s for some weeks, namely, to
go on trying to cross the sea of life by tugging at the four-and-twenty
oars which must be pulled day and night until the unknown shore is
reached, and the oars lie at rest under the folded hands.

As it was not very likely that the parents who left their offspring
round on doorsteps were of saintly life, they were not presented for
baptism like the children of church-members. Still, they must have names
to be known by, and Mrs. Hopkins was much exercised in the matter. Like
many New England parents, she had a decided taste for names that were
significant and sonorous. That which she had chosen for her oldest
child, the young poet, was either a remarkable prophecy, or it had
brought with it the endowments it promised. She had lost, or, in her
own more pictorial language, she had buried, a daughter to whom she had
given the names, at once of cheerful omen and melodious effect, Wealthy
Amadora.

As for them poor little creturs, she said, she believed they was rained
down out o' the skies, jest as they say toads and tadpoles come. She
meant to be a mother to 'em for all that, and give 'em jest as good
names as if they was the governor's children, or the minister's. If Mr.
Gridley would be so good as to find her some kind of a real handsome
Chris'n name for 'em, she'd provide 'em with the other one. Hopkinses
they shall be bred and taught, and Hopkinses they shall be called. Ef
their father and mother was ashamed to own 'em, she was n't. Couldn't
Mr. Gridley pick out some pooty sounding names from some of them great
books of his. It's jest as well to have 'em pooty as long as they don't
cost any more than if they was Tom and Sally.

A grim smile passed over the rugged features of Byles Gridley. "Nothing
is easier than that, Mrs. Hopkins," he said. "I will give you two very
pretty names that I think will please you and other folks. They're new
names, too. If they shouldn't like to keep them, they can change them
before they're christened, if they ever are. Isosceles will be just the
name for the boy, and I'm sure you won't find a prettier name for the
girl in a hurry than Helminthia."

Mrs. Hopkins was delighted with the dignity and novelty of these two
names, which were forthwith adopted. As they were rather long for common
use in the family, they were shortened into the easier forms of Sossy
and Minthy, under which designation the babes began very soon to thrive
mightily, turning bread and