f his books and of Miss Penelope and Miss
Amaryllis.

"Maybe you know, child, where the old judge got the names for his
daughters. The only names I'm used to are the good old family names
that come out o' the Bible, and some people said Penelope and
Amaryllis couldn't be called Christian names, because they sounded so
heathenish, and the judge's wife she objected to 'em because, she
said, they was too long for folks to say. But the old judge wouldn't
hear to anybody's shortenin' the children's names. Says he, 'If you
give a child a plain name it'll be likely to turn out a plain man or a
plain woman. But,' says he, 'I've given my children fine names, and I
expect them to grow up into women that'll become their names.' And I
reckon they did, for two prettier women you never saw, and their names
seemed to suit 'em exactly. And as for their bein' too long, I always
liked to say 'em and hear people say 'em. Penelope and Amaryllis--why,
they're jest as easy to say as Mary and Marthy, and I always thought
they sounded like fallin' water or the singin' of a bird, Amaryllis
especially."

Aunt Jane paused here and laid down her work. She had reached a
difficult point in the story, and there must be time for thought.

"Now, how in the world am I goin' to tell you how Miss Amaryllis
looked?" she said, with an accent of gentle despair. "Why, it's as
hard as tryin' to tell about that yeller rose that grew in old lady
Elrod's gyarden. There never was such a rose as that, and there never
was such a gyirl as Miss Amaryllis, or Miss Penelope either, for that
matter. The judge was always havin' their pictures painted, and there
was one, no bigger around than that, set in gold. If I jest had it to
show you! But I reckon that picture o' Miss Amaryllis is lyin' in a
grave somewhere on the other side o' the ocean. Mighty near every
woman has somethin' pretty about her; one'll have pretty eyes and
another'll have a pretty color, but Miss Amaryllis was pretty every
way. I ricollect once I was passin' along Main Street, one County
Court day, and the old judge's carriage was standin' in front o' Tom
Barker's dry-goods store, and Miss Amaryllis was leanin' back against
the cushions, and her hand was layin' on the carriage door, and she
had a ring on one of her fingers with a yeller stone in it; the sun
was shinin' on it and, I declare to goodness, from that day to this I
never see a white lily with the yeller heart and the dust like grains
o'