We heard how you had swum so far, and gone into danger to get it for us, and we're going to have some more for breakfast." "It was not much, dears," John said.
"Oh, no, it was not much; but it was so nice, and we did all sleep so well last night--even little Lucy didn't waken and cry once--and Ruth Hardy said we ought to call you the Raven; but we don't like that name for you." "The Raven, Ruth!" John said, mystified.

"Why did you want to call me the Raven ?" "I wouldn't do it if you didn't like it, dear John; but you know that chapter that Master Williams read us, the other day, about the ravens that fed somebody in a cave, and we have been wishing the ravens would feed us; and so you see, when you sent us the milk last night, I thought you ought to be called the Raven.

I did not mean any harm." "No, my dear, of course not, and you can all call me the Raven, if you like." "No, no, John.

You are John, and that's much better than the Raven.

They brought the man food, but they didn't nurse him and tell him stories, as you do." "Now, run inside the castle," John said, "and I will go in and get your breakfasts." John soon returned, with a great bowl of curds and whey, a platter piled up with slices of bread and a score of little mugs, and the feast began.
Scarce a word was said while the children were eating.