"It is an appropriate name," the rector went on. "It implies a perfectly happy condition. There may be dangers, but the girl shall not know of them. There may be difficulties, but they shall not trouble her--at least, we will hope so," he added with a smile. "Thank ye, sir," said King Heathman. "And what will be the next name?" he asked hopefully. "The next?" said the rector, still in his classical musings. "Why, the next child shall be called Placida." But for some reason or other the Princess Placida has never come to claim her name. Serena appears to be the last. She is still a toddler. Almost any day of the week you may see her, fat and jolly, and extremely free from care, staggering between Septima and Octava as they go a-milking. She is generally embracing a yellow and very ugly cat, in lieu of a doll. If you ask her name, she is just able to lisp, "I'se Swena." The gossips of Lew have revenged themselves upon King Heathman. They refuse to call the baby Serena. They call her Annie. And they are all living happily ever afterwards.