{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_9648/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_9648","id":"gutenberg_9648","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9648","summary":null,"tags":["Behavior -- Juvenile fiction","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction","Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Produced by Joel Erickson, Mary Meehan, David Garcia and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTIP LEWIS AND HIS LAMP\n\nBY PANSY\n\n\nAUTHOR OF \"ESTER RIED,\" \"ESTER RIED YET SPEAKING,\" \"MRS. SOLOMON SMITH\nLOOKING ON,\" \"AN ENDLESS CHAIN,\" \"FOUR GIRLS AT CHAUTAUQUA,\" ETC. ETC.\n\n\n\n\nTIP LEWIS AND HIS LAMP.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\"Cast thy bread upon the waters.\"\n\n\nThe room was very full. Children, large and small, boys and girls, and\nsome looking almost old enough to be called men and women, filled the\nseats. The scholars had just finished singing their best-loved hymn,\n\"Happy Land;\" and the superintendent was walking up and down the room,\nspying out classes here and there which were without teachers, and\nsupplying them from the visitors' seat, which was up by the desk.\n\nThe long seat near the door was filled this morning by half a dozen\ndirty, ragged, barefooted boys; their teacher's seat was vacant, and\nthose boys looked, every one, as though they had come thither just to\nhave a grand frolic.\n\nOh, such bright, cunning, wicked faces as they had!\n\nTheir torn pants and jackets, their matted hair, even the very twinkle in\ntheir eyes, showed that they were the \"Mission Class.\"\n\nThat is, the class which somebody had gathered from the little black,\ncomfortless-looking houses which thronged a narrow back street of that\nvillage, and coaxed to come to the Sabbath school,--to this large, light,\npleasant room, where the sun shone in upon little girls in white dresses,\nwith blue and pink ribbons fluttering from their shoulders; and upon\nlittle boys, whose snowy linen collars and dainty knots of black ribbon\nhad evidently been arranged by careful hands that very morning.\n\nBut those boys in the corner kicked their bare heels together, pulled\neach other's hair, or laughed in each other's faces in the greatest\ngood humour.\n\nThe superintendent stopped before them.\n\n\"Well, boys, good morning; glad to see you all here. Where's your\nteacher?\"\n\n\"Hain't got none!\" answered one,\n\n\"Gone to Guinea!\" said another.\n\n\"She was afraid of us,\" explained a third. \"Tip, here, put his foot\nthrough one of her lace flounces last Sunday. Tip's the worst boy we've\ngot, anyhow.\"\n\nThe boys all seemed to think this was very funny, for they laughed so\nloudly that the little girls at their right looked over to see what was\nthe matter.\n\nTip ran his fingers through his uncombed hair, and laughed with the rest.\n\n\"Well,\" said the superintendent, \"I'm going to get you a teacher,--one\nyou will like, I guess. I shall expect you to treat her well.\"\n\nThere was just one person left on the visitors' seat,--a young lady who\nlooked shy and quiet.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Parker,\" she said, when the superintendent told her what he\nwanted, \"I can't take that class; I've watched those boys ever since\nthey came in,--they look mischievous enough for anything, and act as\nthey look.\"\n\n\"Then shall we leave them with nothing but mischief to take up their\nattention?\"\n\n\"No, but--they really ought to have a better teacher than I,--some one\nwho knows how to interest them.\"\n\n\"But, Miss Perry, the choice lies between you and no one.\"\n\nAnd, while she still hesitated and looked distressed, Mr. Parker bent\nforward a little, and said softly,--\n\n\"'Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these My brethren, ye\ndid it not to Me.'\"\n\nThe lady rose quickly, and gathered her mantle about her.\n\n\"I will go, Mr. Parker,\" she said, speaking quickly, as if afraid her\ncourage would fail her. \"Since there is no one else, I will do the best I\ncan; but oh, I am afraid!\"\n\nDown the long room, past the rows of neatly-dressed, attentive children,\nMr. Parker led her to the seat near the door.\n\n\"Now, boys,\" said he, \"this is Miss Perry. Suppose you see if you can't\nall be gentlemen, and treat her well.\"\n\nMiss Perry sat down in the teacher's chair, her heart all in a flutter.\nShe taught a class in her own Sabbath school hundreds of miles\naway,--five rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed little girls gathered around her\nevery Sabbath; but they were little girls whose mothers had taught them\nto love their lessons, to listen respectfully to what their teacher\nsaid, to bow their heads reverently in prayer; and more than that, they\nloved her, and she loved them. But these boys! Still she must say\nsomething: six pairs of bright, roguish eyes, brimful of fire and fun,\nwere bent on her.\n\n\"Boys,\" she said gently, \"have you any lessons for me?\"\n\n\"Not much,\" answered Bob Turner, who always spoke first.\n\n\"We don't get lessons mostly. Don't come unless it's too hot to go\nfishing or berrying.\"\n\n\"Tip comes 'cause he's too lazy to go past the door,\"\n\n\"I don't!\" drawled out the boy they called Tip; \"I come to get out of the\nsun; it's hotter than sixty down home.\"\n\n\"Never mind, boys,\" said their frightened teacher; for they were all\nlaughing now, as though the funniest thing in the world had happened.\n\"See here, since you have no lessons, shall I tell you a story?\"\n\nOh yes, they were willing enough to hear a story, if it wasn't stupid.\n\n\"I'll tell you something that happened to a boy when he was about\nthirteen years old. His name is Robert; he told me this story himself, so\nyou may be sure it's true.\n\n\"He said one evening he was walking slowly down the main street of the\nvillage where he lived\"--\n\n\"Where was that?\" asked Bob Turner.\n\n\"Oh, it was away out west. He said he felt cross and unhappy; he had\nnowhere in particular to go, and nothing to do. As he walked, he came to\na turn where two roads met. 'Now,' thought he, 'shall I turn to the left\nand go home, and hang around until bed-time, or shall I turn to the right\nand go down to the river awhile?'\n\n\"You see, Robert hadn't a happy home,--his mother was dead, and his\nfather was a drunkard.\n\n\"While he stood thinking, a boy came around the other corner, and\ncalled out,--\n\n\"Going home, Rob?'\n\n\"'Don't know,' said Robert; 'I can't make up my mind.'\n\n\"'Suppose you come on down to our house, and we'll have a game of ball?'\n\n\"Still Robert waited. He was fond of playing ball,--that was\ncertain,--and he liked company better than to walk alone; why he should\nthink of wandering off down to the river by himself he was sure he didn't\nknow. Still something seemed to keep saying to him, 'Go this way--turn to\nthe right; come, go to the river, 'until he said at last,--\n\n\"'No; I guess I'll take a walk this way first.'\n\n\"And he turned the corner, then he was but a few steps from the river.\"\n\n\"What came of the other fellow?\" asked Bob.\n\n\"Why, some more boys came up just then, and he walked along with them.\n\n\"There was a large elm-tree on the river bank, and there was one\nparticular spot under it that Robert called his seat; but he found a\ngentleman seated there this time; he had a book in his hand, partly\nclosed, and he was leaning back against a tree, watching the sunset.\n\n\"He looked around as he heard Robert's step, and said, 'Good evening;\nwill you have a seat?'\n\n\"He moved along, and Robert sat down on the grass near him; then\nhe said,--\n\n\"'I heard a boy call out to another just now, \"Going home, Robert?\" Are\nyou the boy?'\n\n\"'No,' said Robert; 'Hal Carter screamed that out to me just as he came\nround the corner.'\n\n\"'Oh, you are the one he was talking to. Well, I'll ask you the same\nquestion. _Are_ you going home?'\n\n\"'No,' said Robert again; 'I have just walked straight away from home.'\n\n\"'Yes; but are you going up _there_?' And the gentleman pointed up to the\nblue sky. 'That's the home I mean; I've just been reading about it; this\nriver made me think of it. Where it says, you know, \"And he showed me a\npure river of water, clear as crystal.\" Then it goes on to describe the\ncity with its \"gates of pearl\" and \"streets of gold,\" the robes and\ncrowns that the people wear, the harps on which they play, and, after\nthis warm day, I couldn't help thinking that one of the pleasantest\nthings about this home was the promise, \"Neither shall the sun light on\nthem, nor any heat.\" Aren't you going to that home, my boy?'\"\n\n\"'I don't know,' Robert said, feeling very much astonished.\"\n\nAt this point the superintendent's bell rang, and Miss Perry had to\nhasten her story.\n\n\"I haven't time, boys, to tell you all the gentleman said, but, after\nthat talk, Robert began to think about these things a great deal, and\npretty soon he learned to read the Bible and to pray. That was more than\nfifty years ago. He is an old minister now; I have heard him preach a\ngreat many times; and he told me once he should always believe God put it\ninto his heart to turn to the right that evening, instead of the left.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Tip, just here; and Miss Perry stopped.\n\n\"Joe pinched me,\" said Tip, to explain his part of the noise.\n\nBut their teacher felt very badly; they had not listened to her story as\nthough they cared to hear it; they had slid up and down the seat, pulled\nand pinched and pricked each other, and done a great many mischievous\nthings since she commenced; and yet now and then they seemed to hear a\nfew words; so she kept on, because she did not know what else to do.\n\n\"Oh, Mr. Parker,\" she said, when the school was dismissed, and her noisy\nclass had scrambled, some through the window and some through the door,\n\"some man who understands boys ought to have had that class; I haven't\ndone them any good, but I tried;\" and there were tears in her eyes as\nshe spoke.\n\n\"You did what you could,\" said the superintendent kindly; \"none of us\ncan do more.\"\n\nSome loving voice ought to have whispered in that teacher's ear, \"He that\ngoeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come\nagain with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\n\"But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit.\"\n\n\nTip Lewis yawned and stretched, and finally opened his eyes rather late\non Monday morning.\n\n\"Oh, bother!\" he said, with another yawn, when he saw how the sun was\npouring into the room; \"I suppose a fellow has got to get up. I wish\ngetting up wasn't such hard work,--spoils all the fun of going to bed;\nbut then the old cat will be to pay, if I don't get around soon.\"\n\nAnd with this he rolled out; and when he was dressed, which was in a very\nfew minutes after he tumbled out of his ragged bed, he was the self-same\nTip who had been at the bottom of most of the mischief in Miss Perry's\nclass the day before,--the very same, from the curly hair, not yet\ncombed nor likely to be, down to the bare, soiled feet.\n\nThe bed which he had just left, so far as neatness was concerned, looked\nvery much like Tip, and the room looked like the bed; and they all looked\nabout as badly as dust and rags and poverty could make them look.\n\nAfter running his fingers through his hair, by way of finishing his\ntoilet, Tip made his way down the rickety stairs to the kitchen.\n\nIt seemed as though that kitchen was just calculated to make a boy feel\ncross. The table stood against the wall on its three legs, the\ntablecloth was daubed with molasses and stained with gravy; a plate,\nwith something in it which looked like melted lard, but which Tip's\nmother called butter, and a half loaf of bread, were the only eatable\narticles as yet on the table; and around these the flies had gathered in\nsuch numbers, that it almost seemed as though they might carry the loaf\naway entirely, if too many of them didn't drown themselves in the\nbutter. Over all the July sun poured in its rays from the eastern\nwindow, the only one in the room.\n\nTip stumbled over his father's boots, and made his way to the stove,\nwhere his mother was bending over a spider of sizzling pork.\n\n\"Well,\" she said, as he came near, \"did you get up for all day? I'd be\nashamed--great boy like you--to lie in bed till this time of day, and let\nyour mother split wood and bring water to cook your breakfast with.\"\n\n\"You cooked, a little for you, too, didn't you?\" asked Tip, in a saucy,\ngood-natured tone. \"Where's father?\"\n\n\"Just where you have been all day so far,--in bed and asleep. Such folks\nas I've got! I'm sick of living.\"\n\nAnd Mrs. Lewis stepped back from the steaming tea-kettle, and wiped great\nbeads of perspiration from her forehead; then fanned herself with her big\napron, looking meantime very tired and cross.\n\nYet Tip's mother was not so cross after all as she seemed; had Tip only\nknown it, her heart was very heavy that morning. She did not blame his\nfather for his morning nap, not a bit of it; she was only glad that the\nweary frame could rest a little after a night of pain. She had been up\nsince the first grey dawn of morning, bathing his head, straightening the\ntangled bedclothes, walking the floor with the restless baby, in order\nthat her husband might have quiet. Oh no; there were worse women in the\nworld than Mrs. Lewis; but this morning her life looked very wretched to\nher. She thought of her idle, mischievous boy; of her naughty,\nhigh-tempered little girl; of her fat, healthy baby, who took so much of\nher time; of her husband, who, though she never said it to him, or even\nto herself, yet she knew and felt was every day growing weaker; and with\nthese came the remembrance that her own tired hands were all that lay\nbetween them and want; and it is hardly a wonder that her voice was sharp\nand her words ill chosen. For this mother tried to bear all her trials\nalone; she never went for help to the Redeemer, who said,--\n\n\"Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden.\"\n\n\"Wah!\" said Johnny, from his cradle in the bit of a bedroom near the\nkitchen,--which kitchen was all the room they had, save two tiny bedrooms\nand Tip's little den up-stairs.\n\nMrs. Lewis glanced quickly towards the door of her husband's room; it was\nclosed. Then she called,--\n\n\"Kitty, make that baby go to sleep!\"\n\n\"Oh yes!\" muttered Kitty, who sat on the floor lacing her old shoe with a\nwhite cord; \"it's easy to say that, but I'd just like to see you do it.\"\n\n\"Ah yah!\" answered Johnny from the cradle, as though he tried to say, \"So\nshould I.\"\n\nThen, not being noticed, he gave up pretending to cry, and screamed in\ngood earnest, loud, positive yells, which brought his mother in haste\nfrom the kitchen.\n\n\"Ugly girl!\" she said to Kitty, as she lifted the conquering hero from\nhis cradle; \"you don't care how soon your father is waked out of the only\nnap he has had all night. Why didn't you rock the cradle? I've a notion\nto whip you this minute!\"\n\n\"I did,\" answered Kitty sulkily; \"and he opened his eyes at me as wide as\nhe could stretch them.\"\n\nCrash! went something at that moment in the kitchen; and, with Johnny in\nher arms, Mrs. Lewis ran back to see what new trouble she had to meet.\nTip, meantime, had been in business; being hungry, he had cut a slice of\nbread from the loaf, and, in the act of reaching over to help himself to\nsome butter, hit his arm against a pitcher of water standing on the\ncorner of the table. Over it went and broke, just as pitchers will\nwhenever they get a chance. This was too much for the tired mother's\npatience; what little she had vanished. She tossed the slice of bread at\nTip, and as she did so, said,--\n\n\"There! take that and be off. Don't let me see a sight of your face\nagain to-day. March this instant, or you will wish you had!\"\n\nAnd in the midst of the din, while his mother looked after the pork,\nwhich had seized this occasion for burning fast to the spider, Tip\nmanaged to spread his slice of bread, find his hat, and make good his\nescape from the comfortless home.\n\nThere was an hour yet to school-time; or, for the matter of that, he\nmight have the whole day. Tip went to school, or let it alone, just as he\npleased. He made his way straight to his favourite spot, the broad, deep\npond, and laid himself down on its grassy bank to chat with the fishes.\n\n\"My!\" he said; \"how nice they look whisking about. It's cool down there,\nI know; they don't mind the sun. I wish I had my fish-pole here, I'd have\none of them shiny big fellows there for my dinner; only it's too hot to\nfish, and it would seem kind of mean, besides, to get him up here in this\nblazing sun. Hang me if I make even a fish get out of the water to-day,\nwhen it can stay in!\"\n\nOf all the scholars in Miss Perry's class, the one who she would have\nsaid paid the least attention was this same boy who was lying on his face\nby the pond, envying the fishes. Yet Tip had heard nearly every word she\nsaid; and now, as he looked into the water, which lay cool in the shade\nof some broad, branching trees, there came into his heart the music of\nthose words again,--\n\n\"Neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.\"\n\n\"I declare,\" he said, as the meaning of those words dawned upon him, \"I'd\nlike that! they'll never be too warm again. It was a pretty nice story\nshe told us about that boy. He couldn't have had a very good time; his\nfather was a drunkard. I wish I knew just about what kind of a fellow he\nwas; he turned right square round after that man talked to him. Now he is\na minister; I suppose lots of people like him. It must be kind of nice,\nthe whole of it. I would like to be somebody, as true as I live, I would.\nI'd like to have the people say, 'There goes Tip Lewis; he's the best boy\nin town.' Bless me! that would be funny; I don't believe they could ever\nsay it; they are so used to calling me the worst, they couldn't help it.\nWhat if I should reform? I declare I don't know but I will.\"\n\nAnd Tip rolled over on his back, and looked up into the blue, cloudless\nsky; lying there, he certainly had some of the most sober thoughts,\nperhaps the only really sober ones he had ever known in his life. And\nwhen at last he slowly picked himself up, turned his back upon the\ndarting fishes, and walked towards the school-house, he had in his mind\nsome vague notion that perhaps he would be different from that time\nforth. Just what he was going to do, or how to commence doing it, he\ndidn't know; but the story, to which he had seemed not to listen at all,\nhad crept into his heart, had commenced its work; very dimly was it\nworking, very blindly he might grope for a while, but the seed sown had\ntaken root.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\n\"Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye did\nit unto Me.\"\n\n\nAround the corner, and far up the street from where Tip Lewis lived,\nthere stood a large white house; not another house in the village was so\nbeautiful as this. Many a time had Tip walked slowly by the place, and\ncast the most admiring glances on the broad green lawns and bubbling\nfountain, of which he caught; glimpses from the road. Often he had stood\noutside, at the great gate, and fairly _longed_ for a nearer view of that\nsame fountain; for the truth was, though he was such a rough,\nmischief-making,--yes, a _wicked_ boy, down in his heart he had a great\nlove for beautiful things.\n\nOn this Fourth of July morning, Tip was up and abroad very early. He held\na horse, which had been so frightened by fire-crackers that it wouldn't\nstand still a minute, and the owner of it gave him ten cents, with which\nhe immediately bought fire-crackers for himself, and frightened the very\nnext horse he saw. When the great cannon on the hill was fired, he got in\nthe way, just as much as he knew how, which was a great deal; he\ncontrived to be around when the largest bell was rung, and add his voice\nto the uproar among the boys who were gathered around the church doors;\nindeed, wherever there was commotion or confusion, Tip managed very soon\nto be, and to do his part towards making the most of it.\n\nAbout ten o'clock he had lived out the most of his pleasures, having been\non hand since a little after three. He had no more money to spend, saw no\nchance of getting any more; he had had no breakfast, and was very much in\ndoubt as to whether he would get any, if he took the trouble to go home;\nhe had some way lost track of all his companions; and, altogether, he was\nbeginning to feel as if the Fourth of July were a humbug. He felt\nill-used, angry; it seemed to him that he was being cheated out of a good\ntime that he expected to have. He sat down on the edge of an old\nsugar-barrel and thought about it a while; then finally, with his hands\nin his pockets, and whistling \"Yankee Doodle\" in honour of the day, he\nsauntered along the street in search of something to take up his time.\n\nHurrying towards him, with hands not in his pockets, but full of\npackages, came Mr. Mintum, the owner of the grand white house on the\nhill.\n\nTo Tip's surprise, the gentleman halted suddenly before him, and, eyeing\nhim closely, asked, \"Whose boy are you?\"\n\n\"John Lewis's.\"\n\n\"Where do you live?\"\n\n\"T'other side of the pond, by the mill.\"\n\n\"Oh, your father is the carpenter, I suppose,--I know him. What's\nyour name?\"\n\n\"Tip.\"\n\n\"Tip! What kind of a name is that? is it all the one you own?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Tip, \"I suppose my name was Edward when I was a little\nshaver; but nobody knows it now; I don't myself.\"\n\n\"Well, Tip, then, I'll call you that, for I want you to know yourself\nto-night. What are you going to do?\"\n\n\"When? to-night? Oh, hang around, I s'pose,--have some fun, if I can\nfind any.\"\n\n\"Fun. Is that what you're after? You come up to my house to-night at\ndark, and see if you can find it there. We are going to have fireworks,\nand songs, and all the fun we can.\"\n\nTip was not by any means a bashful boy, and it took a great deal to\nastonish him; but this sudden invitation almost took his breath away. The\nidea that Mr. Minturn had actually invited _him_, Tip Lewis, to come to\nthe white house!--to come near to that wonderful fountain, near enough\nperhaps to feel the dash of its spray! He could have danced for joy; yet,\nwhen Mr. Minturn said, \"Well, will you come?\" for the first time in his\nlife he was known to stammer and hesitate.\n\n\"I--I don't--know. I haven't got any clothes.\"\n\n\"Clothes!\" repeated Mr. Minturn; \"what do you call those things which\nyou have on?\"\n\n\"I call 'em _rags_, sir,\" answered Tip, his embarrassment gone, and the\nmischief twinkling back into his face again.\n\nMr. Minturn laughed, and looked down on the torn jacket and pants.\n\n\"Not a bad name,\" he said at last. \"But you've got water at your house,\nhaven't you?\"\n\n\"Lots of it.\"\n\n\"Then put your head into a tub of it, and a clean face up to my house\nto-night, and we'll try and find that fun you're looking for.\"\n\nAnd Mr. Minturn, who had spent a great deal of time for him, was passing\non. \"See here!