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trouble. He alighted in the top of the tree, and as the tapping continued came half-way
down, looking for the rival drummer. After a little he gave it up as an obvious afraid,
and busied himself foraging. It was very interesting to me. There was not a sign of
a downy in the neighborhood when the tapping began, though later we found a tree at
no great distance where there was evidence of the work of this species.

At the dinner table tonight, Mr. Van Sant, looking as solemn as an owl, made a suggestion. Here we had been, he said, for over
two years in this house without giving it a name. It ill became, he said, a house
with thirteen rooms, with slate roof and plate-glass windows — he enumerated other
virtues — to go without a name. And the name, in keeping with our biological leanings,
should have a touch of the wilderness about it. So now, as its placement and quality
had attracted a beautiful wild creature to edge in on possession, why not recognize
the fact by name the place accordingly? He proposed “Skunk Ridge” as a name quite
out of the ordinary, and in obvious keeping with facts.

And Elizabeth said no word.

Blithely I acquiesced, emphasizing the beauty and grace of the little creature, his
noble dependence upon himself along for his needs, and citing South Carolina’s state
seal — a rattlesnake with the motto, “Don’t tread on me!” And a skunk is as untreadable
as a rattlesnake, and far more handsome. There was the printing-office down stairs,
I would fix up some real snappy stationary.

And Elizabeth said no word. But she had a bearing which shouted “Try an’ do it!” Something about
the idea evidently did not please her, so we let the subject drop.