"Sweets for the sweet," he cried. "Now, who's to have this?"
At once a rush ensued and four little forms surrounded him.
"Wait, wait; not yet!" and the good man held the candy aloft. "Nothing given away here. You must earn every bit. All in a row now. There, that's better," and he lined them up, like a veteran schoolmaster, proud of his little class. "Come, I want your names. You begin," and he tapped the nearest to him on the shoulder.
"John Medley Stickles, sir," came the quick reply.
"A good name, my little man," and the parson patted him on the head. "May you be worthy of your namesake, that noble man of God--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 lass, with her eyes upon the floor.