"I was christened Pauline in baptism but I am usually known as Polly.
However, my sister and I both recognize ourselves when called Miss
O'Neill." This was such an evident attempt on Polly's part to put her
questioner in his proper place that he could not rise entirely superior
to it, even though her intention to hit back was so transparent.
"May I tell you my name now?" he asked in a more humble tone, as though
wishful to make peace.
"You don't have to tell me your name for I am very sure I know it
already," the girl answered in a provoking manner, for which she had a
peculiar talent. "You see our guardian told us that you were the son of
the Mr. Webster who owns the land on which we are camping, and I am
convinced that there is no young man in New Hampshire boasting the last
name, Webster, whose first name isn't Daniel! Do you think we would so
fail to commemorate our greatest statesman? It must be rather dreary to
be named for so great a person that you know whatever you may achieve
yourself you must always sound like an anti-climax."
This time it was surely Polly who had struck home, for the young man
colored and applied himself to the food on his plate for at least a
moment before he replied: "You are right, my name is Daniel and I have
felt about it a little as you say, but then I am also called William,
which is a better name for a farmer.
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