I sat bolt upright at this. It did not become me to protest, but I could
not keep the dismay from my face, evidently, for Mr. Stewart
laughed aloud.

"What is it, Douw? Is it not to your liking?"

"Y-e-s, sir--but she is such a very little girl!"

"And the name is so great, eh? She'll grow to it, lad, she'll grow to it.
And what kind of a Dutchman are you, sir, who are unwilling to do honor to
the greatest of all Dutchmen? The Dr. Erasmus upon whose letters you are
to try your Latin this winter--his name was Desiderius. Can you tell what
it means? It signifies 'desired,' as of a mother's heart, and he took a
form of the Greek verb _erao_, meaning about the same thing, instead. It's
a goodly famous name, you see. We mean to make our little girl the truest
lady, and love her the best, of all the women in the Valley. And so we'll
give her a name--a fair-sounding, gracious, classical name--which no
other woman bears, and one that shall always suggest home love--eh, boy?"

"But if it be so good a name, sir," I said, gingerly being conscious of
presumption, "why did Dr. Erasmus not keep it himself instead of turning
it into Greek?"

My patron laughed heartily at this. "A Dutchman for obstinacy!" he said,
and leaned over to rub the top of my head, which he did when I specially
pleased him.

Late that night, as I lay awake in my new room, listening to the whistling
of the wind in the snow-laden branches outside, an idea came to me which I