Perhaps they were not to be blamed much, for the attractions of the rough out-of-door life which they saw men leading all about them might very easily outweigh the quiet pleasures of a book. But it was a misfortune none the less in after-years to some of them, when they allowed uninformed prejudices to lead them into a terrible course of crime against their country and their neighbors, and paid their estates or their lives as the penalty for their ignorance and folly. Fortunately, things are better ordered for the youth of the land in these days. Chapter V. How a Stately Name Was Shortened and Sweetened. It was on the morrow after my birthday that we became finally convinced of the French retreat. Mr. Stewart had returned from his journeys, contented, and sat now, after his hot supper, smoking by the fire. I lay at his feet on a bear-skin, I remember, reading by the light of the flames, when my aunt brought the baby-girl in. During the week that she had been with us, I had been too much terrified by the menace of invasion to take much interest in her, and Mr. Stewart had scarcely seen her. He smiled now, and held out his hands to her. She went to him very freely, and looked him over with a wise, wondering expression when he took her on his knee. It could be seen that she was very pretty. Her little white rows of teeth were as regular and pearly as the upper kernels on an ear of fresh sweet corn. She had a ribbon in her long, glossy hair, and her face shone pleasantly with soap. My aunt had made her some shoes out of deer-hide, which Mr. Stewart chuckled over. "What a people the Dutch are!" he said, with a smile. "The child is polished like the barrel of a gun. What's your name, little one?" The girl made no answer, from timidity I suppose. "Has she no name? I should think she would have one," said I. It was the first time I had ever spoken to Mr. Stewart without having been addressed. But my new position in the house seemed to entitle me to this much liberty, for once. "No," he replied, "your aunt is not able to discover that she has a name--except that she calls herself Pulkey, or something like that." "That is not a good name to the ear," I said, in comment. "No; doubtless it is a nickname. I have thought," he added, musingly, "of calling her Desideria." I sat bolt upright at this. It did not become me to protest, but I could not keep the dismay from my face, evidently, for Mr. Stewart laughed aloud. "What is it, Douw? Is it not to your liking?" "Y-e-s, sir--but she is such a very little girl!"