"I wrapped my handkerchief about my bleeding fingers, and hurried home.
My mission was worse than useless; I had not accomplished the purpose
for which I was sent, I had committed a crime and disabled myself for
work; for how could I pick apples in my present condition.

"I found no sympathy from anybody; my father reproved me, and threatened
chastisement when my wounds were healed. My mother, who dressed my
aching fingers, looked very sorrowfully upon me, and I knew that I had
grieved her deeply by my disobedience.

"I assisted in picking the apples, but I was compelled to work with one
hand, while the other hung in a sling. That was a sad day for me.

"It required some weeks to heal the deep gashes made by my knife, and
the scars are as bright, after forty years, as they were when the wounds
were first closed.

"But if the scars in the flesh were all, it would have been
comparatively a trifle. But the soul was wounded as well as the body.
The conscience was defiled with guilt. Tears of repentance could not
wipe away the stain. Nothing but the blood of Christ could give health
to the wounded spirit.

"As wounds leave scars, so, my dear child, youthful sins leave the
traces of their existence. Like the scars of the healed wound, they
disfigure and weaken the soul. The follies of youth may be overcome, but
they are always sure to leave their mark. Every sin of childhood hangs
like a weight upon the neck of manhood. The blood of Jesus Christ alone
cleanseth from all sin."