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in such reverence, and so separated them from worldly matters, that
unconsciously to himself his Sunday-school voice had acquired a peculiar
intonation which was wholly absent on week-days. He began after this fashion:
“Now children, I want you all to sit up just as straight and pretty as you can and
give me all your attention for a minute or two. There-that is it. That is the way
good little boys and girls should do. I see one little girl who is looking out of the
window-I am afraid she thinks I am out there somewhere-perhaps up in one of
the trees making a speech to the little birds. [Applausive titter.] I want to tell you
how good it makes me feel to see so many bright, clean little faces assembled in
a place like this, learning to do right and be good.” And so forth and so on. It is
not necessary to set down the rest of the oration.

It was of a pattern which does not vary, and so it is familiar to us all.
The latter third of the speech was marred by the resumption of fights and other
recreations among certain of the bad boys, and by fidgetings and whisperings
that extended far and wide, washing even to the bases of isolated and
incorruptible rocks like Sid and Mary. But now every sound ceased suddenly,
with the subsidence of Mr. Walters’s voice, and the conclusion of the speech was
received with a burst of silent gratitude.

A good part of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which was more
or less rare-the entrance of visitors; lawyer Thatcher, accompanied by a very
feeble and aged man; a fine, portly, middle-aged gentleman with iron-gray hair;
and a dignified lady who was doubtless the latter’s wife. The lady was leading a
child. Tom had been restless and full of chafings and repinings;
consciencesmitten, too-he could not meet Amy Lawrence’s eye, he could not
brook her loving gaze. But when he saw this small new-comer his soul was all
ablaze with bliss in a moment. The next moment he was “showing off” with all
his mightcuffing boys, pulling hair, making faces-in a word, using every art that
seemed likely to fascinate a girl and win her applause. His exaltation had but
one alloythe memory of his humiliation in this angel’s garden-and that record in
sand was fast washing out, under the waves of happiness that were sweeping
over it now.

The visitors were given the highest seat of honor, and as soon as Mr. Walters’
speech was finished, he introduced them to the school. The middle-aged man
turned out to be a prodigious personage-no less a one than the county judge-
altogether the most august creation these children had ever looked upon-and
they wondered what kind of material he was made of-and they half wanted to
hear him roar, and were half afraid he might, too. He was from Constantinople,
twelve miles away-so he had traveled, and seen the world-these very eyes had
looked upon the county court house-which was said to have a tin roof. The awe
which these reflections inspired was attested by the impressive silence and the
ranks of staring eyes. This was the great Judge Thatcher, brother of their own
lawyer. Jeff Thatcher immediately went forward, to be familiar with the great
man and be envied by the school. It would have been music to his soul to hear
the whisperings: “Look at him, Jim! He’s a-going up there. Say-look! he’s a-