\" he called, after he had moved forward a few steps; \"if\nyou see any boy raggeder than you are yourself, bring him along,--bring\nevery boy and girl you meet who haven't anywhere else to go.\"\n\n\"Ho!\" said Tip, as soon as the gentleman was at safe distance; \"if this\nisn't rich, then I don't know,--fireworks in that great yard, pretty near\nthe fountain maybe, and lots of fun. We can take anybody we like. I know\nwhat I'll do. I'll hunt up Bob Turner; his jacket has got enough sight\nmore holes in it than mine has. Oh, ho! ain't it grand, though?\" And Tip\nclapped his hands and whistled, and at last, finding that didn't express\nhis feeling, said, \"Hurrah!\" in a good strong tone.\n\nYes, hurrah! Tip is right; it is glorious to think that one man out of\nhis abundance is going to open his heart, and gather in God's poor, and,\nfor one evening at least, make them happy.\n\nGod bless Mr. Minturn!\n\nNever had the good man's grounds entertained such a group as, from all\nquarters of the large town, gathered before it was quite dark.\n\nRagged boys and girls! If those were what be wanted, he had them, sure\nenough, of almost every age and size. There were some not so\nragged,--some in dainty white dresses and shining jackets; but they went\ndown and mingled with the others,--brothers and sisters for that night at\nleast,--and were all, oh, _so_ happy!\n\nHow they _did_ dance and laugh and scream around that fountain, and snap\ntorpedoes and fire-crackers, and shout with wild delight when the rockets\nshot up into the sky, or the burning wheels span round and round,\nscattering showers of real fire right in among the crowds of children!\n\nWell, the evening hasted away; the very last rocket took its bright,\nrushing way up into the blue sky; and Mr. Minturn gathered his company\naround the piazza with the words,--\n\n\"Now, children, Mr. Holbrook has a few words to say to you, and after\nthat, as soon as we have sung a hymn, it will be time to go home.\"\n\nMr. Holbrook was the minister; many of the children knew him well, and\nmost of them were ready to hear what he had to say, because they knew, by\nexperience, that he was old enough and wise enough not to make a long,\ndry speech after nine o'clock on the Fourth of July.\n\nOnly Tip, as he turned longingly away from the last dying spark of the\nrocket, muttered, \"Bother the preaching!\"\n\nMr. Holbrook came forward to the steps, as the boys and girls gathered\naround him.\n\n\"Children,\" said he, \"we have had a good time, haven't we?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir!\" came in a loud chorus from many voices.\n\n\"Yes; I thought you acted as though you felt pretty happy. Now this has\nbeen a busy day, and we are all tired, so I'm not going to keep you here\nto make a speech to you; I just want to tell you, in as few words as I\ncan, what I have been thinking about since I stood here to-night. I have\nwatched you as you frolicked around that fountain,--so many young, bright\nfaces, all looking so happy,--and I said to myself, When the time comes\nfor us to gather around that fountain of living water which is before the\nthrone of God, I wonder if _one_ of these boys and girls will be\nmissing--_one_ of them? Oh, children, I pray God that you may _all_ be\nthere, _every_ one.\"\n\nJust a little speech it was,--so little that the youngest there might\nalmost remember the whole of it,--yet it meant _so_ much.\n\nTip Lewis had wedged his way in among the boys until he stood very near\nthe minister, and his face wore a sober, thoughtful look. It was only\ntwo days since his long talk with himself at the pond. Fourth of July,\nwith all the merrymaking and mischief that it brought to him, had nearly\ndriven sober thoughts from his mind, but the minister's solemn words\nbrought back the memory of his half-formed resolves, and again he said to\nhimself he believed he would reform; this time he added that if he knew\nabout _how_ to do it, he would begin right away. He felt it more than\never when the sweet voices of many children floated out on the evening\nair, as they sang,--\n\n  \"I have read of a world of beauty,\n    Where there is no gloomy night,\n  Where love is the mainspring of duty,\n    And God is the fountain of light.\n  I have read of the flowing river\n    That bursts from beneath the throne,\n  And beautiful flowers that ever\n    Are found on its banks alone.\n  I long--I long--I long to be there!\"\n\nIf somebody had only known Tip's thoughts as he stood there listening to\nthe beautiful Sabbath school hymn! If somebody had only bent down to him,\nand whispered a few words, just to set his poor wandering feet into the\nnarrow way, how blessed it would have been: but nobody did.\n\nAh, never mind! God knew, and took care of him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\"They that seek Me shall find Me.\"\n\n\nMrs. Lewis's room was in order for once; swept, and even dusted; the\ncook-stove cooled off, and the green paper curtain at the window let\ndown, to shut out the noise and dust; it was quiet there too.\n\nKitty stood in the open door, her face and hands clean, hair combed, and\ndress mended; stood quite still, and with a sober face, unmindful, for\nonce, that there were butterflies to chase and flies to kill all around\nher. In the only comfortable seat in the room, a large old-fashioned\narm-chair, sat the worn, wasted frame of Kitty's father. There was a look\nof hopeless sadness settled on his face. Neither Tip nor his mother were\nto be seen. One or two women were moving through the house, with quiet\nsteps, bringing in chairs and doing little thoughtful things in and\nabout that wonderfully orderly room.\n\nOn the table was that which told the whole story of this unusual\nstillness and preparation. It was a pine coffin, very small and plain;\nand in it, with folded hands and brown hair rolled smoothly back from his\nbaby forehead, little Johnny lay, asleep. Somebody, with a touch of\ntenderness, had placed a just budding rose in the tiny white hand, and\nbaby looked very sweet and beautiful in his narrow bed. Poor little\nJohnny! his had been a sad, neglected babyhood; many weary hours had he\nspent in his cradle, receiving only cross looks from Kitty, and neglected\nby the mother, who, though she loved Johnny, and even because she loved\nhim, must leave him to work for her daily bread. But it was all over now:\nJohnny's cries would never disturb them again; Johnny's weary little body\nrested quietly in its coffin; Johnny's precious self was gathered in the\nSaviour's arms.\n\nTip came out of the bedroom, and softly approached the coffin; his hair,\ntoo, was partly combed, and some attempt had been made to put his ragged\nclothes in order. His heart swelled, and the tears gathered in his eyes,\nas they rested on the baby.\n\nTip loved his little brother, and though he had not had much to do with\nhim, yet he had this much to comfort him,--Johnny had received only\nkindness and good-natured words from him, which was more than Kitty could\nsay. As she stood there in the door, it seemed to her that every time she\nhad ever said cross, naughty words to the poor baby, or turned away from\nhis pitiful cry for comfort, or shook his little helpless self, came back\nto her now,--stood all around his coffin, and looked straight at her.\nPoor Kitty thought if he could _only_ come back to them for a little\nwhile, she would hold him in her arms all night, without a murmur.\n\nPeople began to come in now from the lowly houses about them, and fill\nthe empty chairs. Mrs. Lewis came out from the bedroom, and sat down\nbeside the arm-chair, thankful that her tear-stained face and swollen\neyes were hidden, by the thick black veil which some thoughtful neighbour\nhad sent for her use.\n\nIn a few minutes a dozen or more people had filled up the vacant spaces\nin the little room, and Mr. Holbrook arose from his seat at the\ncoffin's head.\n\nTip turned quickly at the first sound of his voice, and listened eagerly\nwhile he read from the book in his hand, \"And I saw the dead, small and\ngreat, stand before God,\" listening until the closing sentence was read,\n\"And there shall be no more death; neither sorrow, nor crying, neither\nshall there be any more pain, for the former things are passed away.\"\n\nTip had never paid such close attention to anything in his life as he did\nto Mr. Holbrook's words; after that they were very simple and plain\nspoken, so that a child might understand them, and were about heaven,\nthat beautiful city of which Tip had heard and thought more during the\nlast three weeks than he ever had in his life before. His heart had been\nin a constant Struggle with Satan, ever since that morning in the Sabbath\nschool. He didn't know enough to understand that it was Satan's evil\nvoice which was constantly persuading him that he could not be anybody,\nthat-he was only a poor, miserable, ragged boy, with nobody to help him,\nnobody to show him what to do; that he might as well not try to be\nanything but what he was; and he didn't know either that the other voice\nin his heart which struggled with the evil counsel, which said to him,\n\"Other boys as poor and ignorant as you are have reformed; that Robert\ndid about whom the teacher told you; and then, if you don't, you will\nnever see that river nor the fountain, nor the streets of gold,\" was the\ndear, loving voice of his Redeemer.\n\nNow, as he listened to Mr. Holbrook, and heard how Johnny, little Johnny\nwhom he loved, had surely gone up there to be with Christ for ever, and\nhow Jesus, looking down on the father and mother, and the children who\nwere left, said to them, \"I want you, too, to give Me your hearts, so\nthat when I gather My jewels I may come for you.\" The weak, struggling\nresolves in his heart grew strong, and he said within himself, while the\ntears fell slowly down his cheeks, \"I will; I'll begin to-day.\"\n\nThe coffin-lid was screwed down, and Johnny's baby-face shut out from\nthem for ever. A man came forward and took the light burden in his arms,\nand bore it out to the waggon; down the narrow street they drove, to the\nburial-ground, which was not far away. They laid Johnny down to sleep\nunder the shade of a large old tree; and the grass waved softly, and the\nbirds sang low, and the angels surely sang in heaven, because another\nlittle form was numbered among the thousands of children who stand\n\"around the Throne.\"\n\nThe people moved slowly from the grave,--all but Tip; he didn't want to\nleave Johnny; he wanted to follow him, and he didn't know how. Mr.\nHolbrook glanced back at the boy standing there alone, paused a moment,\nthen, turning back, laid his hand gently on Tip's shoulder.\n\n\"You can go up there too, my boy, if you will,\" he said, in a low,\nkind tone.\n\nTip looked up quickly, then down again; he wanted to ask how--what he\nshould do; but his voice choked, he could not speak a word; and with the\nearnest sentence, \"God bless you, my little friend, and lead you to\nHimself,\" Mr. Holbrook turned and left him.\n\nTip wandered away into the woods for a little. When he returned the earth\nwas heaped up fresh and black over the new mound, and Johnny was left\nunderneath it all alone. Tip walked around it slowly, trying to take in\nthe thought that the baby was lying there; that they should never see him\nagain; trying, a moment after, to take in the thought that he was not\nthere at all, but had gone up to the beautiful world which the hymn told\nabout; then he thought of the chorus, and almost felt it.--\"I long, I\nlong, I long to be there.\"\n\nTip had heard people pray; he had been to Sabbath school often enough to\ncatch and remember most of the words of the Lord's Prayer; he knew enough\nof God to understand that He could hear prayer, and that His help must be\nasked if one wanted to get to heaven. He hesitated a moment, glanced half\nfearfully around him,--no one was there, no one but himself, and Johnny,\nlying low at his feet, and God looking down upon him. Presently he knelt\ndown before the little grave, and began,--\n\n\"Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom\ncome\"--Then he stopped. Tip was in earnest now; he did not understand\nthat prayer: he felt as though he was not saying what he meant. He\ncommenced again,--\n\n\"Oh, Jesus, I want\"--Then he waited a minute. What did he want? \"I want\nto be different; I'm a wicked boy. I want to go where Johnny is when I\ndie. Do show me how!\"\n\nDid Jesus ever fail to hear such a prayer as that,--simple, earnest,\nevery word of it _felt? Never_--and He never will.\n\nTip rose up from that spot feeling that something was different. Ay, and\nalways would be different; the Saviour had reached down and taken hold of\nthe young seeker's hand, and would for ever after lead him up toward God.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\n\"Thy word is a lamp to my feet.\"\n\n\nThe Sabbath morning sun awoke Tip from a heavy sleep. He lay still a\nfew moments, thinking who he was. Things were different: he was not\nsimply Tip Lewis, a ragged little street boy, any longer; this was the\nmorning when he was going to start out under a new motto, with Jesus\nfor his guide.\n\nHe was going to Sabbath school. He had not been since the morning that\nMiss Perry had taught the class, and told the story which was to be a\nblessing to him through all his future life. His evil spirit had been\nstrong upon him during the three Sabbath mornings that had passed since\nthen, and persuaded him to stay away from the school, but this morning\nhe was resolved to go. He had a secret hope that he should see Miss\nPerry again, for he did not know that she was hundreds of miles away\nfrom that village, and would probably never be there again; all he knew\nwas, that a gentleman had brought her to the door, and introduced her\nto the superintendent as Miss Perry; that much he heard as he sat\ngazing at them.\n\nThis morning he judged by the sun that it was pretty late, yet he didn't\nget on very fast with the business of dressing: he sat down on the foot\nof the bed, and looked sorrowfully at his jacket; he even turned it\ninside out to see if it wouldn't improve its appearance, but he shook his\nhead, and speedily turned it back again.\n\nIf he \"only had a collar,\" he said to himself,--\"a smooth white collar,\nto turn down over the worn-out edges,--it would make things look _so_\nmuch better.\" But that was something he had never had in his life, and he\nput on the old ragged brown jacket with a sigh. Then he put on his shoes,\nand took them off again: the question was, which looked the best,--shoes\nwhich showed every one of his toes peeping out on the top, or no shoes at\nall? Suddenly a bright idea struck him: if his feet were only white and\nclean, he thought they would certainly look much better. Down he went to\nthe rickety pump in the back yard, and face, hands, and feet took such a\nwashing as they had never received before; then the old comb had to do\nduty. Tip had never had such a time getting dressed; but, some way, he\nfelt a great longing this morning to make himself look neatly; he had a\nfeeling that it was ever so much more respectable to be neat and clean\nthan it was to go looking as he had always done. Still, to carry a\nfreshly-washed face and hands and smooth hair was the very best he could\ndo; and, if he had but known it, these things made a great improvement.\n\nHe made his way half shyly into the mission seat, for the truth was he\ndid not know just how the boys would receive his attempt at\nrespectability; but he had no trouble, for several of his companions had\nseen his face when he took his last look into that little coffin the day\nbefore, and they felt sorry for him.\n\nNo Miss Perry appeared; and it seemed, at first, that the mission boys\nwere to have no teacher. It was a warm morning, and the visitors' seat\nwas vacant.\n\nBut there was at last a great nudging of elbows, and whispers of \"Look\nout now!\" \"We're in a scrape!\" \"No chance for fun today!\" And only Tip's\neyes looked glad when Holbrook halted before their class, with \"Good\nmorning, boys.\" Then, \"Good morning Edward; I am glad to see you here\nto-day;\" and the minister actually held out his hand to Tip. Mr. Holbrook\nnever called him Tip; he had asked him one morning what his real name\nwas, and since then had spoken it, \"Edward,\" in clear, plain tones.\n\nIt was a restless, wearying class. It required all Mr. Holbrook's wits\nand wisdom to keep them in any sort of order, to gain any part of their\nattention. Yet it was not as bad as usual; partly because the minister\nknew how, if anybody did, to teach just such boys, and partly because\nTip, hitherto the spirit of all the mischief there, never took his eyes\nfrom the teacher's face. Mr. Holbrook watched his close attention, and\ntook courage. When the other scholars passed out, he laid his hand on\nTip's arm, with the words, \"You have been a good listener to-day, Edward,\nDid you understand the story I told, of the boy who started on a journey\nto the Holy Land?\"\n\n\"Some of it I did: you meant that he started for heaven.\"\n\n\"You understand it, I see. Don't you want to take that journey?\"\n\n\"I mean to, sir.\"\n\n\"'Help Thou mine unbelief,'\" was Mr. Holbrook's prayer just then. He had\nhoped for, longed for, prayed for these boys, especially for this one\nsince the day before; yet he was astonished when he received the firm,\nprompt answer, \"I mean to, sir,\"--astonished, as too many are, that his\nprayer was heard.\n\n\"Have you started, my boy?\" he asked, speaking with a little tremble in\nhis voice.\n\n\"Yes, sir, I've tried; I told God last night that I would, but I don't\nmuch know how.\"\n\n\"You want a lamp, don't you?\"\n\n\"A what, sir?\"\n\n\"A lamp. You remember in the story the boy found dark places every\nlittle way; then he took out his lamp, so he couldn't lose the road.\nDon't you need it?\"\n\n\"I want some help, but I don't know as a lamp would do me any good.\"\n\n\"Ah yes; the one I mean will surely help you, if you give it a chance.\"\nMr. Holbrook took from his pocket a small, red-covered book, and held it\nup. \"Do you know what book this is?\" he asked.\n\n\"It's a Bible, ain't it?\"\n\n\"Yes. Have you ever read in the Bible?\"\n\n\"Some, at school.\"\n\n\"You know, then, that God told men just what to say, and they wrote it\nhere, so you see that makes it God's words; that is what we call it\nsometimes,--the Word of God. Now, let me show you something.\" He turned\nthe leaves rapidly, then pointed with his finger to a verse; and Tip\nread, \"Thy word is a lamp to my feet.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" he said, with a bright look, \"that is the kind of lamp you mean!\"\n\n\"That is it; and, my boy, I want you to take this for your lamp. There is\nno place on the whole road so dark but that it can light you through, if\nyou try it. When you don't understand it, there is always Jesus to go to,\nyou know.\" And, taking out his pencil, Mr. Holbrook wrote on the\nfly-leaf, in plain, round letters, \"Edward Lewis.\" Then, handing the book\nto him, with a bow and smile, the minister turned away.\n\nTip walked out of the school and down the road, holding his treasure\nclosely. Such a queer, new feeling possessed him. Things were really to\nbe different, then. The minister had talked with him, had shaken hands\nwith him, and given him a Bible. And here he was walking quietly away\nfrom the school, all alone, instead of leading a troop of noisy boys,\nintent on mischief.\n\n\"Oh, Tip Lewis,\" he said to himself, as he hugged his book, \"I don't know\nbut you will be somebody, after all; you mean to try with all your might,\ndon't you? and you've got a lamp now!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\n\"I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go. I\nwill guide thee with Mine eye.\"\n\n\n\"Why,\" said Tip, as he sat on the foot of the bed, turning over the\nleaves of his Bible,--\"why, that is the very thing I want. 'I will\ninstruct thee, and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go.' Yes,\nthat's exactly it. I want to begin to-day, and do every single thing so\ndifferent from what I ever did before, that nobody will know me. Now, if\nHe'll help me, I can do it. I'll learn that verse.\"\n\nThe verse was repeated many times over, for Tip was not used to\nstudy. While he was busy thus, the Spirit of God put another thought\ninto his heart.\n\n\"I must ask Christ to help me now,\" he said, with reverent face; and,\nkneeling down, he made known his wants in very simple words, and in that\nplain, direct way which God loves. Then he went down--stairs, prepared\nfor whatever should befall him that day.\n\nKitty was up, and rattling the kitchen stove.\n\n\"Kitty, what's to pay?\" Tip asked, as he appeared in the door.\n\n\"What's to pay with you? How did you happen to get up?\" Receiving no\nanswer to this, she continued, \"The old cat is to pay,--everywhere,--and\nalways is! These nasty shavings are soaked through and through, and the\nwood is rotten,--and there isn't any wood anyway,--and I can't make this\nfire burn to save my life. Mother is sick in bed,--can't sit up at all.\nShe told me to make a cup of tea for father, and things look as if it\nwould get made some time next month.\"\n\nKitty was only twelve years old, but, like most of those children who\nhave been left to bring themselves up, and pick up wisdom and wickedness\nwherever they are to be found, she was wonderfully old in mind; and was\nso used to grumbling and snarling, that she could do it very rapidly.\n\n\"Oh,\" said Tip to himself, drawing a long breath, \"what a place for me to\ncommence in!\" Then he came bravely to Kitty's aid.\n\n\"See here, Kitty, don't make such a rattling; you'll wake father. I can\nmake this fire in a hurry. I have made one out of next to nothing, lots\nof times; you just put some water in the tea-kettle, and we'll have a cup\nof tea in a jiff.\"\n\nKitty stood still in her astonishment, and watched him while he took out\nthe round green sticks that she had put in, laid in bits of dry paper and\nbits of sticks,--laid them in such a careless, uneven way, that it seemed\nto her they would never burn in the world; only he speedily proved that\nthey would, by setting fire to the whole, and they crackled and snapped\nin a most determined manner, and finally roared outright.\n\nCertainly Kitty had never been so much astonished in her life. First,\nbecause that rubbish in the stove had been made to become such a positive\nfire; secondly, that Tip had actually set to work without being coaxed or\nscolded, and made a fire!\n\nThere was a queer, new feeling about it all to Tip himself; for, strange\nas it may seem, so entirely selfish had been this boy's life, that this\nwas actually the first time he had ever, of his own free will, done\nanything to help the family at home. His spirits rose with the effort.\n\n\"Come, Kitty,\" he said briskly, \"here's your fire. Now, let's fly\nround and get father and mother some breakfast. Say, do you know how\nto make toast?\"\n\n\"It's likely I do,\" Kitty answered shortly. \"If you had roasted your face\nand burnt your fingers as often as I have, making it for father, I guess\nyou would know how.\"\n\n\"Well, now, just suppose we make two slices,--one for mother, and one\nfor father,--and two cups of tea. My! you and I will be jolly\nhousekeepers, Kitty.