stanton's brain
flashed. "It is 'Merry' for the dog?" he quizzed. "Here, MERRY!" In another
instant the little creature had leaped upon the foot of his bed, and was
talking away at a great rate with all sorts of ecstatic grunts and growls.
Stanton's hand went out almost shyly to the dog's head. "So it's 'Molly
Meredith'," he mused. But after all there was no reason to be shy about it.
It was the _dog's_ head he was stroking.

Tied to the little dog's collar when he went home the next morning was
a tiny, inconspicuous tag that said "That was easy! The pup's
name--and yours--is 'Meredith.' Funny name for a dog but nice for a
girl."

The Serial-Letter Co.'s answers were always prompt, even though
perplexing.

"DEAR LAD," came this special answer. "You are quite right
about the dog. And I compliment you heartily on your
shrewdness. But I must confess,--even though it makes you
very angry with me, that I have deceived you absolutely
concerning my own name. Will you forgive me utterly if I
hereby promise never to deceive you again? Why what could I
possibly, possibly do with a great solemn name like
'Meredith'? My truly name, Sir, my really, truly,