"I am discontented," said Chris.
"I'm very sorry," said I.
"I don't think I'm selfish, particularly, but I'm discontented."
"What about?"
"Oh, Mary, I do wish I had not been away when you invented Paradise,
then I should have had a name in the game."
"You've got a name, Chris. You're the Dwarf."
"Ah, but what was the Dwarf's name?"
"I don't know," I admitted.
"No; that's just it. I've only one name, and Arthur and Harry have
two. Arthur is a Pothecary" (Chris could never be induced to accept
Apothecary as one word), "and he's John Parkinson as well. Harry is
Honest Root-gatherer, and he is Francis le Vean. If I'd not been away
I should have had two names."
"You can easily have two names," said I. "We'll call the Dwarf Thomas
Brown."
Chris shook his big head.
"No, no. That wasn't his name; I know it wasn't. It's only stuff. I
want another name out of the old book."
I dared not tell him that the Dwarf was not in the old book. I said:
"My dear Chris, you really are discontented; we can't all have double
names. Adela has only one name, she is Weeding Woman and nothing else;
and I have only one name, I'm Traveller's Joy, and that's all."
"But you and Adela are girls," said Chris, complacently: "The boys
have two names."
I suppressed some resentment, for Christopher's eyes were beginning to
look weary, and said:
"Shall I read to you for a bit?"
"No, don't read.
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