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 "Yes, Winny, I told you that you had better send the little man—I mean your little husband—in short, Winny, where is the use of your reddening up to your temples every time I make a mistake? You must get used to it if I live near you. I must call your husband little, while I am near him, and see that he is small. At my time of life people want indoor amusement, and you three here, would be a great—no, a little help, to wile away an hour or two in a rainy evening."

This settled the matter with poor Mrs. Webb; not for worlds would she put herself in the way of such an evil; she therefore, with much pretended humility, disclaimed all right to decide on the question of living in the town or country; she said that, like a prudent wife, she meant to give up her own wishes to please her husband—that she was certain of its being better for him and the child to be in pure air, and now all that she should ask for this full compliance with his wishes was, that she should have the privilege of naming their little girl.

"That is but fair, Winny," said her uncle, "you have certainly the right of naming little tiny as you choose. But stop—let me see—let me give the child a name; I will stand godfather to it, and, what is better, I will act as a godfather should. I will settle a thousand dollars a year on her, and will give you a very pretty little farm—my Oak Valley farm. Winny, you remember that farm."

"You shall have the naming of our little girl—remember Oak Valley! yes, indeed I do; I can safely trust her name to you—my dear husband, you can have no objection; you will give your consent, I hope."

"Certainly," said poor Mr. Webb, his mind misgiving him about the name, as on looking at Mr. Banks, he saw his features announcing a new burst