"Now we shall have the little address," whispered Sandy, who had kept all eye upon Rob; "the teacher is going to knock upon the floor with her parasol, and then, won't we be quiet as mice!"
There was no need to call "silence;" two little raps upon the floor were enough to make every rough scholar in the place go back to his seat in a minute, and remain there as still as a statue. All the young eyes were fixed on the teacher, the gentle loving lady, who daily left her comfortable house to trudge, sometimes through rain, and snow, and sleet, to spend her time, her strength, and her health, in leading ragged children to the Saviour. Her voice was a little faint, for the lady was weary with her work, though never weary of her work, but her smile was kindly and bright as she began her short address.
"I have promised to give you a story, my dear young friends," she began, "and as I am speaking in a Ragged School, and to those who are called Ragged Scholars, you will not be shocked or surprised if I choose for my subject—a Rag."
The teacher's cheerful smile was reflected on many a young sunburnt face; rags were a theme on which most of the company felt perfectly at home, though few present, except poor Rob, actually wore the articles in question.
"On a miry road," continued the lady, "trodden down by hoofs, rolled over by wheels, till it became almost of the colour of the mud on which it was lying, lay an old piece of linen rag, which had been dropped there by a beggar. Nothing could be more worthless, and long it lay unnoticed, till it caught the attention of a woman who, with a child at her side, was picking her way over the crossing."
"'I may as well pick that up for my bag,' said the woman."
"'Oh, mother, don't dirty your fingers by picking up that rag!' cried the boy with a look of disgust; 'such trash is not worth the trouble of washing! It's good for nothing; just good for nothing; it is better to leave it alone!'"
"'Let me judge of that,' said the woman; and stooping down, she picked up the miry rag, all torn and stained as it was, and carried it with her to her home. There she carefully washed it, and put it with other pieces of linen in a bag; and after a while, it was sold for a trifle to a manufacturer of paper."
"If the rag had been a living creature, possessed of any feeling, much might it have complained of all that if had then to undergo. It was torn to pieces, reduced to shreds, beaten till it became quite a pulp; no one could have guessed who looked at it then that it had ever been linen at all. But what, my young friends, was the end of all this washing, and beating, and rending? At length a pure, white, beautiful sheet of paper lay beneath the manufacturer's hands; into this fair form had passed the rag which a child had called good for nothing!"
"But the sheet was not to lie useless. Not in vain had it been made so white and clean. It was next carried to the press of a printer. There it was once more damped, so as better to receive an impression: then it was laid over blackened type (that is, letters cast in metal), and pressed down with a heavy roller, until every letter was clearly marked upon the smooth white surface. God's Holy Word had been stamped upon it, the sheet was to form a leaf of a Bible; such honour was given to the once soiled rag, which a child had called good for nothing!"