"I've had such horrid luck with the babies," she said confidently, her indignation apparently forgotten. "There were three at first. Then one died of rheumatism--at least, I'm almost sure it was rheumatism,--and one was killed by a rat and now only poor little Angel is left. I call him Angel," she explained, turning to her audience, "because he is so white. Don't you think it is a very appropriate name?" Roy nodded silently. Like the parrot, he had had his temper a bit ruffled; the girl's remarks had not been especially complimentary. If she guessed his feelings she showed no signs of it. Instead, "You're a new boy, aren't you?" she asked. "Yes," answered Roy. "What's your name?" "Roy Porter." "Mine's Harry--I mean Harriet Emery; they call me Harry. Harriet's a beast of a name, isn't it?" Roy hesitated, somewhat taken back. "Oh, you needn't mind being polite," continued the girl. "I hate polite people--I mean the kind that say things they don't mean just to be nice to you. Harriet is a beast of a name; I don't care if I was named for Aunt Harriet Beverly. I hate it, don't you? Oh, I forgot! You're one of the polite sort!" "No, I'm not," answered Roy, laughing. "I don't like Harriet any better than you do. But I like Harry." "Do you?" she asked eagerly. "Honest? Hope to die?" "Hope to die," echoed Roy gravely. "Then you may call me Harry." "Thanks. Is Doctor Emery your father?" "Yes. Only they don't call him Doctor Emery--the boys, I mean." "Don't they? What do they call him?" "Emmy," answered Harry with a giggle. "It's such a funny name for papa! And mamma they call 'Mrs. Em.'" "And they call you Harry?" said Roy for want of something better to say. Harry's head went up on the instant and her blue eyes flashed. "You'd better believe they don't! That is, not many of them. They call me _Miss_ Harry." "Oh, excuse me," Roy apologized. "_Miss_ Harry." Harry hesitated. Then, "Those that I like call me Harry," she said. "And you--you rescued the baby. So--you may call me Harry, without the Miss, you know." "I'll try to deserve the honor," replied Roy very gravely. Harry observed him suspiciously. "There you go being polite and nasty," she said crossly. Then, with a sudden change of manner, she advanced toward him with one very brown and somewhat dirty little hand stretched forth and a ludicrous smirk on her face. "I forgot you were a new boy," she said. "I hope your stay with us will be both pleasant and profitable." Roy accepted the proffered hand bewilderedly. "There," she said, with a little shake of her shoulders and a quick abandonment of the funny stilted tone and manner, "there, that's done. Mamma makes me do that, you know. It's awfully silly, isn't it?" Methuselah, who, during the conversation, had remained perched silently on the girl's shoulder, now decided to take part in the proceedings. "Well, I never did!" he exclaimed hoarsely. "Can't you be quiet? Naughty Poll! Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing!"