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said Kitty contemptuously.\n\nYou see she wasn't in the least used to being good-natured, and it took a\ngreat deal of coaxing to make her give other than short, sharp answers to\nall that was said. But, for all that, she went to work, after Tip had\npoured some water in the dingy little tea-kettle and set it over the\nfire, cutting the two slices of bread, and getting them ready to toast\nwhen there should be any coals.\n\nTip, meantime, hunted among the confusion, of all sorts of things in the\ncupboard, for two clean plates and cups.\n\n\"You're taken with an awful clean fit, seems to me,\" Kitty said, as she\nstood watching him while he hunted for a cloth, then carefully wiped off\nthe plates.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Tip good-naturedly; \"I'm going to try it for a spell,\nand find out how things look after they are washed.\"\n\nAltogether it was a queer morning to both of them; and each felt a touch\nof triumph when at last the toast lay brown and nice, a slice on each\nplate, and the hot tea, poured into the cups, smelled fresh and fragrant.\nThe two children went softly to the bedroom door in time to hear their\nfather say,--\n\n\"What makes you try to get up, if your head is so bad?\"\n\n\"Oh, what makes me! What else is there for _me_ to do? The young ones are\nboth up, and if I find the roof left on the house I'll be thankful. I\nnever knew them to stay together five minutes without having a battle.\"\n\nAt almost any other time in her life these words would have made Kitty\nvery angry; but this morning she was intent on not letting her tea spill\nover on the toast, and so paid very little attention to them.\n\nTip marched boldly in with his dish, Kitty following.\n\n\"Lie still, mother, till you get some of our tea and toast, and I reckon\nit will cure you.\"\n\nMrs. Lewis raised herself on one elbow, saw the beautiful brown slices,\ncaught a whiff of the fragrant tea, then asked wonderingly,--\n\n\"Who's here?\"\n\n\"Kitty and me,\" Tip made answer, proudly and promptly.\n\nSomething very like a smile gathered on Mrs. Lewis's worn, fretful face.\n\n\"Well, now,\" she said, \"if I ain't beat! It's the last thing on earth I\never expected you to do.\"\n\nWhat spell had come over Tip? Breakfast was a great success. After it was\nover he found a great many things to do; the rusty old axe was hunted up,\nand some hard knots made to become very respectable-looking sticks of\nwood, which he piled in the wood-box. Kitty, under the influence of his\nstrange behaviour, washed the dishes, and even got out the broom and\nswept a little.\n\nAltogether, that was a day long to be remembered by Tip, a day in which\nhe began his life afresh. He made some mistakes; for he fancied, in his\nignorance, that the struggle was over,--that he had only to go forward\njoyfully over a pleasant road.\n\nHe found out his mistake: he discovered that Satan had not by any means\ngiven him up; that he must yet fight many hard, hard battles.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\n\"Fear not, for I have redeemed thee.\"\n\n\n\"They must have had an earthquake down at Lewis's this morning,\" Howard\nMinturn said to the boys who were gathered around the schoolroom door.\n\"The first bell has not rung yet, and there comes Tip up the hill.\"\n\nUp the hill came Tip, sure enough, with a firm, resolute step. The summer\nvacation was over. The fall term was to commence this morning, and among\nthe things which Tip had resolved to do was this one, to come steadily\nand promptly to school during the term, which was something that he had\nnever done in his life. The public school was the best one in the\nvillage, so he had the best boys in town for school companions, as well\nas some of the worst.\n\n\"Hallo, Tip!\" said Bob Turner, coming partly down the hill to meet him.\n\"How are you, old fellow?\"\n\nBob had been away during most of the vacation, and knew nothing of the\nchanges which there had been in his absence. Tip winced a little at his\ngreeting; shivered a little at the thought of the temptation which Bob\nwould be to him.\n\nThe two had been linked together all their lives in every form of\nmischief and wrong; they seemed almost a part of each other,--at least,\nthey _had_ seemed so until within these few weeks. Now, Tip _felt_ rather\nthan knew how far separated they must be.\n\nThe bell rang, and the boys jostled and tumbled against each other to\ntheir seats.\n\nBob Turner, as usual, seated himself beside Tip; but then Bob only came\nto school about two forenoons in a week, so perhaps they might get along.\n\nWhen the Bible reading commenced, Tip hesitated, and his face flushed; he\nhad never owned a Bible to read from before, but this morning his new one\nlay in his pocket. The question was, Had he courage to take it out? What\nwould the boys think? What would they say? How should he answer them?\n\nHe began to think he would wait until tomorrow morning; then he grew\nhot and ashamed as he saw that he was already trying to hide his\ncolours. Suddenly he drew out his Bible, and began very hurriedly to\nturn the leaves.\n\nBob heard the rustling, and, glancing around, puckered his lips as if he\nwere going to whistle, and, snatching the book, read the name which Mr.\nHolbrook had written therein; then he whispered, \"You don't say so! When\ndid we steal a Bible, and turn saint?\"\n\nThe blood growing hotter and redder in Tip's cheeks was his only answer;\nbut he felt that his temptation had begun. The next thing was to read;\nwhen he had finally found the place, even though there were more than\nfifty voices reading those same words, yet poor Tip imagined that his\nwould be louder than all the rest, and he choked and coughed, and made\nmore than one trial before he forced his voice to join, even in a\nwhisper, at the words, \"And they clothed Him with purple, and plaited a\ncrown of thorns and put it about His head.\"\n\nIt did not help him in his reading that Bob made his lips move with the\nrest, but said, loud enough for him to hear,--\n\n  \"The man in the moon\n  Came down too soon,\"\n\nand continued to repeat some senseless or wicked rhymes, through the\nreading of the beautiful chapter.\n\nHow thankfully Tip bowed his head that morning; his heart had taken in\nsome of the sweet words. That sacred head had been crowned with thorns,\nindeed, but he knew it was crowned with glory now,--and he knew that\nChrist had suffered and died for him! He joined with his whole heart in\nMr. Burrows's prayer; and, though Bob pulled his hair and tickled his\nfoot and stepped on his toes, the bowed head was not lifted, and his\nspirit gathered strength.\n\nBut Tip never forgot the trials of that day, nor the hard work which he\nhad to endure them. Bob was, as usual, overflowing with mischief, and,\nfailing in finding the willing helper which he had expected in his old\ncompanion, took revenge in aiming a great many of his pranks at him. Such\nsenseless, silly things as he did to annoy! Tip spread his slate over\nwith a long row of figures which he earnestly tried to add, and, having\ntoiled slowly up the first two columns, Bob's wet finger was slyly drawn\nacross it, and no trace of the answer so hardly earned appeared.\n\nThen, too, he had his own heart to struggle against: he was so used to\nwhispering to this and that boy seated near him, to eating apples when\nthe teacher's back was turned, to making an ugly-looking picture on a\npiece of paper and pinning it on the back of a small boy before him. He\nwas so unused to sitting still, and trying to study.\n\nWhat hard work it was to study, any way! It seemed to him that he could\nnever get that spelling-lesson in the world; the harder he tried, the\nmore bewildered he grew. A dozen times he spelled the two words, receive\nand believe, standing so closely together, each time sure he was right,\nand each time discovering that the i's and e's must change places; he\ngrew utterly provoked and disheartened, and would have fairly cried, had\nnot Bob been beside him to see the tears, and grow merry over them.\n\nFinally, he lost all patience with Bob, and, turning fiercely to him,\nafter he had for the third time pitched the greasy old spelling-book\nupside down on the floor, said,--\n\n\"Look here, now, if you come that thing again, I'll pitch you out of the\nwindow quicker than wink!\"\n\n\"Edward Lewis marked for whispering,\" said Mr. Burrows. \"Edward, you\nhave commenced the term as usual, I see,--the first one marked for\nbad conduct.\"\n\nHow Tip's ears burned! How untrue it was! He had not commenced this term\nas usual; how differently he had tried to commence it, only he and God\nknew. And now to fail thus early in the day! His head seemed to spin and\nhis brain reel; he bowed himself on the seat again, but Bob's head went\ndown promptly, and he whispered,--\n\n  \"Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep!\"\n\nHow often Tip had thought such things as these so very funny that he\ncould not possibly help laughing; how silly and meaningless--yes, and\ncruel--did they seem to him now! Oh, Satan was struggling for Tip to-day:\nhe was reaping the fruits of long weeks spent in evil company and folly.\n\nHe looked over to the back seats, where sat Howard Minturn and Ellis\nHolbrook, hard at work on their algebra lesson, nobody thinking of such a\nthing as disturbing them; and, as he looked, sighed heavily. If he had\nonly gained such a place as they had in the school, how easily he could\nwork to-day. They were very little older than he, yet here he was trying\nto do an example in addition, doing it over four times before it was\nright,--and they were at the head of the class in algebra. If he could\nonly jump to where they were, and go on with them! And the hopelessness\nof this thought made his spelling-lesson seem harder; so it was no\nwonder, when the class formed, and he took his old place at the foot, and\nhe stayed there, and spelled believe _ei_ after all; nobody was\nsurprised, but nobody knew how very, _very_ hard he had tried.\n\nThe long day, crowded full of trouble and temptation to poor Tip, wore\naway. At recess he wandered off by himself, trying hard to get back some\nof the strong, firm hopes of the morning.\n\nOne more sharp trial was in store for him. Towards the close of the\nafternoon Bob's fun took the form of paper balls, which, at every turn of\nMr. Burrows's back, spun through the room in all directions; two or three\nof the smaller scholars joined him, and a regular fire of balls was kept\nup. The boys complained--Mr. Burrows scolded.\n\nAt last he spoke this short, prompt sentence: \"The next boy I catch\nthrowing paper, or anything else, in this room to-day, I shall punish\nseverely; and I shall expect any scholar who sees anything of this kind\ngoing on to inform me.\"\n\nNot five minutes after that Mr. Burrows bent over his desk in search of\nsomething within, when--whisk! went the largest paper ball that had been\nthrown that day, and landed on the teacher's forehead. Some of the\nscholars laughed, some looked grave and startled, for Mr. Burrows was a\nman who always meant what he said.\n\n\"Does any one know who threw that ball?\" he asked, closing his desk and\nspeaking in a calm, steady tone.\n\nNo reply,--silence for a minute. Then, \"Ellis Holbrook, do you know who\nthrew that ball of paper?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Very well; I am waiting to be told.\"\n\n\"Tip Lewis threw it, sir.\"\n\nThis was a little too much for Tip. The first time in his life that he\nhad ever been in school all day without throwing one, to be so accused!\nHe sprang up in his seat with fire in his eyes.\n\n\"I didn't!\" he almost screamed. \"He knows I didn't! It is a mean,\nwicked lie!\"\n\n\"Sit down,\" said Mr. Burrows. \"Ellis, did you _see_ him throw it?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I did.\"\n\nMr. Burrows turned to Tip. \"Edward, come here.\"\n\nTip was still standing.\n\n\"Say you won't,\" whispered Bob. \"Say you won't stir a step for the old\nfellow. If he goes to make you, we'll see who'll beat.\"\n\nBut the command was repeated, and Tip went forward, fixing his steady\neyes on Mr. Burrows as he spoke.\n\n\"Mr. Burrows, as sure as I live, I _did_ not throw that paper ball.\"\n\nAnd yet--poor Tip!--he knew he would not be believed; he knew his word\ncould not be trusted; he knew he had often stood there and as boldly\ndeclared what was _not_ true, and what had been proved in a few minutes\nto be false.\n\nNo, nobody believed Tip. He had earned, among other things in the school,\nthe name of hardly ever speaking the truth; and now he must suffer for\nit. So he stood still and received the swift, hard blows of the ruler on\nhis hands; stood without a tear or a promise. Mr. Burrows had not a doubt\nof his guilt, for had not Ellis Holbrook, whose word was law in the\nschool, said he saw the mischief done? and did not Tip always deny all\nknowledge of such matters until made to own them?\n\nStill, this time the boy resolutely refused to confess that he had thrown\na bit of paper that day, and went back to his seat with smarting hands\nand the stern words of his teacher ringing in his ears.\n\nWhat a heavy, bitter heart the poor boy carried out from the schoolroom\nthat afternoon, he felt as though he almost hated every scholar\nthere,--_quite_ hated Ellis Holbrook.\n\nMr. Burrows, catching a glimpse of his face, said to one of the other\nteachers, \"That boy grows sullen; with all the rest, his good-nature was\nthe only good thing which he had about him, and he is losing that.\"\n\nTip heard him, and felt that it was true. He had been punished many a\ntime before, and taken it with the most provoking good humour. But to-day\nit was different; to-day, for the first time in his life, he had received\na punishment which he did not deserve; this day of all others, in which\nhe had tried with all his heart to do right!\n\n\"Why didn't you hold on, you simpleton?\" Bob asked. \"Never saw you get\nup so much pluck in my life. What made you back out, and be whipped\nlike a baby?\"\n\n\"Why didn't _you_ own that you threw that plaguy paper ball, and not sit\nthere like a coward, and see me take your whipping?\"\n\n\"_I_ own it! That's a good one! 'Pon honour, Tip, didn't you throw that\nball? I thought you did; I was aiming one at Ellis Holbrook's head just\nthen, and I didn't see what was going on behind me. Didn't you throw\nit--honour bright?\"\n\n\"No, I didn't; and I'll throw _you_ if you say so again.\"\n\nAnd Tip turned suddenly in the opposite direction, but Satan still\nwalked with him.\n\n\"It's no use,\" said this evil spirit, speaking out boldly,--\"it's no use;\ndon't you see it isn't? You might as well give it up first as last; the\nboys, and the teacher, and every one, think you're nothing in the world\nbut a wicked young scamp, and you never _can_ be anything else. You've\nbeen humbugging yourself these four weeks, making believe you had a great\nFriend to help you: why hasn't He helped you to-day? You've tried your\nbest all day long, and He knows you have; yet you never had such a hard\nday in your life. If He cares anything at all about you, why didn't He\nhelp you to-day? You asked Him to.\"\n\nTip sat down on a log by the side of the road, and gave himself up for a\nlittle to Satan's guidance, and the wicked voice went on,--\n\n\"Now, you see, you've been cheated. You've tried hard for a whole month\nto _be_ somebody, and no one thinks any more of you than they did before,\nand never will. Your mother scolds just as much, and your home looks just\nas dismal, and Kitty is just as hateful, and the respectable boys in the\nvillage have nothing to do with you. You might just as well lounge around\nand have a good time. Nobody expects you to be good, or will let you,\nwhen you want to be.\"\n\nSoftly there came another voice knocking at Tip's heart. At first he\nwould not notice it, but it _would_ be heard.\n\n\"What of all that?\" it said; \"suppose nobody cares for you, or helps you\nhere. Jesus died, you know, and He is your friend. You _know_ that is not\na humbug; you _know_ He has heard you when you knelt down and prayed. He\nhas helped you. Then there's heaven, where all the beauty is, and He has\npromised to take you--yes, _you_--there by and by! Oh, you must not\ncomplain because people won't believe that such a bad boy as you have\nbeen has grown good so soon. Christ knows about it, so it's all right.\nJust keep on trying, and one of these days folks will see that you mean\nit; they _will_--God has promised. He has given you a lamp to light you.\nWhy have not you looked at it all this day?\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Tip, \"I can't; I _can't_ be a Christian! I have not done right\nnor felt right to-day. I almost hate the boys, and Mr. Burrows too. I\ndon't know what to do.\"\n\n\"Go on home,\" said Satan. \"Let the lamp and these new notions and all\n_go_! Christ don't care anything about _you_; such a miserable, wicked,\nstory-telling boy as you have been, do you expect Him to notice _you_?\"\n\nBut Tip's hand was in his pocket, resting on his lamp, as he had learned\nto call it; and the low, sweet voice in his heart was urging him to let\nits light shine. He drew it out, and turned the leaves, and the same dear\nHelper stopped his eyes at the words, \"Fear not, for I have redeemed\nthee; I have called thee by thy name; thou art _Mine_.\"\n\nThen came hot, thankful tears. Oh, precious words, sinking right into the\ntorn, troubled heart. Christ the Redeemer had called him by his name! He\nwas--yes, he _would be His_! He glanced around. Nobody was to be seen; he\nwas sitting in the hollow at the foot of the hill, and under the shade of\na low branching tree. And there he knelt down to pray; and Satan drew\nhimself away, for the spot around that kneeling boy was holy ground.\nTip's soul had gained the victory.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\n\"Freely ye have received, freely give.\"\n\n\nWhether Tip felt it or not, there were some changes in his home. Mrs.\nLewis, though worried and hurried and cross enough, still was not so much\nso as she had been.\n\nThe house was quieter, there was no cradle to rock, there were no baby\nfootsteps to follow and keep out of danger; she had more time for sewing.\nYet this very thing, the missing of the clinging arms about her neck,\nsometimes made her heavy heart vent itself in short, sharp words.\n\nBut Tip had astonished the family at home,--it didn't require wonderful\nchanges to do it,--rather the change which they saw in him seemed\nwonderful.\n\nThe fire which she found ready made in the morning, the full pail of\nfresh water, the box: filled with wood, were all so many drops of honey\nto the tired mother's heart. The awkward pat of his father's pillow,\nwhich Tip now and then gave as he lingered to ask how he was, seemed so\nnew and delightful to that neglected father's heart, that he lay on his\nhard bed and thought of it much all day.\n\nTip got on better at home than anywhere else; he had not so many\ntemptations. He had been such a lawless, reckless boy, that they had all\nlearned to leave him very much to himself, and, as not a great deal of\nhis time was spent there, his trials at home were not many. As for Kitty,\nshe did not cease to wonder what had happened to Tip; she perhaps felt\nthe difference more than any one else, for it had been the delight of his\nlife to tease her.\n\nNow, from the time that he gathered his books, with the first sound of\nthe school-bell, and hurried up the hill, until he returned at night,\nready to split wood, hoe in the garden, or do any of the dozen things\nthat he had never been known to do before, he was a never-failing subject\nof thought and wonderment to her. Watching him closely, the only thing\nshe could finally settle on as the cause of the change which she found in\nhim was, that he now went every Sabbath morning to the Sabbath school.\nThe mystery must be hidden there. Having decided that matter, Kitty\nspeedily resolved that she would go there herself, and see what they did.\nMany were the kind hearts that had tried to coax her into that same\nSabbath school, and had failed. But this Saturday afternoon's gazing out\nof the window, with a wonderfully sober face, had ended in her\nexclaiming,--\n\n\"I say, mother, I want a needle and thread.\"\n\n\"What do you want with a needle and thread?\" asked Mrs. Lewis, stirring\naway at some gruel in a tin basin, and not even glancing up.\n\n\"I want to mend my dress; it's torn this way and that, and looks awful. I\nwant some green thread, the colour of this wide stripe.\"\n\nNow for a minute the gruel was forgotten, and Mrs. Lewis looked at Kitty\nin amazement.\n\n\"Dear me!\" she said at last; \"I don't know what will happen next. It\ncan't be possible that you are going to work to mend your own dress\nwithout being scolded about it for a week, and then made to do it.\"\n\n\"Yes, I am, too; I ain't going to look like a rag-bag another hour. And\nI'm going to wash out my sun-bonnet and iron it; then I mean to go over\nto that Sunday school to-morrow. I ain't heard any singing since I was\nborn, as I know of, and I mean to.\"\n\nThe gruel began to burn, and Mrs. Lewis turned to it again, saying\nnothing, but thinking a great deal. Once she used to go to Sabbath school\nherself, when she was Kitty's age; and she didn't have to mend her dress\nfirst, either; she used to be dressed freshly and neatly, every Sabbath\nmorning, by her mother's own careful hands.\n\nShe poured the gruel into a bowl, and then went over to her workbox.\n\n\"Here's a needle and thread,\" she said at last, drawing out a snarl of\ngreen thread from the many snarls in her box. \"Mend your dress if you\nwant to, and I'll wash out your bonnet for you towards night, when I get\nthat vest done.\"\n\nIt was Kitty's turn to be astonished now. She had not expected help from\nher mother.\n\nTip lingered in the kitchen on Sabbath morning. He looked neat and clean;\nhe had a fresh, clean shirt, thanks to the washing which his mother had\ndone \"towards night.\" He was all ready for school, yet he waited.\n\nKitty clattered around, making rather more noise even than usual, as she\nwashed up the few poor dishes.\n\nEvidently Tip was thinking about her. The truth was, his lamp had shown\nhim a lesson that morning like this: \"Freely ye have received, freely\ngive.\" He stopped at that verse, reading no further. What did it mean I\nSurely it spoke to him. Had not God given, oh, _so_ many things to him?\nHad He not promised to give him heaven for his home? Now, here was the\ndirection: \"Freely give.\" What, and to whom? To God? Surely not. Tip was\ncertain that he had nothing to give to God; nothing but his poor, sinful\nheart, which he believed the Saviour had taken and made clean.\n\nWhat could he give to any one? He leaned out of his little window, busy\nwith this thought. Kitty came out to the door, and pumped her pan full of\nwater. He looked down on her. There was Kitty; had he anything which he\ncould give her? He shook his head mournfully; not a thing. But wouldn't\nit be the same if he could help her to get something? What if he could\ncoax her to go to Sunday school; perhaps it would do for her all that it\nhad done for him. And at this moment the unwearied Satan came with his\nwicked thoughts.