“Gimme a drink.”
“Gimme a drink!” echoed his mate; and the old lady thought it was wonderful to hear them speak so plainly, or even that they could speak at all. But she also felt that discipline should begin at once; and though not given to embellishment of language she realized that their “plain speech” was not exactly that of the Friends.
“Thee tell me thy name, first. Then thee shall drink.”
“A-n an, a, ana, n-i ni, a-s as, Ananias.”
“S-a-p sap, p-h-i phi, r-a ra,” glibly repeated the girl, almost tripping over her brother in her eagerness to outdo him.
Dorcas Sands paled with horror. Such names as these! Forced upon the innocent babes of her Rose! It was incredible!
Then, in an instant, the meekness, the downtroddenness of the woman vanished. Her mission in life was not finished! Her sons had gone out from her home and her daughter was dead, but here were those who were dearer than all because they were “brands” to be saved from the burning.
“Hear me, Rose’s Babies! Thee is Benjamin, and a truth-teller; and thee is Ruth. Let me never hear either say otherwise than as I said. Now come. There is the bench and there the basin. The first child that is clean shall have the first drink—but no quarreling. Birthright Friends are gentle and well mannered. Forget it not.”
The sternness of mild people is usually impressive. The twins found it so. For the rest of that day, either because of the novelty of their surroundings or their difficulty in mastering—without blows—the spelling of their new names, they behaved with exceptionable demureness; and when, in some fear their grandmother dispatched Benjamin to Oliver’s office to announce dinner, the miller fairly stared to hear the midget say: