as everything a name, father?" asked a wide-awake boy one day.

"Everything I know of has a name," answered the father.

"What is the name of this stone, then?"

"The name of the stone you have just picked up happens to be granite."

"I believe you made that up, father, just because I asked you so
quickly. Really is it granite? Has a rock a name?"

"Why, certainly, my boy. It seems strange that a boy of ten does not
know granite when he sees it."

"But you lived in the country, father, when you were a boy, and I
have been here hardly a month. Oh, here is another kind of stone;
what is this?"

The father cracked the bit of rock so as to get a fresh surface and
then answered:

"Common white quartz, Harold. You are giving me easy specimens, which is
lucky for both of us."

"Why, father, where did you learn all their names?"

"I don't know all their names. I know only the most common ones. To find
the names of some kinds of rock or stone I should need quite an outfit,
such as you may have seen in the high-school laboratory."

"Do all the flowers have names, too, father?"

"Harold, if you could find a flower that has not been named you would
become quite famous. The flower probably would be named after you. Think
of that! There is something to work for; and you were wishing only last
night that you could be a famous man."

"Where did all the flowers get their names? Did the teachers name them?"

"Oh, I suspect the teachers named some, and many people helped them. I
don't believe I ever stopped to think that it is curious that everything
on the earth and in the sea and in the sky is named. You are a very
thoughtful boy, Harold. Ask all the questions you please."