on the platform to balance the
weight. His face was thin and his beard scattered, but his large black
eyes were as keen as a lance, and they always seemed to see everything
that came within the range of vision. He was fairly educated, but in
no sense a great scholar. His patrons called him "Professor," but he
made no claim to the title, and it was offensive in his ears when
applied to himself. He was characterized with excellent common sense,
and, best of all, was a man of resources. He was an excellent
classroom worker, managed his school well, and was held in high esteem
by his fellow-teachers and his pupils. Above all, he was a man whose
personality impressed itself upon those with whom he associated, and
whose character was strong and wholesome, making itself felt upon his
pupils continuously.

To this man came Parson Weaver on a memorable morning, when the
following dialogue ensued, after the two had made themselves known to
each other:

"I have a son," said the parson, "whom I should like to send to school
to you."

"Certainly," replied Mr. Bright, "send him along, and we will endeavor
to take care of him, amongst us."

"Yes," said the Elder, "but I am grieved to be obliged to say that my
boy is very wayward. He has been expelled from school so often, and
has had so much trouble with his teachers that I doubt if you can do
anything with him. I thought, however, that I would come and speak to
you about him, and if you were willing to try him, at least for a
little while, I should be under great obligations. For, really, it is
a terrible thing, sir, for one to feel that he must give up a
first-born son and see him go down to destruction. And yet I am
compelled to say frankly to you that I fear our boy is almost beyond
hope."

This was said in an agonized tone that told how deeply the sorrow had
taken hold of the father's heart. There is a sentence somewhere that
reads, "If thou canst, have mercy on us and save our son, for he is
grievously tormented." The world is much the same now as it was a good
many years ago, isn't it?

"How old is your boy?" asked Mr. Bright in a quiet, measured tone.

"Nearly seventeen," replied the parson, "but he is greatly behind in
his school work. As I said, he has been turned out of school till he
hates it, and, to tell the truth, he has done little but roam the
streets for the last few years. I feel that I ought to be ashamed,
being his father, to make such a co