"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."