Oh, such bright, cunning, wicked faces as they had!
Their torn pants and jackets, their matted hair, even the very twinkle in
their eyes, showed that they were the "Mission Class."
That is, the class which somebody had gathered from the little black,
comfortless-looking houses which thronged a narrow back street of that
village, and coaxed to come to the Sabbath school,--to this large, light,
pleasant room, where the sun shone in upon little girls in white dresses,
with blue and pink ribbons fluttering from their shoulders; and upon
little boys, whose snowy linen collars and dainty knots of black ribbon
had evidently been arranged by careful hands that very morning.
But those boys in the corner kicked their bare heels together, pulled
each other's hair, or laughed in each other's faces in the greatest
good humour.
The superintendent stopped before them.
"Well, boys, good morning; glad to see you all here. Where's your
teacher?"
"Hain't got none!" answered one,
"Gone to Guinea!" said another.
"She was afraid of us," explained a third.
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