IN a certain school a knot of boys had their heads together, disputing about something. You could never guess what if you tried. All would have seemed strange to you,β€”the school-room, the teacher, and the scholars, their odd dress and odder speech.

It was in far-off Asia, and the scholars were not as orderly as ours. The boys talked when they pleased, and made so much din that one could scarcely hear himself think.

Missionaries had come to this city, and opened schools and churches to teach the people that they must worship God alone, and that Jesus died to save them. When the natives found that their boys were beginning to stray into Protestant schools, they said, "We must start schools of our own;" and so they started one, but it was too late. Some of the boys had already learned to love Jesus, sing sweet hymns, and read the Bible.

The teacher in this school was a very bitter enemy of the new religion, so he listened sharply that day when he heard a discussion going on among the boys.

It was not in our language, but it was something like this:β€”

One boy said it was not right to worship pictures of saints, nor to kiss them, and burn candle's before them. Another one said, "It is: right; it's the only true religion."

Others joined in with the first boy, and said it was wrong, and that we must worship none but God. Then the dispute grew warmer, and there were cries of "Heretic! Heretic! Mean old heretic! Mean old Protestant!" and so on.

The teacher had made up his mind that this thing must be stopped; that the boys must not go any more where they would hear such bad doctrine, so he said in a loud, strong voice,β€”

"Boys, stand up!" They all stood up.

"Now let all the Protestants step out."

He did not suppose that any one would dare to confess to him that he was a Protestant, but those little Christians must have remembered the solemn words of the Saviour, when he said: "If any man will confess me on the earth, I also will confess him before my Father which is in heaven."

There was a moment's, pause, then seven little fellows stepped out. The teacher was amazed.

"What" he said, "don't you believe in worshiping the pictures of saints?"

"No, sir, we don't; and please, sir," said the bravest of them all, "if Jesus wanted us to worship pictures of the saints, wouldn't he have left us-his own picture to worship?"

This was too hard for the tyrant teacher, but he did not let them know how they had cornered him. He said, "Boys, how shall these heretics be punished " and the boys decided they must be "spit upon."

So the whole school formed a line and marched around those seven, spitting upon them as they went.

"Now sing!" the teacher said, and all the school except the seven struck up one of their patriotic songs.

"Sing, I tell you!" he said to the seven.

"We will, if you will sing the songs of Jesus," was the grand answer of the martyrs.

"Sing it yourselves!" said the teacher; and, wonderful to tell, this sweet song came to the ears of the astonished teacher:β€”




"Must Jesus bear the cross alone,

And all the world go free?

No, there's a cross for every one,

And there's a cross for me."




The Pansy.