“Perhaps I have not told you,” said Quincy, “that I have two sisters and am used to that sort of thing.  When I was in college hardly a day passed that I did not get a letter from one or the other of them, and they brightened up my life immensely.”

“What are their names and how old are they?” asked Alice.

“The elder,” replied Quincy, “is nineteen and her name is Florence Estelle.”

“What a sweet name!” said Alice.

“The younger is between fifteen and sixteen, and is named Maude Gertrude.”

“Is she as dignified as her name?” asked Alice.

“Far from it,” remarked Quincy.  “She would be a tomboy if she had an opportunity.  Mother and father call them Florence and Maude, for they both abhor nicknames, but among ourselves they are known as Flossie, or Stell, and Gertie.”

“What was your nickname?” asked Alice.

“Well,” said Quincy, “they used to call me Quinn, but that had a Hibernian sound to it, and Maude nicknamed me Ad, which she said was short for adder.  She told me she called me that because I was so deaf that I never heard her when she asked me to take her anywhere.”

“Well, Mr. Sawyer, if you will promise not to laugh out loud, I will be pleased to have you read these letters to me.  You can smile all you wish to, for of course I can’t see you.”

“I agree,” said Quincy; and he advanced towards her, took the two letters and drew a chair up beside her.

“My dear May,” read Quincy.  He stopped suddenly, and turning to Alice said, “Is this letter for you?”

“Before we go any further,” said Alice, “I must explain my various names and nicknames.  I was named Mary Alice, the Mary being my mother’s name, while the Alice was a favorite of my father’s.  Mother always called me Mary and father always called me Alice! and brother ’Zekiel and Uncle Ike seem to like the name Alice best.  When I went to Commercial College to study they asked me my name and I said naturally Mary A. Pettengill.  Then the girls began to call me May, and the boys, or young men I suppose you call them, nicknamed me Miss Atlas, on account of my initials.  Now that I have given you a chart of my names to go by, the reading will no doubt be plain sailing in future.”

Quincy laughed and said, “I should call it a M.A.P. instead of a chart.”

“Fie!  Mr. Sawyer, to make such a joke upon my poor name.  No doubt you have thought of one that would please you better than any I have mentioned.”

Quincy thought he had, but he wisely refrained from saying so.  He could not help thinking, however, that Miss Atlas was a very appropriate name for a girl who was all the world to him.  It is evident that Uncle Ike’s words of advice the previous afternoon had not taken very deep root in Quincy’s heart.

He resumed his reading: