ht name. Here
are a few sketches of those in the front row:

Willy Beer, dubbed Wriggly Beer by the older boys in his street, because
of a slight nervous affection that kept him in a state of perpetual
motion. He was not uncomely; indeed, when I was telling a story it was a
pleasure to watch his face all twitching with interest; first nose, then
eyes, then mouth, till the delight spread to his fat hands, which
clasped and unclasped as the tale proceeded. He had a perfect sense of
time and tunes and was indefatigable in the marching and games. His
mother sent me this unique letter when he had been with me a month:

"_Yung lady_:

"_Willy seems to be onto his foot most of the time. These is all
the butes Willy will half to Krissmus. Can you learn him settin'
down?_
_Respeckfully,_
"_Mrs. Beer._"

Sitting next to Willy, and rhyming with him, was Billy--Billy
Prendergast--a large boy for his years with the face and voice of a man
of thirty.

Billy Prendergast taught me a very good lesson in pedagogy when I was
making believe teach him other things!

One of our simple morning songs ended with the verse:

"All ye little children, hear the truth we tell.
God will ne'er forget you, for he loves you well."

One day in the gentle lull that succeeded the singing of that song,
Billy's growling baritone fell on my ear:

"Why will he never get yer?" he asked, his strange rough voice bringing
complete silence, as it always did.

"What do you mean, Billy?"

"That's what it says: 'God will never get yer, for he loves you well."

Consternation overcame me. Billy, and goodness knows how many others,
had been beginning the day with the puzzling theological statement: "God
will never get yer (ne'er forget you) for he loves you well."

I chose my verses more carefully, after that experience, avoiding all
e'ers and ne'ers and other misleading abbreviations.

Hansanella Dorflinger now claims attention.

Hansanella sounds like one word but they were twins, and thus introduced
to me by a large incoherent boy who brought them to the kindergarten. He
was in a hurry and left them at my door with scant ceremony, save the
frequent repetition of the watchword "Hansanella."

After some difficulty I succeeded in deciding which was Hans and which
was Ella, though there was practically no difference between them
exc