"Oh Robin, Robin!" she cried--"You are simply delicious! The most
enchanting boy! That crimson tie and that Latin! No wonder the
village girls adore you! 'De,'--what is it? 'Contemptu Mundi,' and
Misery Human Conditions! Poor Pope! He never sat on top of a hay-
load in his life I'm sure! But you see his name was Lothario,--not
Innocent."

"His baptismal name was Lothario," said Robin, severely.

She was suddenly silent.

"Well! I suppose _I_ was baptised?" she queried, after a pause.

"I suppose so."

"I wonder if I have any other name? I must ask Dad."

Robin looked at her curiously;--then his thoughts were diverted by
the sight of a squat stout woman in a brown spotted print gown and
white sunbonnet, who just then trotted briskly into the hay-field,
calling at the top of her voice:

"Mister Jocelyn! Mister Jocelyn! You're wanted!"

"There's Priscilla calling Uncle in," he said, and making a hollow
of his hands he shouted:

"Hullo, Priscilla! What is it?"