Sant was the first one of our crowd to go to college, and we were all proud of him, and predicted great things for him.  We all knew he was brilliant and felt certain that the great ones in the college would soon find it out.  And they did; for ever and anon some news would filter through to us that Sant was battening upon Latin, Greek, mathematics, science, and history.  Of course, we gave all the credit to our little school, and seemed to forget that the Lord may have had something to do with it.  When we proved by Sant’s achievements that our school was ne plus ultra, I noticed that the irascible teacher joined heartily in the chorus.  I intend to get all the glory I can from the achievements of my pupils, but I do hope that they may not be my sole dependence at the distribution of glory.  Yes, Sant graduated, and his name was written high upon the scroll.  But he could not deliver his oration, for he was sick, and a friend read it for him.  And when he arose to receive his diploma he had to stand on crutches.  They took him home in a carriage, and within a week he was dead.  The fires of genius had burned brightly for a time and then went out in darkness, because his father and mother were first cousins.

At the conclusion of this story, the boys were silent for a long time, and I knew the story was having its effect.  Then there was a slight movement, and one of them put into my hand another pine stick.  I whittled in silence for a time, and then told them of a woman I know who is well-known and highly esteemed in more than one State because of her distinctive achievements.  One day I saw her going along the street leading by the hand a little four-year-old boy.  He was the picture of health, and rollicked along as only such a healthy little chap can.  He was eager to see all the things that were displayed in the windows, but to me he and the proud mother were the finest show on the street.  She beamed upon him like another Madonna, and it seemed to me that the Master must have been looking at some such glorious child as that when he said; “Suffer the little children to come unto me.”

A few weeks later I was riding on the train with that mother, and she was telling me that the little fellow had been ill, and told how anxious she had been through several days and nights because the physicians could not discover the cause of his illness.  Then she told how happy she was that he had about recovered, and how bright he seemed when she kissed him good-by that morning.  I saw her several times that week and at each meeting she gave me good news of the little boy at home.