"A good name, my little man," and the parson patted him on the head. "May you be worthy of your namesake, that n.o.ble man of G.o.d--the first Bishop of this Diocese. Now next," and he pointed to the second little Stickles.

"Benjamin Alexander Stickles, sir,"

"Ha, ha. Named after your two grandfathers. Fine men they were, too. Now my little maiden, we'll hear from you."

"Martha Trumpit Stickles, sir," came the shy response.

"That's a good name, my dear, after your mother--and with her eyes, too.

Just one more left. Come, my dear, what have you to say?"

"Ruth Wethmore Stickles, thir, if you pleath," lisped the little la.s.s, with her eyes upon the floor.

At these words the parson paused, as if uncertain what to say. "Ruth, the gleaner," he at length slowly remarked. "Ruth Westmore. Ah, Mrs. Stickles, I little thought that day my dear wife stood sponsor for your baby here, and gave her her own name, how soon she would be taken from us. Four years--four long years since she went home. But come, but come," he hurriedly continued, noticing Mrs. Stickles about to place her ap.r.o.n to her eyes. "I have a question to ask each little one here, and then something is coming. Look, John, answer me, quick. How many Commandments are there?"

"Ten, sir," came the ready reply.

"What is the fifth one?"

"Honour thy father and mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy G.o.d giveth thee."

"That's good, that's good. Don't forget that, my little man. The first commandment with promise. I taught your brother Tony that when he was a little lad, and I'm sure he hasn't forgotten it. Now, Bennie, what two things do we learn from these commandments?"

"My duty towards G.o.d, an' my duty towards my neighbour."

"Right, right you are. Now, Martha, what were you made at your baptism?"

"A member of Christ, a child of G.o.d, and an inheritor of the Kingdom of Heaven."

"Well done. I thought that would stick you, but I see you have learned your lesson well! It's Ruth's turn now. Can you tell me, my dear, what happened on Good Friday?"

"Jesus died, thir, on the Croth."

"And what took place on Easter Day?"

"He roth from the grave, thir."

"Good, good. Always remember that. Good Friday and Easter Day come very near together. 'Earth's saddest day and brightest day are just one day apart.'"

Mrs. Stickles' face beamed with pleasure as the parson praised the little cla.s.s, and gave a piece of candy to each. Then he drew from his pocket a small package wrapped in white tissue paper tied with a piece of pink ribbon, and held it up before the wondering eyes of the little Stickles.

"From Nellie," he remarked. "Candy she made herself for the one who can best say the verses on the Christian Year she gave you to learn some time ago. Now, who can say them all through without one mistake?"

Instantly four little hands shot up into the air, and four pairs of sparkling eyes were fixed eagerly upon the coveted treasure.

"Well, Bennie, we'll try you," said the parson. "Stand up straight, and don't be afraid to speak out."

"Advent tells us Christ is here, Christmas tells us Christ is near--"

"Hold, hold!" cried Mr. Westmore. "Try again."

But the second attempt proving worse than the first, it was pa.s.sed on to Martha. Bravely the little maiden plunged into the intricacies of the two first verses, but became a total wreck upon the third. Try as she might the words would not come, and tears were in her eyes when at length she gave up the attempt and waited for John Medley to conquer where she had failed. But alas! though starting in bravely he mixed Epiphany and Advent so hopelessly that the parson was forced to stop his wild wanderings.

"Dear me! dear me!" Mr. Westmore exclaimed. "What are we to do? Surely Ruth can do better than this."

With hands clasped demurely before her and her eyes fixed upon the floor, slowly the little maiden began to lisp forth the words while the rest listened in almost breathless silence.

"Advent telth uth Christ ith near; Christmath telth uth Christ ith here; In Epithany we trath All the glory of Hith grath."

Thus steadily on she lisped through verse after verse, and when the last was completed a sigh of relief was heard from Mrs. Stickles, while the parson clapped his hands with delight. How her eyes did sparkle as he handed her the little package, with a few words of encouragement, and how longingly the three others looked upon the treasure.

"Now," said Mr. Westmore, "we must be away. Nellie will wonder what has become of us."

"Not yet, sir, not yet!" cried Mrs. Stickles. "You must have a cup of tea first.' The water is bilin', an' it'll be ready in a jiffy. Did ye give Midnight any hay?" she demanded, turning to Bennie.

"Oh, ma!" came the reply. "I fergot all about it."

"There now, it's jist like ye. Hurry off this minute and give that poor critter some of that good hay from the nigh loft."

As the little Stickles and Dan scurried out of the room, Ruth still clutching her precious package, Mrs. Stickles turned to Mr. Westmore.

"There now, Parson, ye jist must wait, an' have that cup of tea, an' some of my fresh bread. We shan't tech Nellie's pies an' cake, cause ye kin hev her cookin' any time, bless her dear heart. How I wish she was here herself so I could look into her sweet face an' tell her meself how grateful I am."

Hardly had the parson seated himself at the table ere several piercing shrieks fell upon his ears. Rushing to the door he beheld John Medley hurrying towards the house with arms at right angles, and his face as pale as death.

"Child! Child! What is it?" shouted Mrs. Stickles.

"R-r-uth's k-k-illed! She f-f-ell from the la-la-der. Oh! Oh!"

Waiting to hear no more they hurried to the barn, and there they found the little form lying on the floor, still grasping in her hand the precious package.

"My poor lamb! My darlin' baby! are ye kilt, are ye kilt?" wailed Mrs.

Stickles, kneeling down by her side. "Speak to me, my lamb, my little baby! Oh, speak to yer mammy!"

But no sign of recognition came from the prostrate child. Seeing this the mother sprang to her feet and wrung her hands in agony of despair.

"What will we do? Oh, what kin we do? My baby is kilt--my poor darlin'!

Oh--oh--oh!"

Tenderly Parson John lifted the child in his arms, carried her into the house, and laid her on the settle near the stove. It was found that she was breathing, and soon a little water brought some color into her face.

Presently she opened her eyes, and started up, but fell back again, with a cry of pain, fiercely clutching the package.

"What is it, dear?" asked the parson. "Where is the pain?"

"My leg! My leg!" moaned the child.

"Ah, I feared so," exclaimed Mr. Westmore, after a brief examination. "We must have the doctor at once. Is there anyone near who will go for him, Mrs. Stickles?"

"Not a man, sir, that's fit to go. They're all in the woods. Oh, what kin we do!"