"I'd heard so much of your little girl from Mrs. Bolton, and her attachment
to the house, that I ventured to send for her to-day. But I believe I gave
her rather a bad quarter of an hour, and that she liked the place better
under Mrs. Bolton's _regime_."

She expected some deprecatory expression of gratitude from him, which would
relieve her of the lingering shame she felt for having managed so badly,
but he made none.

"It was my fault. I'm not used to children, and I hadn't taken the
precaution to ask her name--"

"Her name is Idella," said the minister.

Annie thought it very ugly, but, with the intention of saying something
kind, she said, "What a quaint name!"

"It was her mother's choice," returned the minister. "Her own name was
Ella, and my mother's name was Ida; she combined the two."

"Oh!" said Annie. She abhorred those made-up names in which the New England
country people sometimes indulge their fancy, and Idella struck her as a
particularly repulsive invention; but she felt that she must not visit the
fault upon the little creature. "Don't you think you could give me another
trial some time, Idella?" She stooped down and took the child's unoccupied
hand, which she let her keep, only twisting her face away to hide it in her
father's pantaloon leg. "Come now, won't you give me a forgiving little
kiss?" Idella looked round, and Annie made bold to gather her up.