“Let me think.  I should call him something good and pleasant.  Think of something good and pleasant Think of something you like very much.”

“O, Frosted Cake,” cried Prudy:  “wouldn’t that be pleasant?  Susy loves that.”

“I should like to name him for the American Eagle,” said Susy, who had heard some patriotic speeches from her cousin Percy; “only you couldn’t pet that name, could you?”

“You might call him Don Carlos, or Don Pedro,” suggested Mr. Parlin.

“No, papa; only think of Donny:  that is like Donkey!  You haven’t any long ears, have you, pony?  If you had, I’d call you Little Pitcher, for ‘little pitchers have great ears.’  That makes me think of Mr. Allen, auntie.  How big his ears are, you know? Is it because his teacher pulled them so?”

“O, call him ‘Gustus,’” cried Prudy.

“But that would soon be Gusty,” said aunt Madge, “and would sound too much like the east wind.”

“Dear me,” sighed Susy; “who’d ever think it was such hard work to find names?”

“O, look,” said Prudy, as they passed a jaded old horse; “there is a pony just exactly like this!  Only it’s twice as big, you know, and not a bit such a color!”

“Well, there, Prudy,” said Susy, disdainfully, “I thought, when you began to speak, you was going to tell something!  Why don’t you wait till you have something to say?  Please give me a list of names, papa.”

“There’s Speedwell, Lightfoot, Zephyr, Prince, Will-o’-the-wisp—­”

“I might call him Wispy,” broke in Susy.  “Zephyr is good, only it makes you think of worsteds.”

“Now, listen,” said aunt Madge; “you might call him Elephant, just for sport, because he is in reality so very little.  Or, on the other hand, you might find the least speck of a name, like Firefly, or Midge.”

“I don’t like any of those,” replied Susy, still dissatisfied.

“I see,” said aunt Madge, laughing, “nothing will please you but a great name.  What say to Pegasus, a flying horse, which poets are said to ride?  It might be shortened to Peggy.”

“Now, auntie, you wouldn’t have this beautiful pony called Peggy; you know you wouldn’t! the one my father bought on purpose for me!  But was there such a horse, truly?”

“O, no; there is an old fable, which, as we say, is ’as true now as it ever was,’ of a glorious creature with wings, and whoever mounts him gets a flying ride into the clouds.  But the trouble is to catch him!”

“O, I wish my pony could fly,” said Susy, gazing dreamily at his black mane and sleek sides.  “The first place I’d go to would be the moon; and there I’d stay till I built a castle as big as a city.  I’d come home every night, so mother wouldn’t be frightened, and fly up in the morning, and—­and—­”

“See here,” said Prudy, who had for some time been trying to speak; “call him Wings!”

“So I will,” answered Susy, quickly, “and I’ll make believe he flies in the air like a bird.  Now, auntie, what do you think of Wings?”