She said it in a tone which seemed to indicate surprise that I should not know her name—perhaps read it off her face, as one ought to know a flower’s name by looking at it. But she added instantly, glancing up in my face most comically— “I wish yours was Punch.” “Why, Judy?” “It would be such fun, you know.” “Well, it would be odd, I must confess. What is your aunt’s name?” “Oh, such a funny name!—much funnier than Judy: Ethelwyn. It sounds as if it ought to mean something, doesn’t it?” “Yes. It is an Anglo-Saxon word, without doubt.” “What does it mean?” “I’m not sure about that. I will try to find out when I go home—if you would like to know.” “Yes, that I should. I should like to know everything about auntie Ethelwyn. Isn’t it pretty?” “So pretty that I should like to know something more about Aunt Ethelwyn. What is her other name?” “Why, Ethelwyn Oldcastle, to be sure. What else could it be?” “Why, you know, for anything I knew, Judy, it might have been Gladwyn. She might have been your father’s sister.” “Might she? I never thought of that. Oh, I suppose that is because I never think about my father. And now I do think of it, I wonder why nobody ever mentions him to me, or my mother either. But I often think auntie must be thinking about my mother. Something in her eyes, when they are sadder than usual, seems to remind me of my mother.” “You remember your mother, then?” “No, I don’t think I ever saw her. But I’ve answered plenty of questions, haven’t I? I assure you, if you want to get me on to the Catechism, I don’t know a word of it. Come along.” I laughed. “What!” she said, pulling me by the hand, “you a clergyman, and laugh at the Catechism! I didn’t know that.” “I’m not laughing at the Catechism, Judy. I’m only laughing at the idea of putting Catechism questions to you.” “You KNOW I didn’t mean it,” she said, with some indignation. “I know now,” I answered. “But you haven’t let me put the only question I wanted to put.” “What is it?” “How old are you?” “Twelve. Come along.” And away we went down the rest of the stair. When we reached the bottom, a winding path led us through the trees to the side of the pond, along which we passed to get to the other side. And then all at once the thought struck me—why was it that I had never seen this auntie, with the lovely name, at church? Was she going to turn out another strange parishioner? There she sat, intent on her book. As we drew near she looked up and rose, but did not come forward. “Aunt Winnie, here’s Mr. Walton,” said Judy.