HOW THE WRONG-DOING WAS BLOTTED OUT.
Tom was not a bad boy; indeed, his teacher had classed him among the pretty good boys. He had his faults, but I am not going to tell them to you. One day he got "all twisted up," as he called it. Things went wrong, and he disobeyed his teacher. I can not tell tales out of school, so you shall not know just what he did; but it was something very wrong. The next morning, instead of a pleasant smile and a cheery greeting, Miss Hall, his teacher, saw only a hurried glance and a troubled downward look. After prayers Tom was sent to a room by himself, that he might think and decide what to do. He was not to join in his class work till he had decided. Tom thought; he knew that he had done wrong. He was sorry, for he loved his teacher, and he had seldom been punished; but Miss Hall felt that his offense could not be overlooked. At the recess she went in to see him, and said:— "Well, my boy, what shall we do?" "I don't know, teacher," he replied, "I did very wrong, and I'm sorry." "I know you are sorry," said the teacher, "and I dislike to punish you, but I do not see how I can help it; do you?" "No, ma'am. I know I ought to be punished." "What shall it be, my boy?" "Just what you say, teacher." "Are you willing in some way to tell the boys what you have told me?" "I am willing," Tom answered eagerly. "Will you write it on the board, or say it?" "I had rather write it, teacher." So together Tom and his teacher went back to the school-room, and on the blackboard, behind the teacher's table, Tom wrote, and you may be sure the room was very still when Tom was writing. You could hear the clock tick. Tom felt rather flustered by the unusual silence, and could not remember to spell as well as usual. He stopped at one word and, looking up to his teacher, said in a low voice, "How do you spell sorry, Miss Hall—with two 'r's, or one?" He will never forget how to spell that word, I know. When he had finished writing, he slipped back into the room, and let the blackboard tell its own story, and they read:— "I disobeyed my teacher yesterday; I am sorry, and I will try to do as she wishes in future.
"THOMAS CARR." Then the teacher said, "I know you will all be generous enough to say nothing of this to the one who has so nobly confessed his wrong." Then she wrote Res—meaning Reserve—above the words, and there they stood all day. Tom saw them every time he looked up and often when he didn't, too, and he thought, "O dear, if I had not done wrong; if I could only take it back and rub out those hateful words." The next morning Tom dreaded to go to school, thinking of the handwriting on the board, till the bell rang and the teacher said, "I have rubbed out the words that were written here yesterday. Will the scholars get their Bibles and read what is in their place?" for in place of Tom's confession the teacher had written "Isa. 43:25." Every Bible was quickly turned, and the passage silently read, and many a quick, intelligent glance turned towards the desk. "Please, teacher, let us read it together," said one. So all read in subdued tones these beautiful words: "I, even I am He that blotted out thy transgressions for Mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins."—Children's Messenger.