She found him sitting by the window, looking out toward the flaming west where the sun was already sinking behind the mountain tops, and he did not turn when she entered the room, or give any sign that he saw or heard her. She waited in silence for some moments beside his chair, and then, thinking he had not heard her enter, she said timidly, "How do you do, Mr. Hermit? Dr. Vane said you would like to see me." The man started at the sound of her voice and turning in his chair stared so fixedly at her that she was frightened and wished Dr. Vane had stayed with her. "Is there something--can I do anything for you? Would you like to have me speak some pieces for you?" Poor Tabitha had not the faintest idea what to say to this man, whose scarred face shocked and disconcerted her, and there was no one in the room to help her. "What's your name?" finally asked the hermit. "Tabitha Catt." "Pretty name!" He laughed mirthlessly and the girl shrank as if she had been struck. She had not expected him to make fun of her and was undecided whether to be hurt or angry. He was kind to animals; she had hoped to meet that same kindness toward herself. "It's a horrid name, but I can't help it, for I didn't name myself," she answered with dignity, resolved to hold firmly to the fiery temper that caused her so much unhappiness. "Why don't you drop it and take some other?" he asked curiously, aware that she was making an effort to control herself. "I did once," replied the girl with a dejected air, in such contrast to her former haughty tearing that he was amused. "But it didn't pay." "Why not?" "Dad made me take it all back." "Tell me about it." "That's all there is to tell. I let folks believe my name was something else and he made me tell them what it really was." "What was the name you adopted?" "Theodora Marcella Gabrielle Julianna Victoria Emeline." "Whew! How could they ever remember it all? That's a long handle for a little girl." "They called me Theodora Gabrielle for short." He smiled in spite of himself. "And do you really wish your name was that whole string?" "I did wish so once. That was when I was a little bit of a girl. I am twelve now. In next April I will be thirteen. Girls are young ladies when they get into their teens, Aunt Maria says. If I could change my name now, I would rather it would be Theodora Eugenia Louise. That is shorter, and long names are not the style any more. Theodora was my mother's name and I should want that for mine always." "Do you look like your mother?" "I reckon not. She died when I was too little to know anything, but if either of us looks like her it must be Tom. I am afraid I resemble Dad." "Afraid?"