Mr. Homer started from his seat with a wild look, but Will Jaquith laid a quiet hand on his shoulder. "Sit still, sir!" he said. "I'll take charge of this one, and Tommy will be back soon. Cheer up, Mr. Homer!" He passed out. Mr. Homer, listening feverishly, heard a few words spoken in a cheerful, decided voice; then the door closed. Mr. Homer drew a long breath, but started again nervously as Direxia's brown head popped in at the door. "Mis' Weight brung some stuff," she said, briefly. "Looks like skim-milk blue-monge bet up with tapioky. Want it?" "No!" cried Mr. Homer, with something as near a snarl as his gentle voice could compass. "Well, you needn't take my head off!" said Direxia. "I didn't make it. I'll give it to the parrot; he's rugged." She vanished, and Mr. Homer's head dropped in his hands again. "Like locusts!" he murmured. "Like locusts! Oh, Cousin Marcia, how could you?" CHAPTER VII. CONCHOLOGY AND OTHER THINGS The two trustees had had a busy day. They had just begun upon the collection of shells which for years had lain packed away in boxes in the attic. There were thousands of them, and now as they lay spread out on long tables in the workshop, the glass-covered room where the Captain used to keep his tools and his turning-lathe, Mr. Homer's mind was divided between admiration of their beauty, and dismay at the clumsiness of the names which Tommy Candy read out--painfully, with finger on the page and frequent moppings of an anxious brow, for the polysyllabic was still something of a nightmare to Tommy, spite of his twenty years and his Academy diploma. "Look at this, Thomas," said Mr. Homer, carefully polishing on his sleeve a whorl of rosy pearl. "Observe this marvel of nature, Thomas! This should have a name of beauty, to match its aspect; a name of--a--poetry; of--divine affluence. 'Aurora's Tear' would, I am of opinion, fitly express this exquisite object. Number 742: how does it stand in the volume, Thomas?" "Spiral Snork," said Thomas. Mr. Homer sighed, and laid the shell down. "This is sad, Thomas," he said. "This is--a--painful; this is--a--productive of melancholy. I have never been of the opinion--though it is matter of distress to disagree in any opinion with the immortal Bard of Avon--that 'a rose by any other name'--you are doubtless familiar with the quotation, Thomas. To my mind there is much in a name--much. 'Snork!' The title is repellent; is--a--in a manner suggestive of swine. Pork--snort--snork! the connotation is imperative, I am of opinion. How, why, I ask you, Thomas, should such a name be applied to this exquisite object?" "Named for Simeon Snork, mariner, who first brought it to England," said Tommy, his finger on the paragraph. "Rare: value ten pounds sterling."