"'Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these My brethren, ye
did it not to Me.'"

The lady rose quickly, and gathered her mantle about her.

"I will go, Mr. Parker," she said, speaking quickly, as if afraid her
courage would fail her. "Since there is no one else, I will do the best I
can; but oh, I am afraid!"

Down the long room, past the rows of neatly-dressed, attentive children,
Mr. Parker led her to the seat near the door.

"Now, boys," said he, "this is Miss Perry. Suppose you see if you can't
all be gentlemen, and treat her well."

Miss Perry sat down in the teacher's chair, her heart all in a flutter.
She taught a class in her own Sabbath school hundreds of miles
away,--five rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed little girls gathered around her
every Sabbath; but they were little girls whose mothers had taught them
to love their lessons, to listen respectfully to what their teacher
said, to bow their heads reverently in prayer; and more than that, they
loved her, and she loved them. But these boys! Still she must say
something: six pairs of bright, roguish eyes, brimful of fire and fun,
were bent on her.

"Boys," she said gently, "have you any lessons for me?"

"Not much," answered Bob Turner, who always spoke first.