Oldburgh isn't the town's name, of course, but it's a descriptive alias. The place itself is, unfortunately, the worst overworked southern capital in fiction. It is one of the Old South's "types," boasting far more social leaders than sky-scrapers--and you can't suffer a blow-out on _any_ pike near the city's limits that isn't flanked by a college campus. "Oldburgh knows how I feel," mother replied. "If this baby had been a boy I should have named him Theodore--gift of God--but since she's a girl, her name is _Grace_." She said it smoothly, I feel sure, for her Vere de Vere repose always jutted out like an iceberg into a troubled sea when there was a family squall going on. "_All_ right!" pronounced two aunts, simultaneously and acidly. "All _right_!" chorused another two, but Cousin Pollie hadn't given up the ship. "Just name a girl Faith, Hope or Natalie, if you want her to grow up freckle-faced and marry a ribbon clerk!" she threatened. "Grace is every bit as bad! It is indicative! It proclaims what you think of her--what you will expect of her--and just trust her to disappoint you!" Which is only too true! You may be named Fannie or Bess without your family having anything up its sleeve, but it's an entirely different matter when you're named for one of the prismatic virtues. You know then that you're expected to take an A. B. degree, mate with a millionaire and bring up your children by the Montessori method. "Bet Gwace 'ud ruther be ducked 'n cwistened, anyhow!" observed Guilford Blake, my five-year-old betrothed.--Not that we were Hindus and believed in infant marriage exactly! Not that! We were simply southerners, living in that portion of the South where the principal ambition in life is to "stay put"--where everything you get is inherited, tastes, mates and demijohns--where blood is thicker than axle-grease, and the dividing fence between your estate and the next is properly supposed to act as a seesaw basis for your amalgamated grandchildren.--Hence this early occasion for "Enter Guilford." "My daughter is not going to disappoint me," mother declared, as she motioned for Guilford's mother to come forward and keep him from profaning the water in the font with his little celluloid duck. "Don't be too sure," warned Cousin Pollie. "Well, I'll--I'll risk it!" mother fired back. "And if you must know the truth, I couldn't express my feelings of gratitude--yes, I said _grat_itude--in any other name than Grace. I have had a wonderful blessing lately, and I am going to give credit where it is due! It was nothing less than an act of heavenly grace that released me!"