Paul asked one of his friends for pen and ink and paper, and this is what he wrote:
DEAR PHILEMON, APPHIA, AND ARCHIPPUS: I often think of you and remember you in my prayers here in my prison in Rome. I want to ask a favor of you for my son Onesimus, who ran away from you as a slave, but now returns to you as a Christian brother. He has told me his story and is sorry. If you think of me as a friend, receive him back as you would receive me. If he has stolen anything, I will pay it for him. Love to all.
The letter is a little longer than this, but you can read all of it in your own New Testament. This letter Onesimus took with him as he returned to the home of his master. Philemon treated him kindly, no longer as a slave but as a dear son. And many people say that Onesimus, the _unprofitable_ slave, became one of the most _profitable_ Christians in all that land, ever true to Jesus and to Paul, and to his master-friend, Philemon.
(_Adapted for Children, Six to Twelve Years._)
Once a great army came marching toward a bridge which led into the city of Rome across the river Tiber. “If they cross the bridge, Rome is lost!” cried the white-haired Fathers who made the laws, for the Roman soldiers were too few to meet so great an army. But brave Horatius, one of the men who guarded the bridge, stood forth and shouted, “Tear down the bridge quickly while I and the two men with me keep the enemy back!” Then with their shields before them and their long spears in their hands the three brave men stood in the road and kept back the horsemen who had been sent to take the bridge. The Romans hewed away the beams and posts and soon the bridge trembled and was ready to fall. Horatius sent back his two friends, who had no sooner reached the other side in safety than crash went the bridge, falling into the river with a great splash. Then Horatius knew that Rome was safe. With his face still toward the foe, he moved slowly backward till he stood on the river’s brink. A dart thrown by one of the soldiers struck his left eye and put it out. But, not with a curse, but a prayer on his lips, he leaped into the deep, swift stream. He had his heavy armor on, and when he sank beneath the water no one thought he would ever be seen again. But he was strong, and the best swimmer in Rome. The next minute he arose and swam to the other side amid the shower of darts and javelins from the enemy. At last when his friends pulled him up on the bank, shout after shout went up, not only from the Romans, but also from the enemy on the other bank, for they had never seen a soldier so strong and brave before.