Alexander,” she pronounced again, clearly.
“Alawoooooo,” he repeated.
“Very good!” She glanced at the card. “It says here,
you are named after ‘Alexander the Great, the legend-
ary commander who mercilessly conquered the Persian
Empire and was said to drink too much wine.’ Hmm.
That is an odd choice.”
“Alawooooo!” he said again, with feeling.
“As for you,” she said, turning to the smaller boy,
“you are to be called Beowulf. ‘Beowulf was a fearless
warrior of old, who slew monsters and dragons until
he met a bloody and violent end.’ A most unsavory
namesake, in my opinion, but that is what Lord Ashton
has written here. Can you say Beowulf?”
“Beowoooooo,” the boy said proudly.
“Excellent,” Penelope praised. “And now for our lit-
tlest pupil. Heavens! It appears that Lord Ashton has
named you—well, let me read it. ‘Cassiopeia, after the
vain and arrogant queen of the ancient Greeks who
tried to sacrifice her own daughter to the sea gods.’
How dreadful! But it will have to do.” She was about
to ask the little girl to repeat her name, but the clever
child had been watching the other two and beat Penel-
ope to the task.
“Cassawoof!” she yelped. “Woof! Woof!”
“That is good enough for now.” Penelope sighed.
The names were very ill-chosen in her opinion. For
one thing, Cassiopeia was quite impossible to spell.
“Tomorrow we will begin our lessons, children,” she
said, putting away the card. “And take baths. But now
we must go to sleep. Good night, Alexander. Pleasant
dreams, Beowulf. Sleep well, Cassiopeia.”
Then, since Penelope knew the best way to teach
anybody anything was by setting a good example, she
lay down in the hay and closed her eyes. Immediately,
the children piled up against her like a litter of puppies
and did the same. In that way, the four of them stayed
quite cozy, the whole night long.
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