“Why, you jealous old Karl! you know you’ve only been away two weeks, and the girls I have not seen for almost as many months:  besides, I told you not to call me general, and yourself orderly.”

“Oh! that reminds me of a new name for pet.  You know she persists in calling me Karlo; so I have given her the title of Dolce:  and the two of us together are going some day to paint pictures far fairer than those of our great original.”

“Carlo Dolce?  Yes:  Mr. Brown told me about him once, and said his name only meant sweet Charley,” said Dora simply.

“I wonder, then, that you should have left it for Sunshine to discover how appropriate the name is to me,” said Karl with mock gravity.

“I’ll call you sweet Charley if you like; only it must be at all times, and before all persons,” said Dora roguishly.

“No, I thank you,” replied her cousin, laughing.  “Fancy Parson Brown’s face if he should hear such a title, or Seth’s astonishment if you told him to call sweet Charley to dinner!  But isn’t Dolce a pretty name?  Let us really adopt it for her.”

“Well, if she likes; but I shall call her Sunshine still sometimes.”

“What say, pet? will you have Dolce for a name?” asked Karl, turning to pinch the little ear peeping from Sunshine’s curls.

“I don’t know; would you, Dora?” asked the child, gravely deliberating.

“Yes:  I think it is pretty.”

“And Kitty sha’n’t call me Molly any more; shall she?”

“Don’t you like Molly?”

“No:  because that man in Cincinnati asked me if my last name was Coddle; and it ain’t.”

“Oh, dear! what an odd little thing she is!” exclaimed Kitty.  “It was Mr. Thomson, Dora; and he is so witty, you know!  And one day he asked the child if her name wasn’t Miss Molly Coddle, just for a joke, you see; and we all laughed:  but she ran away; and, when I went to my room, there she was crying, and wouldn’t come down again for ever so long.  She’s a regular little fuss-bunch about such things.”

“Very strange, when you and I are so fond of being ridiculed and laughed at!” remarked Karl gravely; and Sunshine whispered,—­

“Am I a fuss-bunch, Dora?”

Dora did not answer, except by a little pat upon the child’s rosy cheek, as she exclaimed,—­

“Here we are!  Look, Kitty! that is home; and we must bid each other welcome, since there is no one to do it for us both except Mehitable, and I don’t believe she will think of it.”

“Well, I must say, Dora, you’ve got things to going a great deal better than I should expect,” said Kitty graciously, as she looked about her.  “Why, that sweetbrier beside the door, and the white rose the other side, are just like ours at home; and the woodbine growing up the corner too!”