\n\n\"Kitty would be a pretty-looking object to go to Sabbath school,--not a\ndecent thing to wear! Everybody would laugh at her and at you. Besides,\nI don't believe she would go, if you _did_ ask her; she would only make\nfun of you. Better not try it.\"\n\n\"Oh, Tip Lewis,\" said his conscience, \"what a miserable coward you are!\nAfter all you have promised, you won't risk a laugh for the sake of\ngetting Kitty into the Sabbath school!\"\n\n\"Yes, I will,\" said Tip, and he ran downstairs.\n\nAnd this was why he lingered in the kitchen,--not knowing just what to\nsay. Kitty helped him.\n\n\"Tip,\" said she, \"I suppose they sing over at that Sunday school,\ndon't they?\"\n\n\"I guess they do;\" and Tip's eyes brightened. \"Ever so many of them sing\nat once, and it sounds grand, I tell you. They play the melodeon, too:\ndon't you want to go and hear it?\"\n\n\"Humph! I don't know. I don't suppose it will be any stupider than\nstaying at home. I get awful sick of that. If I knew the way, maybe I\nwould go.\"\n\n\"Oh, I'll take you!\" said Tip, in a quick, eager way. He wanted to speak\nbefore his courage failed.\n\nSo Kitty, in her stiff blue sunbonnet and green calico dress, went to\nSabbath school. There was no mission class for girls, so Mr. Parker sent\nher among the gaily-dressed little girls in Miss Haley's class; but Mr.\nHolbrook detained Tip.\n\n\"Edward, you intend to come to Sabbath school regularly, don't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Then I think we must leave your place in the mission seat to be filled\nby some other boy, and you may come forward to my class.\"\n\nIt is doubtful whether Tip will ever see a prouder or happier moment than\nthat one in which he followed the minister down the long room to his\n_own_ class. But when he saw the seat full of boys, his face grew\ncrimson. At the end of the seat was Ellis Holbrook, the minister's\nson,--the boy who but a few days before had, he believed in his heart,\ntold a wicked story about himself, and gained him a severe punishment. He\ndid not feel as though he could sit beside that boy, even in Sabbath\nschool. But Mr. Holbrook waited, and sit down he _must_. Ellis moved\nalong to give him room, and disturbed him neither by word nor look during\nthe lesson. But Tip's heart was full of bitterness, and he thought the\npleasure of that morning gone. The lesson was of Christ and His death on\nthe cross, and, as he listened, hard thoughts began to die out. The\nstory was too new; it touched too near his heart not to calm the angry\nfeelings and to interest him wonderfully.\n\nAs soon as school was dismissed, Mr. Holbrook turned to him. \"What\ndisturbs you to-day, Edward?\"\n\nTip's face grew red again. \"I--I--nothing much, sir.\"\n\n\"Have you and Ellis been having trouble in school?\"\n\n\"He has been getting _me_ into trouble,\" spoke Tip boldly, finding\nhimself caught.\n\nMr. Holbrook sat down again. \"Can you tell me about it, Edward?\"\n\n\"He said I threw paper balls, and Mr. Burrows whipped me; and I didn't.\"\n\n\"Are you sure you didn't?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Did you say so at the time?\"\n\n\"Over and over again, but he said he _saw_ me.\"\n\n\"Edward, have you always spoken the truth? Is your word to be believed?\"\n\nTip's eyes fell and his lip quivered. \"I've told a great many stories,\"\nhe said at last, in a low, humble tone; \"but this _truly_ isn't one. I'm\ntrying to tell the truth after this, and Jesus believes what I have said\nthis time.\"\n\n\"So do I, Edward,\" answered Mr. Holbrook gently, even tenderly. \"Ellis\nwas mistaken. But I see you are angry with him; can't you get over that?\"\n\nTip shook his head. \"He got me whipped for nothing, sir.\"\n\n\"Suppose Christ should follow that rule, Edward, and forgive only those\nwho had treated Him well; would you be forgiven to-day?\"\n\nThis was a new thought to Tip, and made him silent. Mr. Holbrook held out\nhis hand for the little red Bible.\n\n\"Let me show you what this lamp of yours says about the matter.\"\n\nAnd Tip's eyes presently read where the minister's finger pointed: \"If ye\nforgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your\ntrespasses.\"\n\n\"Trespasses mean sins,\" explained Mr. Holbrook; then he turned away.\n\nAll this time Kitty had been standing waiting,--not for Tip, she didn't\nexpect his company,--but for the stylish little girls to get fairly\nstarted on their way to church, so she could go home without having any\nof them look at or make fun of her.\n\nKitty had not been having a very good time: she had the misfortune to\nfall into the hands of a teacher who thought if she asked the questions\nin the question-book, and if one scholar could not answer, passed on to\nthe next, she had done her duty. So the singing was pretty nearly all\nKitty had cared for. God was leaving most of the work for Tip to do,\nafter all. He went over to her now, and walked down the road with her.\nThe boys had all gone, as well as the girls, so there was nothing to\nhinder their walking on quietly together.\n\n\"How did you like it, Kitty?\" he asked.\n\n\"Oh, I didn't think much of it. I sat by the ugliest girl in town, and\nshe made fun of my bonnet and my shoes. I _hate_ her.\"\n\nTip had a faint notion in his heart that Kitty also needed the verse\nwhich had just been given him; but he had other thoughts about her. God's\nSpirit was at work. Having taken her to Sabbath school, having begun a\ngood work, he wanted it to go on. It was very hard to speak to Kitty; he\ndidn't know what to say; but all the way down the hill there seemed to\nring in his ears the message, \"Freely ye have received, freely give.\"\n\n\"Kitty,\" he said at last, \"don't you want to be a Christian?\"\n\n\"I don't know what a Christian is.\"\n\n\"But wouldn't you like to love Jesus?\"\n\n\"How do I know?\" replied Kitty shortly. \"I don't know anything\nabout Jesus.\"\n\n\"Oh, didn't you hear, in the lesson to-day, about how He loves everybody,\nand wants everybody to love Him, and how He died so we could?\"\n\n\"I don't know a thing about the lesson. I counted the buttons on Miss\nHarley's dress most all the time; they went up and down the front, and up\nand down the sides, and everywhere.\"\n\n\"Oh, but, Kitty, you surely heard the hymn,--\n\n  'Jesus loves me, this I know,\n  For the Bible tells me so.'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Kitty said; \"the hymn was pretty enough, only nobody gave me a\nbook, and I could just hear a word now and then.\"\n\nAltogether, Tip didn't feel that he had done Kitty a bit of good. But he\nknew this much, that, since he had begun to think about and talk to her,\nhe longed--yes, _longed_--with all his heart to have her come to Christ.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"Ellis, come here a moment,\" said Mr. Holbrook, turning towards his study\ndoor, as the family came in from church. \"What is it about this trouble\nin school with Edward Lewis?\"\n\n\"No trouble, father; only Tip threw a paper ball, just as he always _is_\ndoing, and, as Mr. Burrows asked me if I knew who threw it, of course I\nhad to tell him, and that made Tip mad. Why? Has he been complaining to\nyou, father?\"\n\n\"Ellis, did you see Edward throw paper?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Are you positive?\"\n\n\"Yes--why--that is--I glanced up from my book just in time to see\nit whiz, and it came from Tip's direction, and his hand was raised,\nso I supposed of course he threw it. I thought a minute ago that I\nknew he did.\"\n\n\"But now you would not say positively that some boy near him might not\nhave done it?\"\n\n\"Why, no, sir. Alex Palmer might have thrown it; but I didn't think of\nsuch a thing.\"\n\n\"Well, Ellis, my verdict is that you were mistaken; I don't think Edward\ntold a falsehood this time. I'll tell you why: he is trying to take the\nSaviour for his pattern. I believe he is a Christian. Now, there is one\nthing which I want you to think of. Edward Lewis, who has never been\ntaught anything good, who has never had any one to help him, has given\nhis heart to Christ; and my boy, for whom I have prayed with, all my soul\nevery day since he was born, has not.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\n\"Hitherto hath the Lord helped us.\"\n\n\n\"Boys,\" said Mr. Burrows, one Monday afternoon, \"you may lay aside your\nbooks; I want to have a talk with you.\"\n\nBooks were hurriedly gathered and piled in their places, and the boys sat\nup with folded arms, ready for whatever their teacher had to offer.\n\nMr. Burrows drew out his arm-chair from behind the desk, and sat down\nfor a chat.\n\n\"Who will tell me what an acrostic is?\"\n\nSeveral hands were raised.\n\n\"Well, Howard, let us hear what you think about it.\"\n\n\"It's a piece of poetry, sir, where the first letter of every line spells\nanother word.\"\n\n\"Do you mean the first letter alone spells a word?\"\n\nThe boys laughed, and Howard explained promptly. \"No, sir; I mean the\nfirst letters of each line taken together form a name.\"\n\n\"Must an acrostic always be written in poetry?\"\n\nThis question called forth several answers, and made a good deal of talk;\nbut it was finally decided that there could be acrostics in prose as well\nas in rhyme; and Mr. Burrows asked,--\n\n\"How many understand now what an acrostic is?\"\n\nA few more hands were raised, but many of the boys did not understand\nyet; it must be made plainer.\n\n\"Howard,\" said Mr. Burrows, \"come to the board and give us an acrostic on\nthe word boy.\"\n\nHoward sprang up. \"Must it be a sensible one, sir?\"\n\n\"Sense or nonsense, just as you please, so as it shows us what an\nacrostic is.\"\n\n\"I can take my parsing-book and give you one, I think, sir.\"\n\nAnd Howard came forward and wrote rapidly,--\n\n  \"B But you shall hear an odd affair, indeed,\n   O Of which all Europe rings from side to side\"--\n\nThen he paused, turning the leaves of his parsing-book eagerly.\n\n\"I can't find anything in Y to finish this up with,\" he said at last.\n\n\"Can't you give us a line from your own brain?\"\n\nAnd at this Howard's eye brightened with fun, and, turning to the board\nafter a moment of thought, he dashed off the closing line,--\n\n  \"Y You who can finish this may have the job;\"--\n\nthen took his seat amid bursts of laughter from the boys, who all began\nto understand what an acrostic was.\n\nEllis Holbrook's hand was up, and his eyes were full of questions.\n\n\"Mr. Burrows, why is that called by such a queer name as acrostic?\"\n\nHis teacher smiled.\n\n\"You must study Greek, Ellis. We get it from two words in the Greek, or\nfrom one word made up of two others, which mean _extreme_, or _beginning_\nand _order_. In an acrostic the beginnings of the lines are arranged in\norder. Do you understand how we get that word now?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, now, you would all like to know what this talk is for. I want\nevery boy in school who can write, to bring an acrostic on his own name\nfor his next composition.\"\n\nThe boys groaned, and exclaimed, \"They couldn't do it, they were sure;\nthey couldn't _begin_ to do it!\"\n\n\"Yes, you can,\" said Mr. Burrows; \"I don't give my scholars any work that\nthey _can't_ do. You may quote it, or make it original, as you please;\nbut I want every one of you to _try_.\"\n\nJohnny Thorpe, the smallest boy in school who could write, now seemed in\ntrouble, and stretched up his arm to its full length.\n\n\"Well, Johnny, what will you have?\" asked his teacher.\n\n\"If you please, sir, I don't know what you mean by quote.\"\n\nMr. Burrows laughed pleasantly.\n\n\"I must remember, I see, to speak plain English; I mean you may borrow\nyour essay from a book, or a dozen books, if you like, so that you don't\ntry to make us believe the thoughts are your own. You may write in poetry\nor not, as you please; but I want each to choose a subject, and stick to\nit better than Howard did just now. I have given you something to do that\nwill keep you hard at work, but you will succeed at last.\"\n\nTip went home in a tumult. What could he do? He had never written a\ncomposition in his life, having made it a point to run away from school\non composition-day; but running away was done with now. It didn't seem\npossible that he could write anything: certainly not in such a new, queer\nway as Mr. Burrows wished them to.\n\nSupper and wood-splitting were hurried over for that evening, and Tip\ntook his way very early to the seat under the elm-tree down by the pond.\nHe wanted to think, to see how he should meet this new trouble; it was a\nreal trouble to him, for he had set out to do just right, and he saw no\nway of getting out of this duty, and thought he saw no way of doing it.\n\n\"There is no place on the road so dark but this lamp will light you\nthrough, if you give it a chance.\"\n\nThis is what Mr. Holbrook had said when he gave Tip his Bible. And Tip\nhad thought of his words very often, had already proved them true more\nthan once; but he didn't see how it could help him now.\n\nHe took it out, and slowly turned the leaves; it couldn't write his\ncomposition for him, that was certain. But oh, the bright thought that\ncame to Tip just then! Why not find his acrostic in the Bible, and write\nit out? among so many, _many_ verses, he would be sure to find what he\nwanted. But then, how very queer it would be for _him_, Tip Lewis, to\ncopy anything from the Bible! What would the boys think? What would Bob\nTurner say? Still, what else could he do? Besides his spelling-book and a\nworn arithmetic, it was the only book that he had in the world.\n\n\"I don't care,\" he said suddenly, after a few moments of troubled\nthought. \"I guess I ain't ashamed of my Bible,--it's the only thing I've\ngot that I needn't be ashamed of. I'll _do_ it. The boys have got to know\nthat I've turned over a new leaf. I wish they did; the sooner they know\nit the better. I say, my lamp shall help me out of this scrape, that's as\ntrue as can be; it helps me whenever I give it a chance.\"\n\nHe fumbled in his pocket and drew out an old stump of a pencil. The next\nthing was a piece of paper; he dived his hand down into another pocket,\nproducing a rusty knife, pieces of string, a chestnut or two, and,\nfinally, a crumpled piece of paper on which Bob Turner had scrawled what\nhe called a likeness of Mr. Burrows, and given to Tip for a keepsake. He\nspread it out on a flat stone which lay near him, and began his work.\n\nA long, slow work it was for Tip. Hours of that day, and the next, and\nthe next, every day, until the fading light drove him home, did he sit\nunder the elm-tree turning the leaves of his Bible, poring over its\ncontents, writing words carefully now and then on his bit of paper.\nRemember it was new work to him.\n\nAt last, one evening, the sun went down in the bright red west, the stars\nshone out in all their twinkling, sparkling glory, the shadows began to\nfall thick and fast around the old tree, when Tip, with a little sigh of\nrelief, folded the precious piece of paper, laid it carefully away in his\nBible, and turned his steps homeward. His acrostic was finished, and into\nhis heart had crept some of the beauty of those precious words, which he\nhad found for the first time. Words they were which would go with him\nthrough all his life, and sweetly comfort some dark and weary hours.\n\nThe school-books were all piled neatly on the desks that Friday\nafternoon; the shades were dropped to shut out the low afternoon sun; and\nforty boys were still and expectant. The acrostics lay in a great white\nheap on Mr. Burrows' desk, not a name written on any of them. Mr.\nBurrows was to read, and the boys were to have the pleasure of spelling\nout the names of the owners as he read.\n\nA merry time they had of it that afternoon. Some wonderful acrostics were\nread. Ellis Holbrook had a very clever one, arranged from his lesson in\nVirgil. Howard Minturn had borrowed from his father's library a copy of\nShakespeare, and worked hard over his; the boys and their teacher thought\nit a success.\n\nEven Bob Turner had written; the idea had happened to strike him as a\nvery funny one, and Bob always did everything that he thought funny. He\nhad found three lines in rhyme which just suited him, and by the time the\neager boys had spelled out B O B,--which was the only name the boy saw\nfit to own,--the schoolroom fairly shook with their laughter.\n\nNext to his lay a paper which Tip knew, and his heart beat so loudly\nwhen Mr. Burrows took it up, that he thought every one in the room\nmust notice.\n\nThe room had now grown quiet, and Mr. Burrows, after opening the paper,\nannounced the title,--\n\n\"WHAT JESUS CHRIST SAYS.\"\n\nThen read slowly and reverently, while the wondering scholars spelled\nout the name.\n\n  \"E Even the night shall lie light about thee.\n   D Depart from evil and do good.\n   W Whosoever cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out.\n   A A new heart will I give you.\n   R Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.\n   D Draw nigh to God, and He will draw nigh to thee.\n\n  \"L Lo, I am with you always.\n   E Ever follow that which is good.\n   W Whosoever abideth in Him, sinneth not.\n   I I will go before thee, and make the crooked paths straight.\n   S So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper.\"\n\nWhat a silent and astonished company listened to this reading, and\nspelled the name \"Edward Lewis!\"\n\n\"Edward,\" Mr. Burrows said at last, \"who found those verses for you?\"\n\n\"I found them, sir, in my Bible. I've got them all marked!\" speaking\neagerly, willing this time to bring proof that he was telling the truth.\n\nMr. Burrows' voice almost trembled as he answered,--\n\n\"It is a beautiful collection of some of the most precious verses in the\nBible. It was a fine idea; I am very much surprised and pleased. I wish\nthat you, and every scholar of mine, could feel in your hearts the full\nmeaning of those words of Jesus.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"I can't to-night, Howard,\" said Ellis Holbrook, in answer to his\nfriend's coaxings to accompany him home; \"I've got something else to\nattend to. Hallo, Tip! Tip Lewis! Hold on a bit! I'm going your way. No,\nHoward, I'll come up in the morning; I really _can't_ to-night.\"\n\nTip waited in wondering silence, while the boy, whom he counted an enemy,\nhurried towards him.\n\nEllis was a bold, prompt boy: when he had anything to say, he _said_ it;\nso he came to the point at once.\n\n\"See here, Tip, did I blunder the other day when I told Mr. Burrows you\nthrew paper? I thought I saw you.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Tip, \"you did. I didn't throw a bit of paper that day.\"\n\n\"Well, father said he thought I was mistaken. I'm sure I supposed I was\ntelling the truth. I'm sorry. I'll say so to Mr. Burrows and the boys, if\nyou like, and let him find out who did it, and then was mean enough to\nsee you whipped for it.\"\n\nTip struggled a little. \"No,\" he said at last, \"let it go. The\nwhipping is done, and can't be undone; I don't want to make any more\nbother about it.\"\n\nEllis eyed him curiously.\n\n\"You're a queer fellow,\" he said at last. \"I expect you had about the\nbest acrostic, this afternoon, that can be written.\"\n\nTip's heart was throbbing with pleasure as he walked on home after Ellis\nhad left him. For the first time in his life he had earnest, warm, hearty\npraise from his teacher. Ellis had said, \"Father told me he thought I was\nmistaken.\" Mr. Holbrook, then, did believe and trust him. Besides, there\nwas another thought which seemed delightful to him. Tip Lewis, the\nworthless, yes, wicked boy that everybody thought him, had walked down\nthe main street side by side, and talking earnestly with Ellis Holbrook,\nthe minister's son.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\n\"Enter not into the path of the wicked.\"\n\n\nKitty hung on the gate and watched them pass by,--the long train of high\nwaggons with grated windows, out of which strange animals peered with\ntheir great, fierce eyes; the two elephants in their scarlet and gold\nblankets; the tiny ponies tossing their shaggy manes; the splendid\ncarriage drawn by eight gaily blanketed, gaily plumed, dancing horses,\nand every seat filled with splendidly dressed men and women; the bright\nred band-waggon, with the sun glittering over the wonderful brass\ninstruments and turning them into gold. Kitty watched all\nthis,--watched, and listened to the loud, full bursts of music, until\nher heart swelled and bounded. She sprang from the gate, and stamped her\nfoot on the ground.\n\n\"I wish--oh, I wish I could go!\" she almost screamed at last. \"I want\nto--I _want_ to! Oh, I never wanted to go anywhere so bad in my life!\"\n\n\"I reckon you'll take it out in wanting,\" said her mother, who had also\nleaned on the fence and watched the show pass by. \"Folks who have to dig\nas I do, from morning to night, just to get something to eat, don't have\nany money to spend on circuses.\"\n\nKitty shook her head with rage. \"I don't go anywhere,\" she screamed.\n\"Never! I never went to a circus in my life, and all the boys and girls\naround here go every year. Tip always goes--always; he manages to slip\nin. Oh, Tip'\" and she opened the gate and went out to him on the\nsidewalk, a new thought having come to her, \"can't you do something to\nget some money, and let me go to the circus with you? Can't you manage\nsome way? Oh, Tip, do! I'll do anything for you, if you only will. I\nnever wanted anything so bad before.\"\n\nAnd Tip's face, as he walked towards the village ten minutes after that,\nwas a study, it looked so full of trouble.\n\nKitty wanted to go to that circus,--wanted to go so very much that she\nhad coaxed and begged him in a way that she had never done before.\nBesides, if the truth be told, Tip wanted to go himself; every time the\nwind wafted back to him a swell of the distant music, it made his heart\nfairly jump. It was true, as Kitty had said, he always managed to slip in\nsome way; and the oftener he went, the oftener he wanted to go.\n\nWell, then, what was the matter with Tip? What he had done so many times\nbefore, he could surely find a way to do again. Oh yes! But Tip Lewis\nto-day was different from any Tip Lewis there had ever been before on\ncircus day. Wasn't he trying to do right? But then, what had circuses to\ndo with that? He tried to think what were his reasons for being troubled!\nWhy did a small voice down in his heart keep telling him that the circus\nwas no place for him now?\n\nLooking at the matter steadily, the only reason Tip knew was, that Ellis\nHolbrook and Howard Minturn never went; their fathers had taught them\ndifferently. Ellis, he knew, rather looked down on people who did\ngo,--called them low. This had never troubled Tip before, because he had\nalways known himself to be low; but now, wasn't he trying to climb?\nDidn't respectable people generally think that circuses were bad things?