"Good-morning, my beauty," says That. "Come! hand over the flax, sharp, there's a good girl." So she gave That the flax and shut the window and, you may be sure, ate her victuals, for, as you know, she had a good appetite, and the King, her husband, had promised to give her everything she liked to eat. So she ate to her heart's content, and when evening came and she heard that queer knocking at the window again, she upped and opened it, and there was the small, little, black Thing with five spun skeins on his arm! And it twirled its tail faster than ever, and stuck out its beautiful toes, and bowed and smirked and gave her the five skeins. Then That said, "And now, my beauty, what is That's name?" And she answered quite easy like: "That is Bill." "No, it ain't," says That, and twirled its tail. "Then That is Ned," says she. "No, it ain't," says That, and twirled its tail faster. "Well," says she a bit more thoughtful, "That is Mark." "No, it ain't," says That, and laughs and laughs and laughs, and twirls its tail so as you couldn't see it, as away it flew. Well, when the King, her husband, came in, he was fine and pleased to see the five skeins all ready for him, for he was fond of his pretty wife. "I shall not have to order your head off, my dear," says he. "And I hope all the other days will pass as happily." Then he said good-night and locked the door and left her. But next morning they brought her fresh flax and even more delicious foods. And the small, little, black Thing came knocking at the window and stuck out its beautiful toes and twirled its tail faster and faster, and took away the bundle of flax and brought it back all spun into five skeins by evening. Then That made her guess three times what That's name was; but she could not guess right, and That laughed and laughed and laughed as it flew away. Now every morning and evening the same thing happened, and every evening she had her three guesses; but she never guessed right. And every day the small, little, black Thing laughed louder and louder and smirked more and more, and looked at her quite maliceful out of the corners of its eyes until she began to get frightened, and instead of eating all the fine foods left for her, spent the day in trying to think of names to say. But she never hit upon the right one. So it came to the last day of the month but one, and when the small, little, black Thing arrived in the evening with the five skeins of flax all ready spun, it could hardly say for smirking: "Ain't you got That's name yet?" So says she--for she had been reading her Bible: "Is That Nicodemus?" "No, it ain't," says That, and twirled its tail faster than you could see. "Is That Samuel?" says she all of a flutter. "No, it ain't, my beauty," chuckles That, looking maliceful. "Well--is That Methuselah?" says she, inclined to cry.