She shook her head.

“The Greeks tell us of a dog which was kept in the temple of AEsculapius at Athens, and on one occasion when a robber entered and stole the gold and silver treasures from the altar, the dog followed him for several days and nights, until the thief, who could neither beat him away nor persuade him to eat meat, was captured and carried back to Athens.  Now, dear, this was a very shrewd and courageous animal, and his name was Capparus.”

“Why did not his owner change it for something handsome, after he performed such service?”

Regina spoke dubiously, and looked down at the new pet, who wagged his plumy tail as if to deprecate the punishment of such a title.

“When Pyrrhus died, his favourite and devoted dog refused to stir from the body, but when it was carried out of the house he leaped upon the bier, and finally sprang into the funeral pile, and was burned alive with his master’s remains.  This exceedingly faithful creature was Astus.”

“Mr. Hargrove, are all the classic names so ugly?”

“I am afraid the little girl’s ear is not sufficiently cultivated to appreciate them.  I will try once more.  The Welsh Prince Llewellyn had a noble deerhound, whom he trusted to watch the cradle of his baby boy while he himself was absent.  One day returning home, he found the cradle upset and empty, the clothes and the dog’s mouth dripping with blood.  Concluding that the hound had devoured the child, the father drew his sword and slew the dog, but a moment after the cry of the babe from behind the cradle showed him his boy was alive.  Looking around, the prince discovered the body of a huge wolf, which had entered the house to attack and devour the child, but which had been kept off and killed by this brave dog, who was named Gillert.”

Fearing from the expression of the girl’s eloquent face, that Wales would win the game, Mrs. Lindsay exclaimed with an emphasis that made the dog prick up his ears: 

“Gwrach y Rhibyn—­be merciful!  The poor wretch looks as if he were ready to howl at the bare mention of such a heathen, fabulous name.  Anything would be an improvement on the Welsh—­Cambyses, Sardanapalus, are euphonic in comparison.

“Mr. Hargrove, I am much obliged to you for your goodness in telling me so much about celebrated dogs, and if the queer names sound any sweeter to me after I am well educated, and grow learned, I will take one of them; but just now I believe would rather call my dog Hero.”

“Regina Orme! you benighted innocent!  Don’t make Peyton’s hair rise with horror at your slaughter of the ‘unities.’  Why, my dear, Hero was a young lady who lived in Sestos a few thousand years ago, and was not considered a model of prudent behaviour, even then.”

“Are not brave noble men called heroes?  Did not Mr. Hargrove say last week that Philo Smith was a hero, when he jumped into the mill-pond and saved Lemuel Martin from drowning?  Does not my history call Leonidas a hero?  I don’t know exactly who the ‘unities’ are, but until I learn more I intend to call my dog Hero.  To me it seems to mean everything I wish him to be—­good, faithful, brave, grand, and I shall call him Hero.  Come along, Hero, and get some supper.”