Cousin Maude

"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."