"The parable of the sower," said Kitty quickly. Then Mrs. Mordaunt examined the children about the parable, and finding they had attended to it and understood it, she talked to them about it. "Now, dear children," she said, "this school-room, with its whitewashed walls, is a very different place from the shores of the Sea of Galilee; and you, little children, with your pleasant English homes, and your Bibles, and your Sunday schools, I daresay think yourselves very different from the grave priests, and clever lawyers, and rough Hebrew labourers and farmers, and Roman soldiers, who gathered around the Saviour then. But among you, as among that multitude, who have so long since gone the way of all the earth, the eye of Jesus Christ (for he sees here as well as there) sees two great divisions, not of rich and poor, or clever and stupid, but of those who are his disciples and those who are not. Which class would you like to belong to?" Kitty answered eagerly, "His disciples, ma'am." Some of the children were silent, and some spoke with Kitty; but little Amy said nothing--the tears filled her eyes and choked her voice. "You may all be Christ's little disciples," said Mrs. Mordaunt. "He calls you to him. You may all come to him _privately_, as the disciples did; pray to him in secret, and have his words made clear to you, if you will. You may all bring forth fruit to his glory, thirty, or sixty, or a hundred fold. "You see," she continued, "although there are only two great bodies or parties in the world,--those in whom Christ's words _live_, and those in whom they _die_,--yet there are many smaller differences among each of these parties. Some of the seed in the parable fell merely on the surface, and never was seen any more after it was sown: just as, I am afraid, some of you have often left all thoughts of God behind when you left the school or the church, and never thought of him or his words from one Sunday to another. The fowls of the air--that is, some light thought or play, or Satan, who goes about to put these in your heart--come the moment the words die on your ear, and take the good seed quite away. And then some of you like to hear about Christ, and his words and works, and are quick, and easily understand and take in new thoughts, and, perhaps, think you would like to be good children, and to love Christ, and be his disciples, and go home and go to sleep full of good intentions and plans of correcting your faults. But the next morning other lessons have to be learned, and other things to be thought about, and your faults and bad habits are strong; and so every day the echo of the Sunday's teaching grows fainter, and at last the end of the week comes, and finds you no nearer God or the fulfilment of your good resolutions than the beginning. The thorns have sprung up--the cares and pleasures of this world--and choked the good seed that was beginning to grow. And then, again, perhaps, there are some