Mrs. Bobby bought her place only a few months ago, for she lived in Cheltenham before Mr. Bobby died. The last incumbent had probably been of Welsh extraction, for the cottage had been named 'Dan-y-cefn.' Mrs. Bobby declared, however, that she wouldn't have a heathenish name posted on her house, and expect her friends to pronounce it when she couldn't pronounce it herself. She seemed grieved when at first I could not see the absolute necessity of naming the cottage at all, telling her that in America we named only grand places. She was struck dumb with amazement at this piece of information, and failed to conceive of the confusion that must ensue in villages where streets were scarcely named or houses numbered. I confess it had never occurred to me that our manner of doing was highly inconvenient, if not impossible, and I approached the subject of the name with more interest and more modesty. “Well, Mrs. Bobby,” I began, “it is to be Cottage; we've decided that, have we not? It is to be Cottage, not House, Lodge, Mansion, or Villa. We cannot name it after any flower that blows, because they are all taken. Have all the trees been used?” “Thank you, miss, yes, miss, all but h'ash-tree, and we 'ave no h'ash.” “Very good, we must follow another plan. Family names seem to be chosen, such as Gower House, Marston Villa, and the like. 'Bobby Cottage' is not pretty. What was your maiden name, Mrs. Bobby?” “Buggins, thank you, miss. 'Elizabeth Buggins, Licensed to sell Poultry,' was my name and title when I met Mr. Bobby.” “I'm sorry, but 'Buggins Cottage' is still more impossible than 'Bobby Cottage.' Now here's another idea: where were you born, Mrs. Bobby?” “In Snitterfield, thank you, miss.” “Dear, dear! how unserviceable!” “Thank you, miss.” “Where was Mr. Bobby born?” “He never mentioned, miss.” (Mr. Bobby must have been expansive, for they were married twenty years.) “There is always Victoria or Albert,” I said tentatively, as I wiped my brushes. “Yes, miss, but with all respect to her Majesty, them names give me a turn when I see them on the gates, I am that sick of them.” “True. Can we call it anything that will suggest its situation? Is there a Hill Crest?” “Yes, miss, there is 'Ill Crest, 'Ill Top, 'Ill View, 'Ill Side, 'Ill End, H'under 'Ill, 'Ill Bank, and 'Ill Terrace.” “I should think that would do for Hill.” “Thank you, miss. 'Ow would 'The 'Edge' do, miss?” “But we have no hedge.” (She shall not have anything with an h in it, if I can help it.) “No, miss, but I thought I might set out a bit, if worst come to worst.” “And wait three or four years before people would know why the cottage was named? Oh no, Mrs. Bobby.” “Thank you, miss.”