"But you call your daughter Nellie," suggested the little widow, and
in her soft, blue eye there shone a mischievous twinkle, as if she
fancied she had beaten him with his own argument.
But if she thought to convince that most unreasonable man, she was
mistaken. What he did was no criterion for others, unless he chose
that it should be so, and he answered, "That is sister Kelsey's
idea, and as she is very fond of Nellie I do not interfere. But,
seriously, Matty, darling,"--and he drew her to his side, with an
uncommon show of fondness,--" I cannot call your daughter Maude; I
do not like the name, and it is a maxim of mine, that if a person
dislikes a name, 'tis an easy matter to dislike the one who bears
it."
Had Mrs. Remington cared less for him than she did, she might have
wondered how many more disagreeable maxims he had in store. But love
is blind, or nearly so; and when, as if to make amends for his
remarks, he caressed her with an unusual degree of tenderness, the
impulsive woman felt that she would call her daughter anything which
suited him. Accordingly, when at last Maude returned to the parlor,
with her dress changed, her curls arranged, and her dimpled cheeks
shining with the suds in which they had been washed, she was
prepared to say Matilda or whatever else pleased his capricious
fancy.
"Little girl," he said, extending his hand toward her, "little girl,
come here. I wish to talk with you."
But the little girl hung back, and when tier mother insisted upon
her going to the gentleman, asking if she did not like him, she
answered decidedly, "No, I don't like him, and he shan't be my pa,
either!"
"Maude, daughter!" exclaimed Mrs. Remington, while Dr. Kennedy,
turning slightly pale, thought "wretch!" but said, "Matilda, come
here, won't you?"
"I aint Matilda," she answered. "I won't be Matilda--I'm Maude," and
her large black eyes flashed defiantly upon him.
It was in vain that Dr. Kennedy coaxed and Mrs. Remington
threatened. Maude had taken a dislike to the stranger, and as he
persisted in calling her Matilda, she persisted in refusing to
answer, until at last, hearing Janet pass through the hall, she ran
out to her, sure of finding comfort and sympathy there.
"I am afraid I have suffered Maude to have her own way too much, and
for the future I must be more strict with her," said Mrs. Remington
apologetically; while the doctor replied, "I think, myself, a little
wholesome discipline would not be amiss. 'Tis a maxim of mine, spare
the rod and spoil the child; but, of course, I shall not interfere
in the matter."