\n\nNo, poor Tip, they didn't; there was Mr. Bailey, a rich man,--so rich\nand so respectable that his son wouldn't stoop to lend Tip his\nspelling-book at school,--yet Mr. Bailey went to the circus last year and\ntook all his children. So did Mr. Anderson and Mr. Stone, and oh! dozens\nof others, rich, great men. Well, did good people go? and Tip's thoughts\nstrayed back to Mr. Holbrook, and Mr. Parker, and Mr. Minturn, yea, and\nothers, whose voices he had heard on the streets and in stores,\ncondemning the circus.\n\nBut then, after all, where was the harm? There was Kitty, how much she\nwanted to go; if he could manage to take her, how glad she would be! At\nthis point Satan thought there was a chance for him to speak; so he\nwalked along with Tip, talking like this:\n\n\"Kitty has never asked you to do anything for her before. You want to\nhelp her; you want to get her to go to Sunday school and to read the\nBible. Now's your time: if you take her to the circus, very likely she\nwill do what you want her to.\"\n\nThis was a little too absurd, even for Tip, who wanted to believe it all\nso badly; but who ever heard of taking any one to a circus in order to\nget them to love Jesus? Tip knew altogether too well for his comfort,\nthat day, that Mr. Holbrook's example was the safe one. At last he drew a\nlittle sigh of relief; he needn't think about it any more, for he had no\nmoney: he had never owned fifty cents at one time in his life; so the\nquestion, after all, would settle itself.\n\nNo, it wouldn't. Mr. Dewey stood in the door of his market, looking up\nand down the street.\n\n\"Hallo, Tip!\" he called, as Tip turned the corner; \"you're the boy I\nmust have been looking for, I guess. If you'll carry home packages for\nme for an hour, and not steal one of them, I'll give you two tickets for\nthe circus.\"\n\nTip's cheeks glowed at the word steal, and he came near telling Mr. Dewey\nto carry his own packages, if he were afraid to trust him.\n\nBut then, those two tickets! Here was a chance for Kitty. The conflict\ncommenced again.\n\nA whole hour in which to decide it, for Tip meant to do the work any way.\nUp and down the streets, stopping at this house and that with his\nparcels, back again to the market for more, all the time in a whirl of\nthought. The question was almost decided when the two green tickets were\nplaced in his hand; it closed over them eagerly. He hurried towards home.\n\nTowards home led him past the brick hotel. In the bar-room sat some of\nthe circus men; he knew them by their heavy beards, which almost covered\ntheir faces; knew them also because he knew every man in town, just who\nwere strangers and who were not. Well, these circus men were very busy\ndrinking brandy and playing cards. Tip stopped and looked in at them;\nand, ignorant boy as he was, the thought that good, respectable people\nwould go to see and hear such men as these, seemed very strange. It\ncouldn't be right, could it? How was it? A great many nice people must\nhave blundered terribly if it were wrong; and, on the other hand, if it\nwere not wrong, how did the minister happen to be so afraid of these\nthings? Why did he himself have so many queer feelings about the matter?\n\nWhat a trouble he was in! If only he could find somebody or something\nthat would decide it for him! Long before this he had walked away from\nthe hotel; now he had crossed the bridge, gone around behind the mill,\nand was very near his seat under the elm. Down he sat when he came to it,\nstill holding fast the two green tickets, but with the other hand diving\ndown in his pocket for the little Bible. That was getting to be a habit\nwith him, to hunt for this lamp of his whenever he was in darkness. He\nturned the leaves now with a perplexed face. If he only knew where to\nturn for help!\n\n\"Let me see,\" he said. \"Where was that verse that I learned for the\nSunday school concert? I liked the sound of that; it was somewhere in\nthis book full of short, queer verses. I can find it; yes, I see it.\n'For the Lord shall be thy confidence, and shall keep thy foot from\nbeing taken.'\"\n\nIt didn't seem to help him; he shook his head slowly, still glancing on\nover the verses, until suddenly his listless look vanished, and he read\naloud;--\"Enter not into the path of the wicked, and go not in the way of\nevil men. Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away.\"\n\n\"That means them,\" said Tip, \"and me. They're wicked men, that's certain:\nthey were drinking and gambling,--swearing too, I guess; and this verse\nreads about them just as plain as day. It says, 'Don't go near\nthem,'--says it over and over again; and I'll mind it, I will. I'll take\nthese tickets right back to Mr. Dewey, so they won't be here to put me in\nmind of going.\"\n\nNo sooner said than done; he turned around and fairly galloped up the\nhill, around the corner, and landed nearly breathless at the market.\n\n\"Here, Mr. Dewey,\" he said promptly, \"I've brought back your tickets; I\ndon't want 'em this time.\"\n\n\"What's up now?\" asked Mr. Dewey, coming out from behind his desk, and\neyeing the panting boy curiously. \"Won't the tickets pass?\"\n\n\"Not if they wait till I pass 'em,\" answered Tip in his prompt, saucy\nway. \"I ain't going to the circus, not an _inch_,\" he added, as if to\nassure himself that he meant it.\n\n\"But why not?\"\n\n\"Oh, I've got reasons.\"\n\n\"Well, now, Tip,\" said Mr. Dewey, \"that's really astonishing! Suppose you\ngive us a few of your reasons. We don't know what to make of this.\"\n\nTip didn't know what to say; he hesitated and thought, and finally did\nthe best thing he _could_,--spoke out boldly. \"I've made up my mind that\nI won't go to any more circuses, _ever_! I don't believe in 'em as much\nas I did.\"\n\nThat wasn't it yet,--he had not owned his Master in the answer. Neither\nwas Mr. Dewey satisfied.\n\n\"But, Tip, give us the _reasons_; this is such a sudden change,\nyou know.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Tip, \"I've been reading about them just now.\"\n\n\"About whom?\"\n\n\"Why, them circus fellows. They're up here at the tavern; they're\ndrinking and fighting, and I don't know what; and I guess, by the looks\nof things, they're pretty wicked. The book I was reading said, Don't go\nnear wicked men, turn around and go the other way; and I _mean_ to.\" And\nwith this Tip whisked out of the house and around the corner.\n\nMr. Dewey shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"The world turns around, sure enough,\" he said at last.\n\n\"How do you know that?\" and Mr. Minturn set his market basket on the\nstep, and fanned himself with his hat. \"I'm my own boy to-day, you see;\ngive me something for my dinner. How did you find out that the world\nturned around?\"\n\n\"Why, Tip Lewis has taken to preaching against circuses. Will you have a\nroast to-day, Mr. Minturn? I gave him a ticket, and he just rushed in\nwith it and informed us he wasn't going to circuses any more, because the\nBible says they are wicked fellows. What do you think of that?\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said Mr. Minturn. \"The Bible says it would be better for a man,\nsometimes, if a millstone were about his neck, and he were in the bottom\nof the sea. I'd look out for that, if I were you. Hurry up with your\nmeat; I ought to be at the store.\"\n\nTip went home to Kitty. She still swung on the gate; at least she was\nthere when he came up.\n\n\"Oh, Tip,\" she said, \"are you going to take me? Oh, Tip, _do_! I never\nasked you for anything before.\"\n\nTip walked slowly up the yard, with his hands in his pockets,\ntroubled,--not knowing what to say, or how to say it. At last he stopped\nand wheeled about. \"Kitty, I can't; I can't go. I could get tickets if I\ndared, but I don't mean to go any more. They're bad, wicked men, and I'm\ntrying to be\"--\n\nBut Kitty twitched herself away from him, and wouldn't hear any more.\n\n\"Do go off!\" she said. \"You're a mean, ugly, hateful boy! I'm sorry you\ngot so awful good, if you can't do that little much for me. Go away and\nlet me alone.\"\n\nEven in his sore trouble a little flash of joy shot through Tip's heart.\nHe _was_ different, then. Kitty had noticed it; she knew he was trying to\nbe different. There _must_ be a little bit of change in him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\n\"Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away.\"\n\n\nOver and over in his mind did Tip repeat this verse; it seemed to sound\nall around him, and mixed up with everything he did. And yet he went out\nof the house that evening, and turned straight down the street in the\ndirection leading to the tented circus grounds, walking along slowly,\ntalking to himself.\n\n\"It won't do any harm just to listen to the music. I don't mean to go\nin--of course I don't! Suppose I'd do _that_, after all I said to Kitty!\nBesides, I couldn't if I would; I haven't got any ticket. I'm just going\nto walk down that way, and see if there's lots of folks going, and if the\nmusic sounds nice.\"\n\n\"Avoid it, pass not by it.\" Oh yes, Tip knew; he heard the voice, yet on\nhe went; beginning to walk swiftly, only saying in answer, \"I ain't going\nin; I couldn't if I wanted to; and I don't want to.\"\n\nBy and by he came within sight of the tents and within sound of the\nmusic, which, to his untaught ears, was wonderfully beautiful; came up\neven to the very door of the large tent, bewitched to go just a step\nnearer, though he didn't mean to go in, not he.\n\nYes, the people were crowding in. Mr. Douglass stood by the door. Tip\nknew him very well; that is, he knew he lived in a large house and had\nplenty of money; and he knew, when the men were trying to raise any\nmoney, some one was sure to say, \"Go to Mr. Douglass; he's always\nready to give.\"\n\nEverybody liked Mr. Douglass. He turned around now from looking down the\nroad, and looked down at Tip.\n\n\"Well, Tip,\" he said, \"going to the circus?\"\n\nTip shook his head.\n\n\"What's the matter?--no money? Pity to get so near and not go in;\nisn't it, pet?\"\n\nThis last to the dainty little girl whose hand he held.\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered, with a happy smile. \"Papa, why don't mamma come?\"\n\n\"Oh, she'll be along soon. Here, sir,\" to the doorkeeper, handing him\ntwenty-five cents, \"let this ragamuffin in. In with you, Tip, and\npractise standing on your head for a month to come.\"\n\nIt was all done in a hurry; the doorkeeper stepped aside, the crowd\njostled and pushed against him, the music burst forth in a new loud\nswell. A moment more, and Tip stood in the brightly-lighted room, staring\neagerly around him. There was enough to see; the seats were filling\nrapidly with gaily--dressed ladies and gentlemen. He knew them, many of\nthem, had seen them on the streets often and often; had seen some of them\nin Sabbath school, seated before their classes.\n\nTip was speedily giving himself up to enjoyment, hushing the small voice\nin his heart. One of the nicest men in town had let him in; yes, and\nthere he was now with his wife and little girl; Mrs. Douglas was not\nonly a teacher in the Sabbath school, but a member of the church. If she\ncould go to the circus, why couldn't he? So Tip reasoned, and nobody\ntold him that his lamp said, \"Every one of us shall give account of\n_himself_ to God.\"\n\nPresently the wonderful little shaggy ponies trotted out; and back behind\nthe curtains was one of the riders; he got a peep of her every now and\nthen in her splendid dress; he knew she would be out pretty soon, and\nthen she would ride.\n\nOh, that music! how it rolled around the ring! Tip was too busy looking\nand listening to keep out of people's way; he stepped back, still jostled\nby the crowd who were pouring in, and stepped directly in front of a man\nwho was trying to make his way through the crowd around the entrance. Tip\nknew him in an instant; he was one of the circus men,--the one with the\nugly face that he had noticed in the morning; it was ugly still, and red\nwith liquor. He turned a pair of fiery eyes on Tip, and a dreadful oath\nfell from his lips as he swung him angrily out of his way.\n\nOh, Tip Lewis! No wonder your heart fairly stops its beating for an\ninstant, then bounds on with rapid throbs. Only a few days ago you\nlistened to the story of a bleeding, dying Saviour, bleeding and dying\nfor you; and you promised, with honest tears, that for this you would\nlove and serve and honour Him for ever. And yet, to-night, here you are,\nwatching the tricks of men who can speak that sacred name in such a way\nthat it will make even you, who are used to this, shudder and turn cold.\n\"In the name of the Saviour whom you love, what do you here?\"\n\nIt was to Tip as if Christ Himself had asked that question. He turned\nsuddenly, and, with both hands pressed to his ears, fairly fought his way\nthrough the crowd.\n\n\"Let me out! let me go!\" He fairly shrieked the words at the astonished\ndoorkeeper, who stood aside to let him pass. Up the hill with swift,\neager steps he ran, trying still to shut out the ring of that awful oath,\nthe sound of that hateful voice, speaking the name which had so lately\nbecome to him the one dear and precious name in earth or heaven. On, on,\nup the hill, and then down on the other side, stopping finally at the\ngreat tree under the hill, just across the pond. Stopping and sitting\ndown, he tried to think. What had he done? He had been warned, he had\nbeen tempted, and he had _fallen_. It didn't help him now to think that\ngood men and women were there. Perhaps God had not so plainly shown them\nthe wrong. Perhaps they had never found that verse: \"Avoid it, pass not\nby it.\" Perhaps--oh, _anything_--it was nothing to him now. This much was\ncertain: he had done wrong. Such a heavy, _heavy_ heart as Tip had\nto-night. \"What _should_ he do? What would Kitty say, if she found it\nout? Oh, what would Mr. Dewey think, or Mr. Holbrook? and then, above\nall else, came the thought, What could Jesus, looking down on him now\nfrom heaven, what could _He_ think of him? This thought brought the\nbitter tears, but it brought him also on his knees; and he said,--\n\n\"Oh, Jesus Christ, in spite of it all, you _know_ I love you. Won't you\nforgive me and let me try again?\" Long he knelt there, trying to get\nclose to Christ, and his Saviour did not leave him alone. It was only\nyesterday he had learned the verse, and it came to him softly now: \"Thou\nart a God ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger, of great\nkindness.\"\n\nIn his sore trouble, Tip's lamp had not failed him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\n\"He honoureth them that fear the Lord.\"\n\n\nSlowly, but surely, as the late autumn days came on, Tip was growing into\na better place in the schoolroom, in the opinion of his teachers and his\nschoolmates. In Mr. Burrows' school, ten was the perfect mark, and _x_\nwas the very lowest grade a boy could reach. It had once been an everyday\njoke with Tip, that, being _x_, he must be perfect, because it said in\nthe spelling-book that _x_ was ten.\n\nBut it had been a good many days since Tip had said \"_x_;\" the boys had\nceased to be amazed when he answered \"ten\" in prompt, proud tone.\n\nThey were growing, many of them, to be surprised and sorry for him, when,\nin his days of failures, he answered, with drooped eyes and very red,\nashamed face, \"seven,\" or, it might be, \"six.\"\n\nThough he was still anything but a good reader, no one could fail to see\nthat he blundered less and less every day, and Mr. Burrows was growing\npatient with his blunders, growing helpful in his troubles.\n\nThe boys saw him working hard over his spelling-book, and few of them now\nhad the meanness to laugh when a word passed him.\n\nMr. Burrows' tones were not so harsh to him as they used to be; and\nnow-a-days, when he was accused of breaking rules, instead of being\ncalled up and unhesitatingly punished, his teacher, who grew every day\nless and less sure that he was at the bottom of all the mischief done,\nalways gave him a chance to speak for himself, and was learning to\nbelieve him.\n\nOh yes! things were different, and were all the time growing more so. Bob\nTurner saw this plainly: he began to find Tip a very stupid companion,\nand stayed away from school more afternoons than ever.\n\nBut poor Tip noticed the change less,--yes, much less than any of the\nothers. You don't know how hard it was for him. Do you think Satan was\nwilling to leave him, and let him grow quietly into a good boy? Not a\nbit of it. You see he had been born bubbling over with fun and frolic;\nhe had never learned to have them come in at the right place or the\nright time.\n\nSometimes he felt willing to give up all trying to do right, for the sake\nof having a grand frolic just when and where he wanted it,--no matter\nwhat might be going on just then. Sometimes, when he failed, he felt\nfierce and sullen, and told himself it was all humbug, this trying to be\ngood. Sometimes he felt so utterly sad and discouraged, that it seemed to\nhim he never could try again; yet through it all he _did_ try heartily.\n\nHis arithmetic was the hardest. He was still in the dunce class,--so the\nboys called it, because it was made up of the drones from several\nclasses, and was constantly being put back to addition.\n\nIt was a sharp winter's morning. No more make-believe winter for a\nwhile,--the snow lay white and crisp on the ground, and the frosty air\nstung every nose and every finger it could reach.\n\nTip's study, at the foot of the hill under the elm, had been quite broken\nup, and he found it very hard to study at home,--especially this\nmorning. His father's cough had been bad all night, and this made his\nmother troubled and cross.\n\nKitty, these days, seemed trying to see just how cross and disagreeable\nshe could be; and the kitchen--at best a dismal place--was just now at\nthe worst. The wet wood in the stove sizzled and stewed and made a smoke;\nand in the midst of Tip's fifth trial on an example which was puzzling\nhim terribly, he was called on to split some kindlings.\n\n\"This instant!--I won't wait a minute!\" Kitty said in a provokingly\ncommanding tone; and Tip went at it sullenly, saying, with every spiteful\ndrive of his axe through the pine board which he had picked up, \"It's no\nuse; I _cant_ do that sum, and I ain't going to try. I don't know\nanything, and never will. I've done it over fifty times, and twisted it\nevery way I can think of. There's no sense to it, any way,--sixteen\nsheep _stood him in_ two dollars apiece. What does that mean, I'd like to\nknow? He had forty sheep and twenty-five cows. I know it all by heart;\nbut I can't do it, and that's the whole of it. I wish his sheep had\nchoked to death, and his old cows run away, before I ever heard of them.\nI'll go over it just once more.\" (Tip was back by the kitchen window now,\nwith his slate and book.) \"Let's see: twenty-five cows at thirty-four\ndollars apiece;\" and he worked away in nervous haste, until he came to\n\"stood him in.\" If he only _could_ find out what that meant, he felt sure\nhe could do it. If he had somebody to help him; but he hadn't. There\nwould be no time after he went to school before the class was called.\n\nJust then he thought of his father; he used to be a carpenter before he\nwas sick, and he used to make a great many figures sometimes on smooth\nboards. Tip remembered it was just possible that he might know something\nabout the sum. Suppose he should ask him?\n\nHe started up suddenly, and went towards the bedroom door.\n\n\"Father,\" he said softly, \"can't you tell me what 'stood him in' means?\"\n\nThe sick man turned himself on his pillow, and looked wonderingly at Tip.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" he asked at last.\n\n\"Why,\" said Tip, in a despairing tone, \"it says 'stood him in' in the\narithmetic,--the sheep stood him in two dollars apiece,--and I don't see\nany sense to it.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Mr. Lewis; \"I see what you mean;\" then he went back to his\nlong-ago deserted carpenter's shop.\n\n\"Why, Tip, if I had ten pounds of nails, and they were worth eight\ncents a pound, they would stand me just so much,--that is, they would be\nworth that to me; and if I should sell them I'd get so much for them.\nDon't you see?\"\n\nLight began to dawn on Tip's mind.\n\n\"Then it means,\" he said, \"that the man didn't sell his sixteen sheep; he\njust counted them worth two dollars apiece. Yes, I see; if that's it,\nI'll try it.\" And he rushed to his work again.\n\nAnd Tip will never forget the eagerness with which he presently turned to\nthe answer in his arithmetic, and from that back to the one on the slate,\nnor the way in which the blood bounded through his veins when he found\nthat they agreed perfectly.\n\n\"It's exactly it,\" he called out to his father, in a hearty, grateful\nvoice. \"I've got it, and I've been at work on it this whole morning.\"\n\nEllis Holbrook, about that time, conquered a most puzzling example in\nalgebra; but he felt not prouder than did Tip.\n\n\"Thomas,\" said Mr. Burrows to the head boy in Tip's arithmetic class,\n\"you may take the twenty-third example to the board.\"\n\n\"Can't do it,\" answered Thomas promptly.\n\n\"Henry may do it, then.\"\n\n\"I couldn't get it either,\" was Henry's answer. So on down the class;\nTip's heart meantime beating eagerly, for the twenty-third example was\nabout his troublesome, but by this time very much-beloved sheep.\n\n\"Robert?\" said Mr. Burrows, more for form's sake than because he had the\nslightest doubt about Robert's reply.\n\n\"My!\" said Bob Turner good-naturedly; \"I can't do it.\"\n\nTip sat next, and something in his face made Mr. Burrows put the\nquestion to him, though he had nearly resolved to waste no more time in\nthe matter.\n\n\"Can you do this, Edward?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said Tip promptly and proudly, \"I can.\"\n\nAnd no nobler figures or firmer lines did chalk ever make on a blackboard\nthan was made while that troublesome example was being done.\n\nHe was roused from his flutter of satisfaction by hearing Mr.\nBurrows' voice.\n\n\"Do you know anything about the lesson, _any_ of you?\"\n\n\"I'm sure _I_ don't,\" answered Bob, still good-naturedly.\n\nMr. Burrows was growing utterly out of patience; this same scene had been\nacted too often to be endured longer. He turned back to the first pages\nin the book.\n\n\"Very well,\" he said at last; \"you may take the first page in addition\nto-morrow morning, and we'll see if you can be made to know anything\nabout that.\"\n\nTip's hopes fell; his heart was as heavy as lead. Not one of the others\ncared; they were used to it; so indeed was he, only now he was trying, he\ndid so long to go on; just when he was working _so_ hard, to be put away\nback to the beginning again made him feel utterly disgraced.\n\n\"Wait a minute, Tip.\" Mr. Burrows' eye fell first on him, then on the\nneatly and correctly worked example; then he turned, and asked, \"Charlie\nWilcox, on what page is your arithmetic lesson for to-morrow?\"\n\n\"We commence multiplication, sir,\" answered Charlie, a bright little\nboy, who belonged to a bright class, that did not idle over any pages in\ntheir work.\n\n\"Edward,\" said Mr. Burrows, turning back to Tip, \"you have done well\nto-day. You mean to study, after this, I think; I have been watching you\nfor some time. The third arithmetic class take the first page in\nmultiplication for their next lesson to-morrow; you may take your place\nin that class, and remain there as long as you can keep up with it.