“DAT AR WORD HE SENT ME.”—
On a tour of the A. M. A. schools in the South, I one day saw a gray-haired old woman sitting among the smallest children of the primary department, so intent upon her primer as not to perceive the entrance of a stranger until I took her hand and said, “Auntie, I should think you would be discouraged, old as you are, and just beginning to learn to read.” “Why, bless you, honey,” she answered with a pleasant smile, “I hain’t been yer only ’bout two weeks, jes an hour or so every day tween work, an’ I’se done learned all de letters a’ready. Couldn’t see how ye was gwine to make dem ar things talk, no how; but I’se done got some words now. I reckon dar’s sense in dem. I’se seen Jesus.” And moving her finger slowly along the page she pointed to the name that is above every name, and then to other words that she had learned. “I reckon I’ll get hold on it presen’ly. I’se bound to read de blessed Bible frew myself ’fore I dies.” Then, with an upward look that seemed to see what Stephen saw, she added, “’Pears like I wouldn’t want to go home and tell Him I never tried to make out dat ar word he sent me.”—Advance. THE man who lives right, and is right, has more power in his silence than another has by his words. Character is like bells which ring out sweet music, and which, when touched accidentally even, resound with sweet music.