I remember wriggling myself off my mother's knee when I wanted change, and how she gave me her watch to keep me quiet, and stroked my curls, and called me her fair-haired knight, and her little Bayard; though, remembering also, how lingeringly I used just not to do her bidding, ate the sugar when she wasn't looking, tried to bawl myself into fits, kicked the nurse-girl's shins, and dared not go upstairs by myself after dark--I must confess that a young chimpanzee would have as good claims as I had to represent that model of self-conquest and true chivalry, "the Knight without fear and without reproach." However, the vanity of it did not last long.

I wonder if that grand-faced godfather of mine suffered as I suffered when he went to school and said his name was Bayard?
I owe a day in harvest to the young wag who turned it into Backyard.

I gave in my name as Backyard to every subsequent inquirer, and Backyard I modestly remained..