\"\n\nNow Tip was too much astonished to speak or move; his wildest dreams had\nnot taken in promotion, at least not for a long, _long_ time.\n\nBob Turner leaned over and looked at him in actual sober wonder, that Tip\nwas to be in a higher class.\n\nNot a word did Tip say. He did not even raise his eyes to his teacher's\nface; and that teacher had not the least idea how the boy before him\nfelt. He did not know how Tip's heart was throbbing, nor how he was\nsaying over and over to himself, \"Things are different; they're surely\ndifferent.\" He did not know how those few words of his, spoken that\nwinter morning, were going to help to make the boy a man.\n\nIt was that very morning, standing in that room before the blackboard,\nwith his toe on the third crack from the wall, that Tip resolved to have\nan education.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\n\"The rich and poor meet together; the Lord is the Maker of them all.\"\n\n\nThe boys gathered around the stove before school, and talked. The\nboys,--not all of them, by any means. Only that small, select number who\nwere above, and led all the rest. Tip wandered outside of the circle,\nfeeling very forlorn; he didn't belong anywhere these days. Bob and his\nfriends had very nearly deserted him; there was scarcely any of their fun\nin which he had time or desire to join, and the other cliques in school\nhad never noticed him; so he stood outside, and wondered what he should\ndo with himself. Howard Minturn wheeled suddenly away from the boys, and\ncalled to him,--\n\n\"Tip, see here.\"\n\nAnd Tip went there.\n\n\"What do you want?\" he asked crossly; for some way he felt out of sorts\nwith that company of finely-dressed boys around the stove.\n\n\"Want you to come over to-night. It's my birthday, you know, and some of\nthe boys are coming to take tea, and spend the evening. Can you come?\"\n\nTip's wide-open eyes spoke his astonishment. \"What do you want of me?\" he\nasked at last, speaking boldly just what he thought.\n\n\"Why, I want you to come and help have a nice time,\" returned Howard,\nwith great kindness, but just a little condescension in his tone.\n\nTip heard it, and his bitterness showed itself a little. \"It's a new\nstreak you've got, ain't it?\" he said, still speaking crossly. \"You've\nhad lots of birthdays, and this is the first one _I've_ heard of.\"\n\n\"Oh, well!\" said Howard proudly, flushing as he spoke; \"if you don't want\nto come, why\"--\n\nMr. Burrows' hand was laid on Howard's arm. \"Don't spoil a good, noble\nthing, my boy. It is all new to Edward; _urge_ him.\"\n\nMr. Burrows spoke low, so no one else could hear him, and turned away.\n\nAt recess Howard sought out Tip.\n\n\"I honestly hope you'll come to-night, Tip, for you're a good fellow to\nplay games with, and the boys would all like to have you.\"\n\nTip had quarrelled with his ill-humour, and it had vanished.\n\n\"I'll come,\" he said, in a cheery tone; \"only I'll look like a big\nrag-bag by the side of _you_ fellows.\"\n\n\"Never mind,\" said Howard, turning to join the boys, \"_you_ come.\"\n\nWhy had Howard Minturn invited him to the grand birthday party? This was\nthe question that puzzled Tip. Had he known the reason, it would have\nbeen like this: Mr. Minturn had never quite lost sight of Tip since the\ncircus. He wanted to help him,--wanted to do it through his son; only he\nwanted the son to think that he did it himself. Knowing Howard pretty\nwell, he said, when they were seated at breakfast that morning,--\n\n\"I've just been reading about a real hero.\"\n\nHoward longed to be a hero; he looked up eagerly.\n\n\"Who was he, father? What did he do?\"\n\n\"He was a rich young man, and he had the courage to take for his friend a\npoor fellow who hadn't two cents to his name. To pay him, the time came\nwhen he was proud to be noticed by the great man who was once so low.\"\n\nThis thought was still in Howard's mind when he walked with Ellis to\nschool. So, when Ellis said, \"There goes Tip Lewis; father thinks we boys\nought to notice him; he is trying real hard now-a-days to behave himself,\nyou know,\" it was easy for Howard to mingle Tip in with his thoughts.\n\n\"Ellis,\" he said, after a moment's silence, \"suppose I invite him to come\nto our house to-night? He's a splendid good fellow to have a game; never\ngets mad, you know.\"\n\n\"S'pose he'd come?\" asked Ellis.\n\n\"Yes, of course; jump at the chance. _I'll do it_. Our boys will think it\nodd, I suppose; but I guess I have courage enough to do as I please.\"\n\nAnd Howard drew himself up proudly, and thought of his father's hero.\n\nSo this was why Tip was invited to the birthday gathering at the grand\nhouse on the hill.\n\nMrs. Lewis sewed, that afternoon, on his jacket, mending it up more\nneatly than ever before. She had said very little about this invitation,\nbut she couldn't help feeling proud and gratified over it. It was\ncertainly a wonderful jump for Tip, from mingling with the worst and\nlowest boys in town, to find himself taking a long stride, and reaching\nthe very top. So Mrs. Lewis sewed, and Kitty, as she sat watching the\nneedle fly back and forth, spoke her thoughts:\n\n\"All of the boys down to Mr. Burrows' school wear white collars on\ntheir jackets.\"\n\n\"Well,\" answered her mother snappishly, \"what's that to me? S'posing\nthey wear white _cats_ on their jackets, I could get him one just as\neasy as t'other.\"\n\nIt was a sore subject with Mrs. Lewis. From her very heart she wished she\ncould dress Tip in broadcloth to-day, just as fine as that which Howard\nMinturn himself wore, and a collar so white and shiny that it would\nfairly dazzle the eyes of the others to look upon it; but, since she was\nso powerless to do what she would, it made her cross.\n\nThe bedroom door was open, and Tip's father heard. By and by, when his\ncough was quieter, he called, \"Kitty!\" and the little girl went in to\nhim. \"Is the jacket fixed, Kitty?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Does it look nice?\"\n\n\"Some.\"\n\n\"Would you like to find a collar for Tip to wear?\"\n\n\"Well enough,\" said Kitty wonderingly.\n\n\"Well, now, I've got two or three that I don't wear any more, and never\nshall, I guess\" (this last spoken sadly); \"s'pose you take one of\n'em--they're in that square box under the table--and see if you can't sew\nit on the jacket, and make it look like what the other boys wear? Now,\nyou try what you can do, just to see what Tip will say.\"\n\nKitty went slowly over to the box. This was new work for her, but her\nfather was very pale to-day, and those sadly-spoken words, \"and never\nshall, I guess,\" had quieted her; so she made no answer, but drew out one\nof the collars. It looked nice and white, and shone, too. Mrs. Lewis had\ndone it up late one night, with tears in her eyes, because she could not\nhope that it would be worn again.\n\n\"What are you doing with that?\" she asked sharply, as Kitty appeared from\nthe bedroom.\n\n\"Father wants Tip to wear it,\" answered Kitty.\n\n\"I'll lend it to him,\" spoke the sick man; \"we want him to look as decent\nas we can to-day, you know.\"\n\nMrs. Lewis said no more, but it seemed to her like giving up one more\nhope of her husband's life.\n\nTip came down from the garret, with neatly-brushed hair, and dressed\nin his clean shirt, nicely mended jacket, and the shiny collar. It\nwas wonderful what a difference that collar made; he didn't look like\nthe same boy.\n\n\"Kitty,\" he said, his face all aglow with pleasure, \"where _did_ I get\na collar?\"\n\n\"It's father's; he said wear it,\" answered Kitty.\n\n\"And how did it get on my jacket?\"\n\n\"Jumped on, likely.\"\n\nKitty spoke in a short, half provoked tone; she was so unused to doing a\nkind thing, that she really felt half ashamed of it.\n\n\"Well,\" said Tip, smiling all over his face, \"if that's so, it's the best\njump it ever took, and I thank it from the bottom of my heart.\" Then he\ncarried his bright, good-natured face out of the little house in the\nhollow, and went towards the great house on the hill.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\n\"Every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in\nthe day of judgment.\"\n\n\nHoward Minturn was a king among the schoolboys; so, though some of them\nnudged each other and laughed a little when Tip swung open the iron gate\nand appeared in Mr. Minturn's grounds, the most of them, seeing how\nquickly Howard sprang forward, and how heartily he greeted the newcomer,\ndid the same. Howard was his father over again; if he did a thing at all,\nhe did it well. Every moment of that afternoon was enjoyed as only boys\nknow how to enjoy holidays: the whole round of winter fun was gone\nthrough with,--coasting, snowballing, building forts, rolling in the\nsnow, each had their turn.\n\nTip was not one whit behind the rest in all these matters, and if ever\nboy enjoyed an afternoon, he did that one. The sun had set in its clear,\ncold beauty, and the sharp winter night was coming down; the boys stood\nat the foot of the hill waiting for Ellis and his sled, which were at the\ntop; they came at last, shooting down the glassy surface.\n\n\"Hurry up,\" called out Howard, as he spun along. \"What the mischief\nbecame of you? We thought you had gone to hunt up Sir John Franklin\nand crew.\"\n\n\"Hurry down, I should say you meant,\" answered Ellis, guiding his sled\nskilfully around the curve, and springing to his feet. \"I waited for the\nrest of you; thought you were coming back.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Howard, \"we just _ain't_. We appointed a committee to find out\nhow many were frozen up altogether entirely, and found that every single\none of us were; so we're going in to the library fire to get thawed out\nby tea-time.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Ellis, shouldering his sled; \"Howard, where's\nyour skates?\"\n\n\"Oh, bother! they're at the top of that awful hill. Never mind; you walk\non slowly, and I'll run back and get them.\"\n\nThe boys obeyed, and Ellis Holbrook was just swinging open the little\ngate that led to Mr. Minturn's grounds, when Howard called, as he ran\ndown the hill, \"Hold on! Don't go that way, it will lead you right\nthrough the deepest snow there is; take the big gate.\" And by the time he\nreached them, panting and breathless, they were at the big gate.\n\n\"This is jolly,\" said Will Bailey, throwing himself into a great\narm-chair before the glowing fire. \"My! I believe I'm a snowball.\"\n\n\"You'd have been an icicle if you had gone the way Ellis was leading you;\nwhy, the snow is so high,\" said Howard, raising his hand almost on a\nlevel with his head.\n\nEllis laughed. \"I'm sure I thought I was going right,\" he said. \"I must\nhave been thinking of yesterday's lesson in Sunday school,--'Enter ye in\nat the strait gate.'\"\n\n\"Ho!\" said Will Bailey; \"for that matter, one gate is as straight as\nthe other.\"\n\n\"You don't understand the Bible, my boy,\" said Howard, laying his hand on\nWill's shoulder with a provoking little pat, \"or you'd know that strait\nmeans narrow.\"\n\n\"I'll bet a dollar that you were no wiser yourself until father explained\nthe verse yesterday,\" said Ellis, laughing.\n\nTip, meantime, stood apart flushed and silent; he knew about the Sunday\nlesson, and remembered the solemn talk which Mr. Holbrook gave them; and\nremembered how he urged them, while they were young, to enter into that\nstrait gate; he felt shocked and troubled at the sound of Ellis's\ncareless words.\n\n\"I know one thing,\" he said abruptly.\n\n\"Do you?\" said Will Bailey in a mocking tone. \"That's very strange!\" Will\nfelt above Tip, and took care to let him know it.\n\nEllis turned a quick, indignant glance on him; then spoke to Tip in a\nkind and interested tone: \"What were you going to say, Tip.\"\n\n\"That, if I were the minister's son, I wouldn't make fun of the Bible.\"\n\nEllis's face was crimson in an instant. \"What do you mean by that?\" he\nasked haughtily.\n\n\"Just what I say,\" was Tip's cool reply.\n\n\"Do you pretend to say that _I_ make fun of the Bible?\"\n\n\"Humph! Didn't I hear you?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Ellis, in a heat, \"you _didn't_! and I'd thank you not to say\nso neither.\"\n\n\"Well, now,\" said Tip, \"I'll leave it to any boy here if you didn't. When\na fellow takes a thing in the Bible and twists it around, and makes\nbelieve it means some little silly thing that it don't mean at all, I\ncall that making fun.\"\n\n\"Poh!\" said Howard, coming to the rescue of his friend. \"What a fuss\nyou're making about nothing. You're getting wise, aren't you, Tip? Ellis\nwas only saying that verse in fun, just as lots of people do. I've heard\ngood men quote the Bible and laugh over it.\"\n\n\"Can't help that,\" said Tip boldly; \"I say it's wicked, and Ellis\nHolbrook's father says so too. I heard him tell Will Bailey once\nthat folks ought to be very careful how they said things that were\nin the Bible.'\n\n\"Did he tell you to go around preaching for him through the week? How\nmuch does he pay you for your services? Come, let's hear.\"\n\nThis was said in Will Bailey's most disagreeable tone. Before Tip had\ntime to answer, Ellis spoke again.\n\n\"Well, I don't pretend to be as good as some people are, but I really\ncan't see any awful wickedness in anything that I've said to-night.\"\n\n\"Neither can anybody else, except Tip,\" said Will, \"and he's good, you\nknow; he never does anything wrong, except to tell lies and swear, or\nsome little matters.\"\n\nEllis was an honest boy. \"No,\" he said gravely, \"there is no use in\nsaying what isn't true, for the sake of helping my side along. Tip don't\ndo either of those things now-a-days, I believe; but I'm sure I don't\nthank him for his good opinion of me.\"\n\nHoward was glad at this moment to hear the tea-bell peal through the\nhouse, for the boys were growing cross. Most of them had been so\nastonished at the bold stand which Tip had taken, that they said nothing,\nonly gathered round, and waited to see what would come next.\n\nHoward sprang up. \"There's something I, for one, am ready for. Come,\nboys;\" and he led the way to the dining-room. Oh, that dining-room, with\nits bright lights and splendid table, was such a wonderful sight to Tip!\nIt was a very nice birthday supper,--plates of warm biscuit, platters of\ncold chicken, dishes of beautiful honey, silver cake-baskets, filled with\nheavily-frosted cake. Tip, for one, had never seen such a sight in his\nlife before, and he was so bewildered with the dazzle and glitter that he\ndidn't know which way to turn.\n\n\"Howard,\" said Mrs. Minturn, turning to her son, after she had welcomed\nhis friends, \"do you want your father to take the head of the table, or\nwould you and the boys prefer having the room to yourselves?\"\n\n\"No, ma'am,\" answered Howard, with energy; \"we want you and father\n_both_. I guess I want _you_ to my party, whoever else I have.\"\n\nTip watched the bright light on Howard's face with surprise. How much he\nseemed to love his mother, and how much she loved him! how queer it was!\nThe supper was a great success; the boys forgot their excitement and\nill-humour, and enjoyed everything.\n\nIt was almost nine o'clock, the hour when it was generally understood\nthat the party was to break up. The boys had been very merry all the\nevening; the discussion which had taken place just before tea seemed to\nhave been forgotten, save by Ellis, who, genial and hearty enough with\nthe others, was cold and haughty to Tip. Still, they kept apart, and the\nfun had gone on famously. There was a sudden lull in the uproar when Mr.\nMinturn opened the door.\n\n\"Are the walls left?\" he asked, coming forward.\n\n\"The _walls_?\" said Ellis inquiringly; \"why, sir, did you expect to\nmiss them?\"\n\n\"Well, I had some such fears, but I see they're all right. What are\nyou up to?\"\n\n\"Ellis was telling a story, that's what we were laughing at when you\ncame in,\" said Howard. \"Go on, El--never mind father, he likes to\nhear stories.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Ellis, blushing crimson; \"I think I'll be excused.\"\n\n\"Go ahead,\" said Mr. Minturn; \"I'm very fond of stories.\"\n\n\"I was only telling, sir, how Joe Barnes talked to his father when I was\ndown there this morning.\"\n\n\"Yes, and, father, you'd be perfectly astonished to hear him,\" chimed in\nHoward. \"I never heard a fellow go on so in my life; he makes fun of\nevery single thing his father says.\"\n\n\"Do you think there is anything very surprising in that?\" asked Mr.\nMinturn coolly.\n\n\"Surprising! I guess you'd think so. Why, when his father is talking to\nhim real soberly, he mimics him, and laughs right in his face.\"\n\n\"But I shouldn't suppose you would think there was anything strange\nabout that.\"\n\nThe boys looked puzzled. \"Why, Mr. Minturn!\" said Ellis; \"wouldn't you\nthink it strange if Howard should do so?\"\n\n\"Well, no; I don't know that I should have any reason to be astonished.\"\n\nHoward looked not only surprised, but very much hurt. \"I'm sure, father,\"\nhe said, in a voice which trembled a little, \"I didn't know I was so rude\nto you as all that.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mr. Minturn, \"you never have been, but I rather expect you to\ncommence. I shall have no reason to be surprised if you and Ellis and\nWill Bailey, and a host of others, all go to making fun of what your\nfathers say to you after this.\"\n\nThe boys seemed perfectly astonished. \"_I_, for one,\" said Ellis Holbrook\nproudly, \"think too much of _my_ father, to be in any such danger.\"\n\n\"You _do_?\" said Mr. Minturn; \"well, now, I _am_ amazed. I supposed you\nwould be the very worst one.\"\n\nHoward left the table and came over to where his father had seated\nhimself.\n\n\"Father, what _do_ you mean?\" he asked, in an earnest, anxious tone.\n\n\"Why, I mean,\" said his father, \"that I was in that room over there\njust before tea, and I heard the discussion which came up between you\nboys, and I came to the conclusion that boys who thought it such a\nlittle matter to make fun of solemn words which God has said to them,\nneed not be expected to show much respect for what their father or\nanybody else said.\"\n\nA perfect stillness settled over the boys at these words, and not only\nEllis Holbrook's cheeks, but his whole face glowed.\n\nHoward came to the rescue at last, very stammeringly: \"But, father--I\ndon't think--do you think--I mean--well, sir, you know Ellis and the\nrest of us didn't mean to make fun of what God said. Don't you think that\nmakes a difference?\"\n\n\"I don't know, I'm sure. How do you know that Joe Barnes means to make\nfun of what his father says?\"\n\n\"He acts like it,\" Howard said.\n\n\"Exactly; and so do you, every one of you, except Tip. I don't say, boys,\nthat you are all going to be disrespectful to your elders after this; I\nonly say I don't see why your earthly friends should expect more\nreverence from you than you give to God.\"\n\nBoys and man were all silent for a little after that, until Mr. Minturn\nbroke the stillness by repeating reverently, \"'Enter ye in at the strait\ngate.' I guess you all know what that means. I would like to know whether\nthere is a boy here who thinks he has entered in at that gate.\"\n\nHow still the room was while he waited for his answer! Tip could feel his\nheart throb--throb--with loud, distinct beats; twice he tried to break\nthe silence, and couldn't. At last he found voice: \"I do, sir.\"\n\nMr. Minturn turned quickly. \"What makes you think so, Tip?\"\n\n\"Because I love Jesus, and I'm trying to do what He says.\"\n\nMr. Minturn's voice trembled a little: \"God bless you, my boy; try to\nget all the rest to go through the same gate.\"\n\nThe town clock struck the hour, nine o'clock. The boys made a move to\nseparate. Tip took his cap and walked out alone in the cold, clear\nstarlight. He felt quiet and strong. It was done at last: he had taken\nhis stand before the boys--had \"shown his colours.\"\n\nThey all knew now that he was trying hard, and who was helping him.\nThings must surely be different after this, for ever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\n\"And all things, whatsoever ye shall ask in player, believing, ye\nshall receive.\"\n\n\nMeantime, was Kitty forgotten? Not a bit of it. If ever boy prayed for\nany one, Tip prayed for her. His very soul was in it; yet thus far his\nprayers seemed to have been in vain. The lesson, one Sabbath morning, was\non \"God's answers to prayer.\" Tip listened closely, yet with an\nunsatisfied longing in his eyes.\n\n\"Mr. Holbrook,\" he said, waiting after the rest had gone, \"is there time\nfor just one question?\"\n\n\"Yes, for two, if you like,\" said Mr. Holbrook, sitting down again; \"what\nis it, Edward?\"\n\n\"I want to know why God don't answer folks' prayers right away?\"\n\nMr. Holbrook smiled. \"If your questions are all as hard as that, Edward,\nI don't think there will be time for another to-day. But there may be\nseveral reasons: we will try to find them. Sometimes God doesn't answer\nour prayers at once, simply to try our faith, to see whether we are\nwilling to take Him at His word, and keep on asking, until He is ready to\ngive; or whether we will grow tired in a little while, and give it up.\nAnd sometimes we spend all our strength in praying, and don't work; then,\noften, we don't believe we shall get what we are praying for. Do you\nunderstand me?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" answered Tip promptly.\n\n\"Well, let me see if I can make it plainer. For whom are you\npraying, Edward, that you are troubled this morning, because you\nhave not been heard?\"\n\n\"For Kitty; I have been, this long time. Kitty's my sister, and I\nwant her to love Jesus; but it don't seem to do any good for me to\npray for her.\n\n\"It is _possible_ that God may be trying your patience, but not probable;\nI think we can find a better reason. Do you work while you pray? I mean,\ndo you talk with Kitty,--tell her what you are praying for,--urge her to\ncome to Christ,--try to show her how?\"\n\nTip looked grave. \"I did talk a little to her once, but it didn't seem\nto do her any good, and I haven't said a word since.\"\n\n\"Did you ever read in the Bible what is said about such praying, about\nsaying, 'Depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled,' and not _doing_\nanything?\"\n\nTip shook his head, and Mr. Holbrook held out his hand for the little\nBible.\n\n\"Let me find it for you, and when you go home you may read it, and see if\nyou, in praying for Kitty and never saying a word to her, are not a\nlittle like that man. Then there's another thing. Do you really believe\nthat God will do what you ask Him? You say every day in your prayer, 'O\nGod, make Kitty a Christian;' and yet, wouldn't you be very much\nastonished if Kitty should come to you to-day, and say, 'I want to be a\nChristian!' Are you looking out for any such thing?\"\n\nTip generally spoke his honest thoughts.\n\n\"No,\" he said gravely, \"I ain't.\"\n\nThe church bell began to ring, and Mr. Holbrook arose. \"I think, if you\nbegin to work and pray together, and then ask God to help you to believe,\nthat He will surely do as He has promised; that you will soon find your\nprayers answered.