A weighty problem was puzzling the Stickney family. What should be the gray bird’s name? Doodles was growing nervous under the reiterated question, “What yer goin’ to call him?” Every visitor had a name to offer, but the matter was not of easy disposal.

“I know Mis’ Homan thinks I ought to call him Cherry,” observed the little owner plaintively; “but how can I! He isn’t one. And there’s Granny! Do you s’pose she’ll feel awful bad if I don’t name him Dicky? If ’twasn’t for Dicky Fyt—but ’tis! And his mother callin’ and callin’ him all day long! How’d anybody know which she meant?”

“Huh,” snorted Blue, “guess we shan’t name him after that kid—not much!”

“And now Mis’ George,” Doodles resumed, “I’m afraid she’s mad. She was in here with the baby, this afternoon, and she tried to make me promise to call him Evangeline, after her. I kep’ tellin’ her he wasn’t a girl; but she didn’t seem to think that made any difference. I s’pose it’s a pretty name; but you wouldn’t want it, would you, for him?” The tone was anxious.

“Gracious, no!” was the emphatic answer. “Name him after that George squaller!” Blue chuckled with the thought.

Doodles laughed a little in sympathy, and surveyed his brother with admiration. Blue was always so satisfying.

At breakfast, next morning, the important question was again taken up.

“Dear me!” complained the mother, “I hope that bird will get a name pretty soon; we can’t seem to talk of anything else.”

Blue laughed confidently. “He’ll have one before night, sure! I’m goin’ to think of somethin’ fine to-day.”

“Goin’—somethin’!” repeated Mrs. Stickney with a patient sigh. “What would your grandfather say to hear that! With him keeping the district school for two years before he was married, I tell you, we children had to stand round! No cutting words short where he was!”

“Glad I wasn’t there!” grinned Blue.

“You’d have been a good deal better off than you are now,” his mother asserted. “If I didn’t have to work in the shop, I believe I’d keep you home from school, and teach you myself, till you could talk decently.”

“You ought to hear the other boys,” laughed Blue.

“That’s what’s the trouble. Doodles is catching it from you, and doesn’t speak nearly as well as he used to. I wish you had better companions.” She drew a long, regretful breath. “Well, do try, both of you, to remember your i-n-g’s.”

“Oh! what dif’ does it make?” returned Blue easily.

“Child! dif’!—There’s the whistle!”

Correct speech was quite forgotten, as Mrs. Stickney hurried off to the big silver shop, leaving the boys to finish their breakfast in leisure. They did not at once go back to the question they had been discussing; but while the elder brother was washing the dishes Doodles started it again.

“What made you be so sure Birdie’d have a name by night?” the small boy queried.

“Oh, I do’ know!” Blue smiled, pausing to pour a dipper of hot water over the soapy cups and plates.

“Seems sometimes’s if he never would,” Doodles put in with a wee sigh.

“Oh, I haven’t half tried yet!” resumed the other. “Don’t you worry one mite, old feller! Ther’ ’s lots o’ dandy names, if I could only think of ’em, and I’m goin’—going to do my honor best to-day, sure!”

Doodles laughed softly, to accompany his brother’s louder chuckle, and rested in the promise, for, as he had reason to know, Blue’s “honor best” was apt to be very good, indeed; and when he was left alone he and the gray bird had a long confidential talk. It was satisfactory, too, for although words were only on one side Doodles would have told you that the bird surely understood all that was said to him. Didn’t he cock his little head, and make soft, musical replies! And when he was assured that he would soon have a name of his very own, “just like other folks,” didn’t he actually dash off a brand-new song that left his hearer gasping with delight!

Yet it was not Blue that first arrived with the name.

Some of the top-floor lodgers had to pass the door of the Stickney kitchen on their way up and down stairs. Among them was a recent comer to whom Doodles had taken a strong liking,—a young girl, small, red-cheeked, and curly-haired, who had smiled a prompt answer to his first friendly “Hello!” The next day she had stepped inside, to give him a flower from the little bunch she carried, and then had lingered a moment to hear the gray bird sing. The boy had quickly learned her step, because of a slight lameness, and he came to watch for her as soon as the noon whistles blew, and was disappointed when she went elsewhere for dinner. He felt that he had a kind of fellowship with her on account of her defect, and he longed really to know her. Today he was listening for her halting footfall even before she had had time to reach The Flatiron. He had not learned where she worked; but he conjectured that it must be either at the knitting mill or the box factory. His mother was full ten minutes in walking down from the silver shop, and the girl usually reached home at least five minutes earlier. If she shouldn’t come at all this noon! He wanted to tell her that his pet was really going to have a name, for hadn’t Blue said so! There she was now! Nearer and nearer drew the uneven steps. Doodles waited excitedly for the first glimpse of her dark blue dress.

“Hello!” he called. “Please, will you—” She was coming, even before the invitation was given!

“What is it, little sweetheart?” Dimples were playing about the ruddy lips.

“I wanted to tell you that my bird is going to have a name—to-day!”

“Of course, he is! I’ve brought it!”

“You?”

“Yes, I found it right on the street.”

“Oh!—how?—what?” Doodles bent forward in his eagerness.

“I saw it on the billboards down by the theater; it’s the name of a great singer,—Caruso.”

The child brought his little hands together with a soft breath of delight. “Isn’t that beautiful!—Caruso! I’ve been wishin’ it would sound like music—and it does!”

“I thought you’d like it,” she nodded.

“It is lovely! Won’t Blue be glad! Oh, Birdie dear, you’ve got a name! you’ve got a name!” leaning over the cage, which stood always within his reach. “Caruso—Caruso! Do you like it, dear?”

The gray bird stopped pruning his feathers, glanced archly at his little master, and with a few joyous whistles broke into one of his captivating songs.

“He is a wonderful singer,” praised the girl. “I’ve been wishing I could go to hear Caruso; I’ll have to come and hear this one instead.”

“Yes, do come—any time!” urged Doodles. “But why don’t you go and hear the other, if you want to?”

The girl laughed. “It costs money, sweetheart.” Her blue eyes grew wistful. “Everything nice costs money.” She turned to go.

“I’m ever and ever so much obliged to you for the name,” Doodles hastened to say. “I don’t know yours,” he suggested.

She had come back, and was looking down at him, a half-smile on her pretty lips.

“No, you don’t, do you!” she replied gayly.

“It is Dorothy”—a shadow passed over the bright face—“Rose.”

“What a pretty name!” chirped Doodles. “I’m so glad you told me.”

“You can call me Dolly, if you like; some folks do. Grandpa always does—did,” she corrected.

“Oh, I’d love to!” began the child; but the girl was already in the hall, and she did not look back.

At the instant Blue dashed up the stairs with a clatter.

“I’ve got the dandiest name for you!” he burst out.

“Oh!” cried Doodles.

“You never could guess!” grinned his brother.

“Caruso!” piped the small boy with sudden intuition.

“How’n the world—” Blue’s face fell in amazement.

Doodles clapped his hands gleefully. “You thought I couldn’t guess, and he’s got it already!”

Blue laughed in sheer sympathy with his brother’s joy.

“But how?” he queried.

“Dolly brought it—she” (pointing towards the girl’s door)—“Dolly Rose.”

Mrs. Stickney came just in time to hear the story of the new name, and the dinner hour was full of unusual chatter and mirth.