Mr. Wriford took it again and held it while it wriggled. "Come, who's the crosspatch now?" "Well, that's nice!" cried Essie. "I'm sure I'm not." "Put your fingers like you had them when we walked up. That's the way of it. This little one there and that little one there." "Oh, go on!" said Essie, but settled her fingers as she was told. "Rather nice just now, don't you think?" said Mr. Wriford. "Not bad," said Essie. "Perhaps we'll do it again?" "Perhaps the moon'll drop plump out of the sky." "Well, we'll watch it," said Mr. Wriford, "and if it doesn't we will. Let's be friends, Essie." "Oh, we're friends, all right." "Well, I'll pretend I'm your--young fellow. How about that?" Essie gave a little laugh. "Likely!" she said. "You know, I believe you're a caution after all, for all you're so quiet. My young fellow! Why, I don't even know your name--your Christian name, I mean." "What do you think?" "However do I know? Shouldn't be a bit surprised if it was Solomon." "Well, it isn't. What would you like it to be?" Essie looked across the bandstand lights beneath them for a moment, then made a little snuggling movement with the hand in Mr. Wriford's, and then looked at him and said softly: "Well, I've never had an Arthur." "Call me Arthur, then--so long as you don't make it Art or Artie." "What, don't you like Art, then?" said Essie, and then suddenly, her eyes asparkle again, her lips twitching, "Aren't names funny, though? Let's have a laugh!" And Mr. Wriford laughed and said the name Edith always made him think of seed cake; and Essie laughed immensely and said Alice always reminded her of a piece of silk; and Mr. Wriford said Ethel was a bit of brown velvet; and Essie said Robert was a bouncing foot-ball; and in this laughter and this childish folly Mr. Wriford found himself immoderately tickled and amused, and Essie quite forgot the disturbance that had followed the kissing; and home when the band stopped they went in quick exchange of lightsome subjects. Mr. Wriford, for the first time that he might have remembered, went to bed and fell asleep without lying long awake to think and think. The significant thing was that he did not try to remember it, nor reflect upon it. He was smiling at an absurdity of jolly little Essie's as he put out his light: he was soon asleep. CHAPTER VIII OUR ESSIE I