\"\n\nThis he said while gathering up his books and papers ready to start,\nand then,--\n\n\"Edward, why don't you come to our Thursday evening prayer-meetings?\"\n\nTip's eyes were full of astonishment.\n\n\"I never once thought of it,\" he said. \"Why, Mr. Holbrook, boys don't\ngo, do they?\"\n\n\"No,\" said the minister sadly, \"they don't; because I don't know of\nanother boy of your age in this whole town who loves the Saviour. Only\nthink what a work there is for you to do!\"\n\nTip went home with his brain full of new thoughts. No, he didn't go home;\nhe only went as far as the elm-tree, and there he sat down and read what\nMr. Holbrook had marked in his Bible. Yes, that was just the way in which\nhe had been praying for Kitty; and it was certainly true, as Mr. Holbrook\nhad said, nothing could surprise him more than that Kitty should really\nand truly come to Jesus.\n\nBefore he went from under the tree that day, he prayed this prayer: \"O\nGod, teach me to believe that you will make Kitty love Jesus, and show me\nhow to help her.\"\n\nAfter this, of course he looked out for his chances in which to work, and\nof course he found them,--found one that very day. After dinner Kitty\nwandered off by herself. Tip watched her, and she took the road leading\nto the cemetery. God put it into his heart to hurry after her; so, when\nhe came up to her, where she sat, on a large stone which she had rolled\nvery near to Johnny's grave, his heart was beating at the thought of the\ngreat work which he had to do.\n\n\"What did _you_ come for?\" said Kitty, looking up.\n\nTip hesitated a minute, then told the plain truth.\n\n\"I came after you.\"\n\n\"I suppose I know that: you didn't come before me.\"\n\n\"I mean I came to _see_ you.\"\n\n\"Well, look at me, then, and go off; I don't want you here.\"\n\nClearly, whatever was to be said must be said quickly, and Tip's heart\nwas very full of its message, so his voice was tender:\n\n\"Oh, Kitty, I came to ask you if you _wouldn't_ be a Christian. I _do_\nwant it so, it seems as if I couldn't wait.\"\n\nKitty looked steadily and gravely at her brother. \"What do you mean by\n'be a Christian?'\" she asked at last.\n\n\"I mean love Jesus, and do as He says.\"\n\n\"What'll I love Him for?\"\n\n\"'Cause you can't help it, when you find out how much He loves you, and\nall the things He does for you.\"\n\n\"What does He say do?\"\n\n\"He says be good; try to do right things all the time.\"\n\nKitty's eyes flashed. \"Now, ain't you mean,\" she said angrily, \"to come\nand tell me such things, when you know I ain't good, and _can't_ be good?\nIsn't mother ugly and cross and scolding to me all the time? and don't I\nhave to work and work, _always_, and never have anything? And I'm cross\nand get mad, and I _will_, too. I can't help it.\"\n\n\"Oh, but, Kitty,\" Tip interrupted eagerly, \"you don't know about it! He\nhelps you, Jesus does. When anything is the matter, when you feel cross\nand bad, you just go and kneel down and tell Him all about it, and He\nhelps you every time. And up in heaven, where you can go when you die,\nnobody ever gets cross and scolds. And it's beautiful there: they sing,\nand have fountains, and wear gold crowns; and--and Johnny is there, you\nknow; and I'm going, and I _do_ want you to come along.\"\n\nKitty's face had been growing graver and graver with every word her\nbrother spoke, and when at last he stopped, with his eyes turned towards\nJohnny's little grave, Kitty's shawl was crumpled up in her two hands and\nheld tightly to her face; and she was crying, not softly and quietly, but\nrocking herself back and forth, and giving way to great sobs which shook\nher little form.\n\nTip looked distressed; he didn't know what to say next; he stooped down\nto her at last, and spoke softly: \"Oh, Kitty, I'm sorry for you! if you\nonly _would_ love Jesus, it would make you happy.\"\n\n\"I want to--I want to!\" sobbed Kitty; \"I would if I knew how.\"\n\nTip's heart gave a bound of joy--a surprised bound, too; he had not\nexpected it so soon.\n\n\"It's easy, Kitty, it is, truly, if you only just ask God to do it. You\nsee He can hear every word you say; He hears you now, but He wants you to\nask Him about it. Say, Kitty, I'll go off and leave you,--I'll go where I\ncan't see nor hear you,--then you kneel down and tell Jesus about it, and\nHe'll help you.\"\n\n\"Stop!\" said Kitty, as Tip was turning away; \"wait! I don't know\nwhat to say.\"\n\n\"Why, just _tell_ Him, just as you did me, and ask Him to help you. You\nsee, Kitty, you can't do a thing without that; He's got to look after you\nevery single minute, or it's nothing at all.\"\n\nTip went away, and Kitty was left alone,--alone in the spot where her\nbrother had first found the Saviour. She felt very strangely; she had\nbeen left there alone to offer her first prayer.\n\nKitty had never been taught to kneel down by her bedside every evening,\nand repeat \"Our Father;\" it was all new and strange to her. She sat still\na long time, with the sober look deepening on her face. At last she got\ndown on her knees and rested her little hard hands on the hard snow which\ncovered Johnny's bed, and she said, \"Jesus, I want to be what Tip says. I\nwant to love you if you'll let me. Nobody loves me, I guess. Tip says\nyou'll help me all the time. If you will, I'll try.\"\n\nAfter she had said this, slowly and thoughtfully, stopping long between\neach sentence, she didn't feel like rising up; she wanted to say more, so\nshe repeated it, adding, \"Tip says I must be good. I can't be good, but\nI'll try.\"\n\nOver and over was the simple, earnest prayer repeated.\n\nTip did not go back to Johnny's grave; he took a side road down\nthrough the edge of the grove, and so went home; and when he reached\nhome, he went up to his attic room, and knelt down and prayed for\nKitty as only those _can_ pray who have been working as well as\nasking for what they want.\n\nKitty was stirring the pudding for supper when he saw her\nagain,--stirring away hard at the heavy mass, which grew thicker and\nharder to stir every moment. He went over to her.\n\n\"Kitty, let me do this;\" and she gave up the pudding-stick. Tip\nstirred away.\n\nBy and by she leaned over the kettle to put in some salt, and as she\nsprinkled it around she caught his eager, longing look. She nodded her\nhead. \"I guess He heard,\" she said softly.\n\n\"I _know_ He did,\" Tip answered, his eyes very blight; in his heart\nhe sang \"_Glory!_\" And the angels in heaven sang for joy; for that\nnight there had been laid aside a white robe and a crown of gold for\nKitty Lewis.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\n\"Whosoever therefore shall confess Me before men, him will I confess also\nbefore My Father which is in heaven.\"\n\n\nTip was very undecided what to do. He went out on the steps and looked\nabout him in the moonlight; then he came in and took a long look out of\nthe window. At last the question, whatever it was, seemed to be settled.\nHe turned with a resolute air to Kitty who was washing the tea-dishes.\n\n\"Kitty, don't you want to go to prayer-meeting up at the church?\"\n\nKitty dropped her cup back into the dish-pan and stood looking at him, a\ngood deal surprised. At last she said,--\n\n\"I'd like to, Tip, but I don't look decent to go anywhere. I've only this\ndress and my old hood.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't mind that,\" said Tip. \"I've only this awful old jacket\neither, but I mean to go. Hurry up the dishes, and let's go.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Kitty at last, \"I _will_; but what will mother say?\"\n\n\"I'll fix that.\" And Tip stepped softly into the bedroom. \"Are you better\nto-night, father?\"\n\n\"Not much better, I guess. How's arithmetic to-day?\"\n\n\"First-rate; Mr. Burrows said I was getting ahead fast. Mother, may Kitty\ngo out with me to-night? I'm going up to the church to prayer-meeting.\"\n\nMrs. Lewis turned from the basket where she had been hunting long, and as\nyet in vain, for a piece of flannel, and bent a searching bewildered look\non her son.\n\n\"I don't care,\" she said at last; \"she can go if she likes; but I doubt\nif she will.\"\n\nShe _did_, however; in ten minutes more the two were walking along the\nsnowy path. Kitty was sober. \"Tip,\" she said presently, \"don't you never\nget real awful _mad_, so mad that you feel as if you'd choke if you\ncouldn't speak right out at somebody?\"\n\n\"Well, no,\" said Tip, \"not often. Yes, I do too; I get mad at Bob\nTurner sometimes, mad enough to pitch him into a snow-bank; but it\ndon't last long.\"\n\n\"Well, mine does,\" said Kitty. \"I begin in the morning; something makes\nme cross, and I keep on getting crosser and crosser every minute, till it\nseems as if I should fly. Do you suppose I'll always do just so?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Tip positively, \"I _don't_. You keep on trying a little\nbit harder every day, and by and by you'll find that you don't get cross\nmore than half as easy as you used to. I know it will be so, because\nI've tried it in other things: when I first began to behave myself in\nschool, it was the _hardest_ work--my! You can think how I wanted to\nwhisper, and things kept happening all the time to make me laugh, but I\njust kept trying, and now I hardly ever think of whispering. Kitty, does\nmother know?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Kitty, \"she don't.\"\n\n\"If I were you, I'd tell her.\"\n\n\"Oh, Tip, I can't! She never looks at me without scolding me; I can't\ntalk to her about this.\"\n\n\"Yes, you can; I'd surely do it if I were you. It will be a great deal\neasier to try hard if mother knows you are trying.\"\n\nThey were almost at the church door.\n\n\"Kitty,\" said Tip suddenly, \"let's pray for father to-night. I've been\npraying for him this long time; you help me.\"\n\nStep by step, God was leading Tip Lewis in the narrow way. No sooner was\nhe seated in the bright, warm little room, and had listened to Mr.\nHolbrook's earnest prayer, that every Christian there might do something\nfor Christ that night, than the struggle began: what ought he to do for\nChrist? People all around him were, one after another, offering prayer or\nsaying a few words. Ought he to? Could he? Oh, he couldn't! Who would\nwant to listen to him? It wouldn't do any good. There was Mr. Burrows\nright in front of him; he would be ashamed of him, perhaps. Yes, but\nthen, ought he not to own his Saviour? Mr. Holbrook had spoken of the\nverse, \"Whosoever will deny me before men,\" and had made the meaning very\nplain. Mr. Minturn had just prayed that no one there might be ashamed of\nChrist. The end of it all was, that Tip slipped off his seat down on his\nknees, and said, \"Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name.\nShow me how to pray. I don't want to deny Christ. I want to love Him. I\nwant the boys in our school, and my father, and everybody to love Him.\nI'll try to work for Jesus. I'll try to work for Him. Help me every day,\nand forgive my sins for Jesus' sake. Amen.\"\n\nTip had never felt so near to God as he did when he arose from his knees.\nMr. Holbrook's voice trembled with feeling, when, soon after, he prayed\nfor the young disciple who had early taken up his cross.\n\nAt the close of the meeting, the minister pressed his way through the\nlittle company of people who were waiting to speak with him.\n\n\"Good evening, all,\" he said hurriedly. \"Excuse me to-night, brother,\" to\nMr. Minturn, who would have stopped him any way; \"I want to speak to some\npeople before they get away from me;\" and those who watched, saw him\nhurry on until he overtook Tip Lewis and his sister.\n\n\"Good evening, Edward. This is Kitty, I think. How do you do, my little\ngirl? Edward, do you know such a Bible verse as this: 'I love the Lord,\nbecause He has heard my voice and my supplication'?\"\n\n\"No, sir,\" answered Tip eagerly; \"_is_ there such a verse?\"\n\n\"Yes, somewhere in the Psalms you will find it. I don't remember just\nwhere. Can you feel the truth of it when you think of your sister?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I _can_. God _did_ hear me.\"\n\n\"And you think you love Jesus to-night, Kitty?\"\n\nKitty felt a great awe for the minister, and her \"Yes, sir,\" was low, and\nspoken in a timid voice.\n\n\"What makes you think so?\"\n\n\"I--I don't know; only I pray, and He hears me, and I like to.\"\n\n\"Well, now, Kitty, almost the first thing which people think of after\nthey have found Jesus, is something to do for Him; they begin to look\naround to see what they can find. What are you going to do?\"\n\n\"I don't know, sir; I haven't got anything I can do.\"\n\n\"Ah, that's a mistake! you can find plenty of work if you look for it;\nonly don't look too far, because it is the little bits of things which\ncome right in your way that Jesus wants you to do. When you brush up the\nroom, and set the table neatly, and brighten the fire, and do little\nthoughtful things that help your mother, then you are pleasing Jesus,\ndoing work for Him. Isn't it pleasant to think that in all those little\nthings He is watching over you, and that you make Him glad when you do\nthem well? Do you know that one of God's commands is, 'Honour thy father\nand thy mother'?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Kitty softly.\n\n\"It is; those are the very words; Edward can find them for you in the\nBible; and honour means more than obey; it means, try to please them in\nthe very smallest things.\"\n\nThey were very near the corner where Mr. Holbrook must leave them. He\nlaid his hand gently on Tip's shoulder, as he said, \"Speaking of Bible\nverses, Edward, I have one for you this evening, in the Saviour's own\nwords: 'Whosoever shall confess Me before men, him will I also confess\nbefore My Father which is in heaven.' Good-night.\"\n\nTip understood him, and there was a bright look in his eyes. The two\nwalked on in silence for a little. Presently Kitty said, \"I guess Mr.\nHolbrook don't know just how mother is, or he wouldn't talk so.\"\n\n\"Yes, but,\" said Tip quickly, \"God knew all about it always, you know;\nand yet He said that verse.\"\n\n\"So He did,\" answered Kitty gravely.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\n\"Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth.\"\n\n\n\"Bah,\" said Will Bailey, \"you're fooling, Howard Minturn!\"\n\n\"As true as I live, I'm not,\" answered Howard earnestly; \"you can ask\nMr. Burrows.\"\n\n\"What's up?\" inquired Ellis Holbrook, joining the two.\n\n\"Why, Howard is telling the biggest yarn you ever heard: he says Tip\nLewis went to prayer-meeting last night and made a prayer.\"\n\n\"Tip Lewis!\" and Ellis Holbrook's voice was full, not only of surprise,\nbut scorn; \"I should like to hear him.\"\n\n\"Well, it's true,\" repeated Howard. \"My father told us about it this\nmorning, and he said it was a good prayer too; he said, Ellis, that your\nfather couldn't keep the tears out of his eyes when he heard him; and Mr.\nBurrows walked up town with father, and told him that Tip had changed\nwonderfully, that he was one of the best boys in school.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Will Bailey, \"if Tip Lewis has turned saint, I'll give up.\nWhy, he's the meanest scamp in town; my father says he's had enough for\nanything.\"\n\n\"Oh, well now,\" answered Ellis, \"there's no use in being stupid enough\nnot to see that what Mr. Burrows says is true. I never saw any one change\nas he has in my life, but I'll be hanged if I like him as well as I did\nbefore he was so awful good; he's too nice for anything now-a-days.\"\n\n\"Especially when he trips _you_, the minister's son, up, about twisting\nthe Bible.\"\n\nEllis's face glowed, but he was an honest boy. \"He was right enough about\nthat,\" he said promptly; \"my father says it's wrong. But, if it will do\nyou any good to know it, I haven't liked Tip so well since.\"\n\n\"Say, Tip,\" said Will Bailey, hailing him at recess, \"come here and give\nan account of yourself. They say you turned parson last night; did you?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Tip, with the greatest good humour, \"I didn't.\"\n\n\"Didn't you speak in meeting?\"\n\nA quiet gravity spread itself over Tip's face. \"I prayed in meeting,\" he\nanswered soberly.\n\n\"Oh, well, what did you pray for? Come, let's know.\"\n\n\"I prayed for _you_.\" Tip spoke with quiet dignity.\n\n\"Humph! Now, that's clever, certainly. Much obliged.\"\n\nAnd Will said no more.\n\nCertainly the boys had never talked so much about any prayer-meeting in\ntheir lives as they did about this one. So that was the way it commenced;\nsuch a little fire kindled it. Tip didn't know it; he never found it out;\nprobably he never will, until he takes his crown in heaven. From the\nhumble little prayer which Tip had offered sprang the first buddings of\nthe great revival which God sent down to them.\n\n\"Say,\" said Howard Minturn to Ellis on the next Thursday evening, \"let's\ngo over to prayer-meeting to-night. I really am dreadfully anxious to\nhear Tip speak.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Ellis, speaking hastily, more hastily than he often did to\nHoward. \"I'm sure I don't care in the least to hear him, and I have\nenough to do without going there.\"\n\nHoward was _determined_ to go, and to find company.\n\n\"Will, let's go to meeting to-night,\" he said, the next time he came\nacross Will Bailey.\n\nWill looked at him in amazement. \"What for?\"\n\n\"To hear Tip.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Will; \"good! I'll go. Let's get a lot of the boys and go over;\njust to encourage him, you know.\"\n\nAnd they went. Tip and Kitty were there again; and again, with Tip, the\nstruggle had to be gone through; his coward spirit whispered to him that\nthe boys would only make fun of him if he said a word, and it would do\nmore harm than good. His conscience answered, \"Whosoever will deny Me on\nearth, him will I also deny before My Father which is in heaven.\" The\nsolemn words conquered, and again Tip knelt down and prayed.\n\n\"My!\" said Mr. Minturn, talking with his wife after they reached home;\n\"when I thought of the bringing up which that boy has had,--no bringing\nup about it, he has just _come_ up, the easiest way he could,--but when I\nheard him pray to-night, and then thought of our boy, who has been prayed\nfor and watched over every day since he was born, I declare I felt as\nthough I would give all I'm worth to have Howard stand where Tip Lewis\ndoes now.\"\n\nHoward heard this, as he waited in the sitting-room for his father and\nmother; heard it in great amazement, and at first it made him indignant.\nThe idea of comparing _him_ with Tip Lewis! Then it made him sorrowful:\nhis father's tones were _so_ sad; after all that had been done for him,\nit _was_ hard that he should disappoint his parents.\n\nHe listened to his father's prayer that night very closely, and its\nearnestness brought the tears to his eyes. Altogether, Howard went to\nschool the next morning with a somewhat sober face, and took no part\nwhatever in the boys' fun over the meeting.\n\nMr. Burrows' heart had been warmed by the voice of prayer from one of his\nscholars, and he began to pray and long for others of them to work also;\nand the great God, who knows the beginning and the end, led his first\nwords of anxiety to Howard Minturn. They stood at the desk, teacher and\nscholar, Howard bending over his slate.\n\n\"Can't you get it?\" Mr. Burrows asked,\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Howard, are you working with all your thoughts to-day?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\" And a bright flush mounted to his forehead.\n\n\"What is it, Howard?\"\n\n\"I don't know, sir; not much of anything, I guess.\"\n\n\"Are you not quite satisfied with yourself to-day?\"\n\n\"Satisfied! I--why--I don't know what you mean, sir; I have tried to do\nthe best I could, I believe.\"\n\n\"Do you really think so, Howard?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Did you think so last evening, in the prayer-meeting? Can a boy, who is\nas well taught as you have been, feel that he is doing as well as he can,\nwhen he knows that he is every day cheating God?\"\n\nHoward's face fairly burned.\n\n\"I don't understand you, sir.\"\n\n\"Don't you?\" and Mr. Burrows' voice was very kind. \"I wish that God's own\nSpirit might help you to understand it. Didn't your father and mother\npromise God, when you were born, to try to train you up for Him, because\nyou belonged to Him, and they knew it? Now, haven't they done their duty?\nis it their fault that you are not a Christian?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Then it comes back to you. You belong to God, body and soul: He made\nyou; He has kept you; He would save you, only you will not let Him. You\ncan't help the fact that you belong to Him; all you can do is to refuse\nto give Him your love, and let Him lead you to heaven, and this you are\ndoing. Is it right?\"\n\nHoward was growing haughty.\n\n\"I don't feel the need of any such things, Mr. Burrows,\" he\nanswered coldly.\n\n\"Suppose you don't, does that help the matter any? Does it change the\nfact that you belong to God; that you are cheating Him out of His own\nproperty? The question I ask is, Are you doing right?\"\n\nHoward stood, with eyes fixed on his slate, saying nothing.\n\n\"Won't you answer me, Howard?\" Mr. Burrows asked gently; \"is it right?\"\n\nAnd, after a long, long silence, the boy's honest, earnest eyes were\nraised to his teacher's face, and he spoke steadily:\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Are you willing to go on doing wrong?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Will you turn _now_, Howard, and start right?\"\n\nNow came another long silence. Howard Minturn, the honest, faithful boy,\nalways getting a little nearer right than any of the others, had been\ncondemned by his own words, and knew not what to say. At last he spoke:\n\n\"I can't promise, Mr. Burrows.\"\n\n\"Howard! such an answer from _you_, to whom I have only needed to point\nout what was right, in order to have it done!\"\n\n\"But I can't trust myself, sir; I shall not feel to-morrow as I do now.\"\n\n\"That is, you feel like doing your duty today, but you expect, if you\nwait until to-morrow, that you will feel less like it; so you mean to\nwait. Is that right?\"\n\nThe silence was much longer this time,--so long, that the boys began to\nlook curiously at the two figures over by the desk, and wonder why the\nbell was not rung. But at last he raised those clear, truthful eyes\nonce more:\n\n\"Mr. Burrows, I'll try.\"\n\nAnd the next Thursday evening, when in the house of prayer it was very\nstill, because Mr. Holbrook had just said, \"Is there not _one_ here\nto-night who wants us to pray for him, and if there is, will he not let\nus know it _now_?\" suddenly there was a row of astonished faces in the\nseat where the schoolboys were sitting, because from among them arose\nHoward Minturn, and his face was pale and grave, and his voice was\nsteady; they all heard his words:\n\n\"I want to be a Christian: will you pray for me?