"What is his name, father?" asked Maria.

"Whose name?"

"The boy's."

"Herbert Mason."

"Herbert? I thought it might be Jonathan, or Zeke, or some such name.
Herbert isn't at all countrified."

"No," said Tom, slyly; "of course not. We all know why you like that
name."

"Oh, you're mighty wise, Mr. Tom!" retorted his sister.

"It's because you like Herbert Dartmouth; but it isn't any use. He's in
love with Lizzie Graves."

"You seem to know all about it," said Maria, with vexation; for Tom was
not far from right in speaking of her preference for Herbert Dartmouth.

"Of course I do," said Tom; "I ought to, for he told me so himself."

"I don't believe it!" said Maria, who looked ready to cry.

"Well, you needn't; but it's so."

"Be quiet, children," said Mrs. Stanton. "Thomas, you mustn't plague
your sister."