nevertheless, with quiet dignity, that a man's name was something about
which he should have the ruling voice, especially where it was possible
for him to rectify or conceal the unhappy choice of his parents.

"And while we're on names," he continued, "do try to remember in case
you ever get among people, that Sis's name is Psyche and not Pish."

The blond and complacent Miss Bines here moved uneasily in her patent
blue plush rocker and spoke for the first time, with a grateful glance
at her brother.

"Yes, Uncle Peter, for mercy's sake, _do_ try! Don't make us a
laughing-stock!" "But your name is Pish. A person's name is what their
folks name 'em, ain't it? Your ma comes acrost a name in a book that
she likes the looks of, and she takes it to spell Pish, and she ups and
names you Pish, and we all calls you Pish and Pishy, and then when you
toddle off to public school and let 'em know how you spell it they tell
you it's something else--an outlandish name if spellin' means anything.
If it comes to that you ought to change the spellin' instead of the
name that your poor pa loved."

Yet the old man had come to know that he was fighting a lost
fight,--lost before it had ever begun.

"It will be a good chance," ventured Mrs. Bines, timidly, "for Pishy--I
mean Sike--Sicky--to meet the right sort of people."

"Yes, I should _say_--and the wrong sort. The ingagin' host of them
lady and gentlemen dogs, fur instance."