along the quiet road, Mac could not
help thinking that they looked a little like the Flight into Egypt, but
he did not say so, being a reverent youth only glanced back now and
then at the figure above him, for Rose had taken off her hat to keep the
light from baby's eyes and sat with the sunshine turning her uncovered
hair to gold as she looked down at the little creature resting on the
saddle before her with the sweet thoughtfulness one sees in some of
Correggio's young Madonnas.

No one else saw the picture, but Mac long remembered it, and ever after
there was a touch of reverence added to the warm affection he had always
borne his cousin Rose.

"What is the child's name?" was the sudden question which disturbed a
brief silence, broken only by the sound of pacing hoofs, the rustle of
green boughs overhead, and the blithe caroling of birds.

"I'm sure I don't know," answered Mac, suddenly aware that he had fallen
out of one quandary into another.

"Didn't you ask?"

"No, the mother called her 'Baby,' and the old woman, 'Brat.' And that
is all I know of the first name the last is Kennedy. You may christen
her what you like."

"Then I shall name her Dulcinea, as you are her knight, and call her
Dulce for short. That is a sweet diminutive, I'm sure," laughed Rose,
much amused at the idea.

Don Quixote looked pleased and vowed to defend his little lady stoutly,
beginning his services on the spot by filling the small hands with
buttercups, thereby winning for himself the first smile baby's face had
known for weeks.

When they got home Aunt Plenty received her new guest with her
accustomed hospitality and, on learning the story, was as warmly
interested as even enthusiastic Rose could desire, bustling about to
make the child comfortable with an energy pleasant to see, for the
grandmotherly instincts were strong in the old lady and of late had been
beautifully developed.

In less than half an hour from the time baby went upstairs, she came
down again on Rose's arm, freshly washed and brushed, in a pink gown
much too large and a white apron decidedly too small; an immaculate pair
of socks, but no shoes; a neat bandage on the bruised arm, and a string
of spools for a plaything hanging on the other. A resigned expression
sat upon her little face, but the frightened eyes were only shy now, and
the forlorn heart evidently much comforted.

"There! How do you like your Dulce now?" said Rose, proudly displaying
the work