"Yes sir, about the average." "Are they punctual in their attendance,—teachers and scholars?" "No, sir; that is one great drawback to success." "Do these children not go to church? I saw few children there." "No, sir; they seldom go." Declining a seat on the platform, Mr. Angus drew an arm-chair near the Bible class and waited for the superintendent to call the school to order. The gong sounded, but the noise did not decrease. The second time, with the aid of the teachers, the loud whispering abated, when, in a low voice, impossible to be heard at the farther end of the room, the superintendent offered prayer. A hymn was given out, and all looked around for the lady who usually played the melodeon. She was absent, and at last, just as the singing was to be omitted, Annie Asbury came forward blushing, and said, "I will try to play." Mr. Angus was afflicted with a keen ear for discords. I can only say that during the singing he was agonized. Before the closing exercises he had made up his mind that here at least there was work for the pastor. The apathy was alarming. With few exceptions, the teachers hurried through the lesson, accepting without reproof the too evidently manufactured excuses in place of a well-learned lesson; then shutting the book, he or she became totally oblivious of all that was passing, some even leaving the class to talk with another teacher. That was a face thoroughly in earnest which confronted the school when the superintendent announced that "Rev. Mr. Angus, our pastor, will address you." In a full, impressive voice the clergyman began. "Boys and girls,—yes, and teachers too,—we are strangers to-day, but we shall not continue so. I have a good memory for names and faces. I intend to know you all, every one. I have come here to be one of you, to love you, and I hope to be loved in return. My business is to lead every one in this room to the arms of the blessed Saviour, and I ask you all to help me. As many as are willing, I ask to come after school and give me your hand in token of your acceptance of this contract. Until we meet again next Sunday, I ask you to consider seriously a few questions. You can give your answers in writing if you please. I shall like that best; or you may come to me,—not in classes, but individually, and answer them. "First. What do I come to Sunday school for,—to please God, or to please my parents, or to please myself?" "Second. Does my coming just as I have been used to coming please God,—does it please my parents,—does it please me?" "Third. If I neither please God, my parents, nor myself, in what way can I change my actions to do so?" "Now, with the permission of your superintendent, I will ask you to rise and join me in one verse. "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow; Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly host; Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."