“Yes, Ernest,” he replied, “I am glad to believe that you will, indeed, stand by me, and help to raise the character of this school.”
“But, sir, I am not a teacher,” he said, “I am only a boy, and I am almost afraid to speak before those who are so much older and wiser than I am; and yet, because I am young, and can look at all this from the children’s standpoint, I should like, if I may, to express the hope that all the teachers will agree with you, and have the training and the preparation classes, and anything else that will make the Sunday-school more helpful. You do not know how hard it is for boys and girls to be right. Some fellows that I know, who belong to the Crusaders, had a prayer meeting last night, and we all prayed to God to give us courage not to pretend to be worse than we are. We are bad enough, I know that——”
The young speaker hesitated, and broke down, and the most prejudiced old teacher in the room felt some sympathy for him.
“Go on, Ernest,” said the minister gently, and the rest cheered the boy with an encouraging clap. Presently he recovered himself. “We are not good; we need a Saviour; but many of us would scorn to be as bad as we make ourselves out to be, and there are some of the ‘boys’ ways’ which those who teach us ought to know something about. But boys—the boys of Broad street—will be as bad and black as—because it is supposed to be the thing—some of them make themselves out to be—unless they are helped; and what I want to say—and I hope you will not think me too presumptuous—is this, that the old Sunday-school, as it is now carried on, is not equal to the needs of new boys in these new times.”
“Well, to be sure! What next!” exclaimed a lady teacher; and one or two men felt as if a good horsewhipping would do the young upstart good; but for the most part the teachers knew that Ernest had spoken the truth, and though his words had given them pain, yet they were glad that he had uttered them, and hopeful that the result would prove beneficial.
“I, too, will stand by Mr. Collinson,” said the superintendent, “and by right of the office with which you have invested me, I venture to repeat Gideon’s words to his army, ‘Whosoever is fearful and afraid let him return and depart.’ It is quite true that the usual Sunday-school, though it has done splendid work in the past, is quite inadequate to the needs of the children to-day, and if we are not willing to do anything and everything to bring ourselves up to date, we had better stand aside and yield the work to those who will.”
The scene which followed could not be other than painful. One after another of the teachers resigned; and the resignation of a few was accepted, while the discriminating superintendent advised some to try the new plans before they quite gave up.
It was with an anxious heart that Ernest Stapleton went home after the meeting. He was not at all sure that he had not been wrong, and the author of much mischief; although with the usual confidence of youth he had great faith in his own opinions. Still, he thought that Mr. Collinson had approved of him, and if so, there was not much to fear, for though he doubted himself a little, he doubted the minister not at all; so his courage rose as he passed through the gates of his father’s residence.
He ran up the steps, whistling as he went; but on the top one he sighed, and a fear which he had known before came back to him. He was afraid that there was something wrong in his home. His father looked dreadfully worried, and although he knew that among his men another strike was impending, yet even that was not sufficient, he thought, to quite account for so much anxiety. And his mother—his beautiful mother, whom he loved so dearly—looked sometimes pale, and as if she had been crying. Ernest wondered what it all meant, and feared that trouble was impending.
When he stepped into the hall he heard his uncle’s voice, and that, too, he thought a little strange. Dr. Stapleton had visited them very rarely until quite lately, but now it was no unusual thing for him to be there once or twice in a week.