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January 6, igog. THE PRESBYTERIA
I think there you would soon learn to appreciate red
hair."
"Ernest, your teacher is justly proud of you. You
can both go."
"Oh, I do hope you can promote him, Professor!
Ever since I first noticed him in school, we've had a
queer sort of understanding. I'm sure we could make
the most of each other."
"I sincerely hope he will be promoted!" snapped his
teacher.
Pat Dillon was promoted at Christmas, and from the
day he entered Miss McClain's room?and looked into
her eyes, he became a different boy. He was from the
beginning her messenger, because, when she looked
UD to select some one a nair nf eatrpr hhip pvpc hprrcrprl
? - ? i ? ?a - - ~ J "vbb^^
to be of service.
The principal watched with interest the developing
of the red-headed boy, by the tactful, intelligent, redheaded
teacher.
"Miss McClain has the best behaved grade in school.
I've taught it twice," declared one senior to another
whom she met in the hall, on her way to fill Miss Mc*
Clain's vacant seat.
"I'm certainly glad to hear it, for I'm awfully ner
vons about teaching boys and girls of from ten to thirteen
; they are simply at an abominable age! I'm not
surprised that she has these violent headaches to come
on suddenly."
"Don't you worry. If you want any information, just
ask that red-headed boy; he's a treasure."
The nervous senior found the report to be true, and
everything had gone on smoothly until the arithmetic
class was called, thp eifrht ruinils wprp at flip hnarrl
# - o 1 1 " *"* "
when suddenly the fire alarm rang.
"The fire drill 1" exclaimed the senior excitedly.
"Fire, fire, fire!" shouted a voice in the street below.
The senior sprang from her seat and rushed from
the platform. Pat raced down the aisle, caught her in
his arms, and hurried her back to Miss McClain's desk.
Interest in Pat's maneuvers had saved the grade from
panic.
Holding the struggling, half-hysterical senior, Pat
gave the necessary number of sharp, commanding taps.
The grade responded mechanically; but when the little
girl who led the line looked into the smoky hall, and
saw white-faced teachers struggling desperately to control
themselves, and the crooked lines of crying girls,
J ? A _ 1 ? - I ? # ?
aim excited Doys, sne nesitaxea. .
"Ernest, lead the line!" commanded Pat, "and every
one hold on to the one in front!"
From the foot of the stairs the principal saw Miss
McClain's grade holding their lawful place next the
wall. A line too compact to be broken, they came on
past him, and in their rear came a red-headed boy, dragging
an unconscious senior.
In the morning paper was the principal's account of
how Pat Dillon, in the absence of his teacher, had preserved
the honor of the sixth grade. Miss McClain
read it and was proud of her red-headed boy.?Christian
Instructor.
N OF THE SOUTH. * 17
A RAIN SONG.
By Clinton Scollard.
Don't you love to lie and listen,
Listen to the rain,
With Its little patter, patter,
And its tiny clatter, clatter,
And its silvery spatter, spatter,
On the roof and on the pane?
Yes, I love to lie and listen.
Listen to the rain.
It's the fairies?Pert and Plucky,
Nip and Nimble-toes and Lucky,
Trip and Thimble-nose and Tucky?
On the roof and on the pane!
That's my dream the while I listen,
Listen to the rain.
I can see them running races,
I can watch their laughing faces
At their gleeful games and graces,
On the roof and on the pane!
?A Boys' Book of Rhyme.
THE DAY OF HOPE.
It was a glorious night when Christ was born; it
was a sad night at noonday when he was crucified. The
song of the night was changed to a cry of despair?
when night was at noonday. It is never the day nor
the night that makes either the song or the cry. Prisons
become palaces, darkness turns to day?when the Christ
is born and enters in. But palaces are prisons, and the
light of noontide sinks into the darkness of midnight
when he dies?when he, "the friend of sinners," dies.
It is always so, oh heart of mine! It is Christ living
who makes the day dawn rise in thee; it is the Christ
denartincr wVir* Imvc u?u:?i 11 '
?, 0 .. ? . vs ui<. uaiiui^s uciimu, even niougll
the world may say it is noonday. Men often say that
they are in the light, yet they do not know him; and,
what is worse, they do not care for him.?Selected.
THE WONDERFUL STORY.
One sometimes wishes that he could read the marvelous
story of the birth of Christ for the first time.
Our very familiarity with it has to some extent diminished
its beauty. And yet it is a strangely seared and
canousea neart that can read the story without a thrill.
We see the Shekinah glory gleaming forth from the
sky in the quiet midnight hour and filling the humble
shepherds with an agony of fear. We hear the Evangel
spoken by angelic lips, "Fear not: for behold I
bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall
be to all people. For unto you is born this dav in the
city of David a Savior which is Christ the Lord." And
then we hear the bursting forth of the angelic choir
into that gladdest, sweetest song that ever woke the
echoes of this gray old world: "Glory to God in the
highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."
Cast forth thy act, thy word, into the ever-living, everworking
universe; it is a seed-grain that cannot die.?
Carlyle.
In character, in manners, in style, in all things, the supreme
excellence is simplicity.?Longfellow.