\"\n\nOh, wouldn't they! Was there ever such another prayer as that which Mr.\nMinturn offered for his son? Did any one who heard it wonder that such\nprayer was answered, and that in the next meeting, Howard, speaking with\na little ring of joy in his voice, said, \"I love Jesus to-night. I want\nevery one to love Him. I am very happy\"?\n\nFrom this the work went on. The little lecture-room grew full and\noverflowed, and the crowd now filled the church; and every night Some new\nvoice was heard, asking for prayer.\n\nWill Bailey seemed filled with the spirit of torment; teased the boys\nunmercifully; went to the meeting every evening, and made fun of it all\nday: but the boys were praying for him, and God's pitying eye was on him.\n\nOne evening there were two who arose to ask the prayers of Christians:\none was Will Bailey, the most hopeless, so the boys thought, of all\nthe boys in town; the other was Will Bailey's grey-haired father, the\nmost hopeless, so the good men feared, of all the strong,\nself-satisfied men in town.\n\nYet there were two for whom daily earnest prayer was offered, who, in\nthis blessed time, held themselves aloof,--two boys so far separated,\nthat it seems strange and sad that their names should be coupled just\nhere. Bob Turner and Ellis Holbrook, the lowest and the highest; the\nworst boy in school and the best! Yet they were united in this one thing,\nthat they would have nothing to do with Christ. Tip had prayed for both,\nworked for both; but this was his success one afternoon.\n\n\"Say, Bob, won't you go to meeting to-night, just to please me?\"\n\n\"Couldn't, Tip, no way in the world. I'd do most anything to please you,\ntoo, for the sake of old times when we used to steal apples together; but\nI've promised to go with Nick Hunt tonight, and tie old Barlow's cat fast\nto his frontdoor knob, and that's got to be done while the old man is at\nmeeting, you know. 'Tain't no matter, either, about my going; you just do\nthe praying for you and me too; then it will be all right.\"\n\nTip turned away with a sigh and a shudder. Could it be possible that\n_that_ boy had ever been his only companion? Ellis was round by the\nball-ground, and he went thither.\n\n\"Ellis, won't you go down to-night with the boys? it's almost the last\nmeeting, you know.\"\n\nEllis wheeled around, and spoke in his coldest tone:\n\n\"Tip Lewis, you seem to take a wonderful interest in me, and I'm sure I'm\nmuch obliged to you; but I'll be a great deal more so if you'll attend to\nyour own affairs after this, and let mine alone.\"\n\nPoor Tip! how discouraged he felt! Yet that very evening, going home\nfrom school, he met Mr. Holbrook; the minister turned and walked up\ntown with him.\n\n\"Edward,\" he said, \"are you praying for my boy?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"Will you never stop praying for him while you live, until he comes\nto Christ?\"\n\n\"I never _will_, sir,\" answered Tip, with energy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\n\"Thy father and thy mother shall be glad, and she that bore thee shall\nrejoice.\"\n\n\nHow did Mr. Holbrook know so well what Kitty needed to help her? His\nwords had given her such new thoughts; some way it was all new to her,\nthe idea that she had any duty to perform towards her mother. She stood\nthinking of it that bright winter day,--stood before the little fire, and\nwondered how it was that she ought to commence. She was to be alone all\nday. Mrs. Stebbens, their next neighbour, had fallen down and sprained\nher ankle, and sent to know if Mrs. Lewis could do her promised day's\nwork in the village. Kitty was left in charge of the house and her sick\nfather. She looked around the room: what an ugly, dreary little room it\nwas!--dust, dirt, and cobwebs everywhere; her hood and shawl lying in\none corner; her mother's apron on the floor in the middle of the room;\nthe breakfast dishes not yet washed; the stove all spattered with grease\nfrom the pork gravy; the hearth thickly covered with ashes; the paper\nwindow-curtain hanging by one tack; and on the mantelpiece, behind the\nstove, such an array of half-eaten apples, matches, forks, sticky spoons,\nbroken teacups, and dirty candlesticks, as would have frightened any one\nless used to it than was Kitty. As she looked around her, a forlorn smile\ncame over her face, for she thought of Mr. Holbrook's words: \"When you\nbrush up the floor, or brighten the fire to please your mother\"--\n\n\"He don't know,\" she said to herself, \"that mother don't care for\nsweeping and such things; he don't know how we live. I wonder if mother\n_would_ notice now if things were different. What if we did live like\nother folks,--had nice tilings, and kept them put up, and the room swept.\nSuppose I try it. What could I do? I might sweep and wash off the stove,\nand--and clean off the mantelpiece. I'll just do it, and see if anybody\nin this house will care.\"\n\nNo sooner thought than commenced. Kitty went to work. The dishes were\nwashed until they shone; those clean dishes shouldn't go in such a\ndisorderly cupboard. There was no help for it, the shelves must be\nwashed; down came the bottles and bundles, papers of this and boxes of\nthat, which had been gathering, Kitty didn't know how long, and the\nastonished shelves felt soap and water once more. How they were scrubbed!\n\n\"Kitty,\" called her father from his bedroom, hearing the racket, \"what\nare you doing?\"\n\n\"I'm cleaning house,\" answered Kitty promptly.\n\nAnd her father, because he did not know what else to do, let her work.\nFrom the cupboard she went to the mantelpiece, bundled the things all off\nin a heap, washed it thoroughly, and put everything in order. What a day\nit was to Kitty! One improvement led to another, and as things began to\ngrow clean in her hands, she grew wonderfully interested, and only\nstopped at noon to warm her father's gruel.\n\nIt was Saturday, and Tip had gone to pile wood for Mr. Bailey. He was to\nget his dinner and a grammar for his pay. He had wanted a grammar all\nwinter, so he worked with a will; and Kitty saw neither him nor her\nmother through all the busy day. The early sun had set long before. Kitty\nthought he certainly would not know that room the next morning, it was\nall so changed. The paper curtain was mended and tacked up in its place;\nthe old lounge cover was mended and fastened on smoothly; the mantelpiece\nshone and glowed in the firelight; the two shiny candlesticks, and beside\nthem the little box of matches, were all that remained there of the\nrubbish of the morning; the floor was just as smooth and clean as soap\nand ashes, with plenty of hot water and an old broom, could make it;\nhoods and shawls and aprons and old shoes had all disappeared,--nothing\nwas lying around: the table was drawn out, the clean, smooth plates\narranged so as to hide the soiled spots on the tablecloth, the pudding\nwas bubbling away in the astonished kettle, and Kitty's joy had been\ncomplete, when, only a few minutes before, after a great deal of stamping\nand pounding, she had opened the door to Howard Minturn, who said,--\n\n\"Mother sent you some milk for your supper.--Where's Tip?--_Isn't_ it\ncold, though?--There'll be prime skating to-night.--Give me the pitcher\nright away, please.\" All this in one breath.\n\nNow they would have beautiful fresh milk for supper; and if there was\nanything which Tip liked, it was pudding and milk.\n\nSo Kitty set the old arm-chair in the warmest corner for her mother,\nfastened her father's door wide open, so that he could see the new room,\nthen stirred her pudding, and watched and waited. Her mother came first.\nKitty's heart had never beat more anxiously than when she heard the slow,\ntired step on the hard snow. Would she notice anything different? In she\ncame, tired, cross, and cold, expecting to find disorder, discomfort, and\ncold inside. Could anybody, having eyes, fail to notice the changes which\nhad been wrought in that little room since she went out from it in the\nearly morning? She shut the door with a little slam, and then the flush\nof the firelight seemed to blind her a little; she brushed her hand over\nher face, and looked around her with a bewildered air. Kitty went over to\nher; some way she felt a great kindness in her heart for her mother, a\ngreat longing to do something for her.\n\n\"Is it cold, mother?\" she asked brightly. \"Take that chair,\" pointing to\nthe seat in the warm corner. \"Supper's all ready, and I've made a cup of\ntea for you.\"\n\nMrs. Lewis took off her hood and shawl in silence, untied her wet shoes,\nand placed her cold feet on the clean, warm stove-hearth; took in the\nbrightness of the room, the shiny candlesticks, the neatly-spread\ntea-table; took whiffs of the steaming tea,--all in utter silence; only,\nwhen Kitty's father, looking out, said, \"There's been business done here\nsince you went away,\" something in her mother's voice, as she answered,\n\"I should think there had,\" made the blood rush warmly into Kitty's\ncheeks, and made her whisper to herself, as she stooped to place the wet\nshoes under the stove to dry, \"Mr. Holbrook told me true, I do believe. I\nguess I have pleased Jesus to-day; I feel so.\"\n\nWhile she was taking up the pudding, there was a merry whistle outside, a\nbrisk, crushing step on the snow, and Tip whizzed into the room.\n\nOh, there was no mistaking the look of delight on his face, nor the glad\nring in his voice, as he said, \"Oh, Kitty! why, Kitty Lewis! what _have_\nyou been doing? Why, it looks almost as nice here as it does at Howard\nMinturn's.\"\n\nAll that evening there seemed a spell upon the Lewis family. Mrs. Lewis\ndidn't say one cross or fretful word; indeed, she had no cause, for in\nKitty's heart there was a strange, new feeling of love for her mother, of\nlonging to please and give her comfort; and never was mother waited on\nwith a more quiet care than Mrs. Lewis received that night.\n\nThis was the first coming of home-comfort to the family. Tip had apples\nin his pocket, which Howard Minturn had given him; he roasted them\nbefore the fire, and his father ate very little pieces of them; and his\nmother darned stockings by the light of the candle in the clean little\ncandlestick set on the clean little stand; and they were happy.\n\nBy and by Tip brought out his grammar, and, finding Kitty very much\ninterested in examining it, said,--\n\n\"What if you should begin and study grammar with me?\"\n\n\"What if I should?\" answered Kitty. So that evening she commenced her\neducation, and, though grammar was a queer study to _begin_ with, still\nit was a beginning.\n\nThe pleasant evening wore away; the town clock had struck nine; Kitty's\nfather had gone quietly to sleep, and the bedroom door was shut to keep\nall sounds from disturbing him. Tip had taken his candle and gone. Mrs.\nLewis sat toasting her feet before the dying fire. Yet still Kitty\nlingered. She wanted to take Tip's advice, and tell her mother about her\ndear, new Friend, and this evening, of such wonderful peace, seemed the\ngood time for doing so; but she didn't know how. If her mother would only\nsay something to help her! and presently she did.\n\n\"Kitty, what fit came over you, to go to work and clear up at such rate?\"\n\n\"I wanted to please _you_, I guess.\"\n\nKitty knew that this answer would surprise her mother, and it did, into\nutter silence; but, after what seemed to Kitty a long, _long_ time, she\nspoke again:\n\n\"What did you want to do that for?\"\n\nNow for it! This was the best chance she could ever hope to have, and her\nvoice trembled a little:\n\n\"I wanted to please Jesus too, mother, and Mr. Holbrook said if I did\nthings to help you, and that you would like, _He_ would be glad---Jesus\nwould, you know.\" A little silence, and then: \"I want to please Jesus all\nthe time now, because I love Him, and I'm going to try to do right.\"\n\nIt was all out now, and her heart was beating so that it almost stopped\nher voice. Her mother shaded her face with her hand, and neither spoke\nnor moved. Kitty waited a little, then moved slowly towards the door of\nher bit of a bedroom; it was moonlight, so she needed no candle.\n\n\"Good-night, mother,\" she found courage to say at last.\n\n\"Good-night;\" and her mother's voice sounded strangely, coming from\nbehind the closely-held hand.\n\nThere was something like a great sob in Kitty's throat as she went to\nher room that night; in her heart was a great longing for mother-love.\nShe would have liked to kiss her mother good-night, but she felt how\nqueerly that would look; even to _say_ good-night was something very\nunusual. So she knelt down beside her bed, and prayed for her mother.\n\nI don't think Mr. Holbrook knew that the few kind words which he spoke to\nKitty Lewis, on her way home from prayer-meeting, were seeds which were\ngoing to spring up and bear fruit unto everlasting life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\n\"And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord.\"\n\n\n\"Father,\" said Tip, as, after having carefully measured out and given him\nsome cough-drops, he sat down for a chat with him before\nschool,--\"father, didn't you and Mr. Bailey go to school together when\nyou were boys?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mr. Lewis. \"Our fathers lived side by side, and we used to\nwalk more than a mile to school together every morning; we were in the\nsame class, too, and the best scholars in school. My! times are changed\nsince that day. My father was considerably better off than his was, and\nnow he's a rich man, and I'm nobody.\"\n\n\"Was he such a boy as Will Bailey is--or, I mean, as Will used to be?\"\n\n\"I don't know much about Will; but I know his father was a sorry scamp,\nand many's the scrape he got me into. He took a notion to me. We lived\nnear by, and were always together, and then I was as full of pranks as he\nwas, I suppose. But he was a regular tyrant over the rest of the boys;\nthey were more than half afraid of him; I don't know but what I was\nmyself. Anyhow, I know I've thought I'd have been different, maybe, if I\nhadn't followed him so close in all his scrapes.\"\n\n\"Father, did you know Mr. Bailey was different now?\"\n\n\"Different--how? What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Why, he comes to prayer-meeting, and speaks and prays, and seems\nto love to.\"\n\n\"The mischief he does!\" said Mr. Lewis, surprised out of his usual quiet\ntone. \"I should think he _was_ different. Why, he used to make great fun\nof all such things.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's what he says; but I tell you he don't make fun now.\"\n\n\"When did all that happen?\"\n\n\"A few weeks ago, when the revival was, you know. He got up one night and\nasked them to pray for him, and now he almost always speaks or prays in\nthe meetings.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Mr. Lewis, after a pause, and with a little sigh, \"I'm\nsure I ain't sorry. I only hope it will last; he needed it as bad as any\none I know of.\"\n\n\"It will last,\" Tip said, speaking positively. \"God will look out\nfor that.\"\n\nThen he waited a little before he spoke again--but he had been praying\nfor his father long enough and earnestly enough to feel bold:\n\n\"I thought, last night, that you must have been pretty good friends\nonce,\" he said presently, \"for he most broke down when he was praying for\nyou, and the tears just blinded him.\"\n\nMr. Lewis turned himself on his pillow, and looked steadily at his son.\n\"Did Mr. Bailey pray for _me_?\" he asked at last.\n\n\"Yes, he did; and he prayed as if he meant it.\"\n\n\"How came he to?\"\n\n\"Why, I asked 'em to--all the folks in meeting, you know. I wanted you to\nbe a Christian, and prayed for you, and then I asked them if they'd pray,\nand Mr. Bailey got right up. You don't mind that, do you, father? All the\nfolks down there ask us to pray for their friends.\"\n\n\"_No_,\" answered Mr. Lewis at last, speaking slowly, \"I don't know that I\ndo. I need praying for, I suppose, if anybody does. I'm going where I\ncan't be prayed for, pretty fast, I guess.\"\n\nTip had no answer to make to that.\n\n\"So you prayed for me too, did you?\" his father asked presently.\n\n\"Yes, and I do every day, father; I _do_ want you to know Jesus.\"\n\nA long silence followed, and then the sick man spoke again:\n\n\"Well, Tip, I'm glad that you've got right, gladder than I can tell you.\nMy father was a good man, and tried to make me do what was right; but I\nwent all wrong, wasted my whole life, and brought up my children to do so\ntoo; but you're getting on without my help, and I'm glad you'll grow up\nto be a good man, and be a comfort to your mother when I'm gone. But I\ndon't know that you need ask folks to pray for me; it's too late,--I've\ngone too far to get back.\"\n\nTip's bold, prompt manner did not forsake him now; he answered quickly,--\n\n\"Father, I don't believe any such thing. God doesn't say anything about\nit's being too late; and He says if we want anything very much, and pray\nfor it, and it's good to have, He'll give it to us; and I'm bound to\nbelieve Him. Once I prayed for Kitty, and prayed and prayed, and it\ndidn't do a bit of good, until at last Mr. Holbrook told me that maybe it\nwas because I didn't really believe any of the time that God was going\nto do what I wanted Him to; and I found out that was it. Just as soon as\nI began to think He would hear me, it all came out straight; and now I'm\nbound to believe Him every time. I've asked Him to make you a Christian,\nand I'm going to keep on asking, and _He'll do it_. Father,\"--Tip's voice\ntook a softer tone, for he knew there was one very tender spot in his\nfather's heart,--\"don't you want to see little Johnny up in heaven?\"\n\nThe muscles around Mr. Lewis's mouth began to twitch nervously, and a\ntear rolled down his cheek.\n\n\"I'm pretty near it,\" he said at last; \"and I think sometimes I'd give\nthe world, if I had it, to be ready to go; but it's all too late. I've\nknown the right way all my life, and I've gone the other way; now I must\njust take my pay.\"\n\nThe very Spirit of Christ must have shown Tip what to say next. He spoke\nthe words earnestly and solemnly; he meant no disrespect:\n\n\"Father, do you know more about it than God? Because, you see, it don't\nsay any such thing anywhere in the Bible; I know it don't, for we talked\nabout it in Sunday school once, and Mr. Holbrook said, 'No matter how old\na man was, nor what he had done, he could be a Christian.'\"\n\n\"I always thought it looked mean and sneaking in a man to have nothing to\ndo with such things all his life, and then turn around just because he\nwas going to die, and pretend to be very good. God can't be pleased with\nany such thing as _that_. I've always said that I'd never do it.\"\n\nTip couldn't answer this: it didn't sound true; he felt sure it was not\ntrue; but he had no wisdom with which to meet it. He went to school with\nthose last words of his father's ringing in his heart, and his thoughts\ntook shape, and spoke in the very first sentence that he addressed to Mr.\nHolbrook, whom he overtook as he came out of the post office:\n\n\"Mr. Holbrook, can I ask you a question?\"\n\nAnd the minister, always ready to help any one out of trouble, smiled and\nbowed, and walked on by the side of the troubled boy.\n\n\"If a man should tell you he thought it would be mean in him to turn\naround and go to serving God, after he had found out he had but a little\nwhile to live, when he had cheated Him out of all the rest of his life,\nwhat would you say?\"\n\n\"I think,\" said Mr. Holbrook, \"I would be very likely to ask him whether\nhe supposed he would feel any less mean for cheating God out of the last\nyear of his life, simply because he had been doing so all the other\nyears. Because a man has been doing wrong for forty years, I don't know\nwhy he should add another year of wrong; I should think he might much\nbetter turn around, and make all the amends he could.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" said Tip, drawing a long breath; \"why couldn't I have thought of\nthat? I knew it was wrong,--I saw it plain enough; but I couldn't think\nof a word to say.\"\n\nMr. Holbrook looked earnestly at the eager boy. \"Edward,\" he said at\nlast, \"do you think your father would see me this morning?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Tip decidedly, \"I know he would. If you would only go and see\nhim, Mr. Holbrook, and explain that to him, I would be _so_ glad.\"\n\nAnd, looking back soon after, he had the satisfaction of seeing Mr.\nHolbrook walk quickly down town in the direction of his home. And now Tip\nfelt hopeful for his father: he had prayed for him, he had worked for\nhim, and now Mr. Holbrook had gone to him; surely he could leave the rest\nin God's hands.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\n\"Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall.\"\n\n\n\"Here Tip!\" said Howard Minturn; \"hold this frame steady while I try\nthat nail. Will, don't put that one up so high, it ain't even with the\nothers. Hold on, Ellis,--catch hold of this stool, it's tipping. There,\nnow, it's all nice and in order,--isn't it, Mr. Burrows?\" And he sprang\nfrom his stool, as their teacher entered the schoolroom door.\n\n\"Very likely,\" answered Mr. Burrows, smiling; \"only I didn't hear what\nyou said.\"\n\n\"I say we're ready for examination, room and all.\"\n\n\"The room is, certainly; and I hope your brains are. Ellis, I'd move that\nchair a little to the left; it will be in the way of the classes as it\nstands now. Do you feel brave to-day, Edward?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" answered Tip promptly; \"pretty brave.\"\n\nAnd he did, besides feeling eager and excited. The long winter term was\nover; to-day and tomorrow were to be days of examination. The boys had\nbeen working hard for it,--none harder than had Tip. It was the first\nexamination which had ever come to him in this exciting way. Always\nbefore he had been among the few inevitable dunces, running away from\nexamination altogether, or else laughing good-naturedly over his own\nblundering ignorance. But to-day it was different: he stood there on the\nstage among the workers, proudly answering his teacher's questions, and\nlooking proudly over at the group of idlers,--Bob Turner at their\nhead,--who loitered near the windows, wondering that he could ever have\nbeen of their number. This was going to be a great day for Tip; it is\ntrue he was far behind some others of his age, so far that not a single\nclass of Howard Minturn's and Ellis Holbrook's were to be examined that\nday,--the advance classes being put for the next day,--while all of his\ncame that morning; but then Tip knew there was change enough in him to\ncall the attention of every one present. He felt the change in himself;\nhis mother felt it, when she that morning brushed his hair for him, and\nfastened a clean collar on his jacket; the boys in school felt it. He had\ntaken his place among the workers.\n\nThe bell rang at last, and the scholars filed in and took their places.\nThere were visitors, even in the early morning; the people liked to\nattend Mr. Burrows' examinations. Tip's class in reading came first on\nthe list, and never had his eyes been so bright or his face so eager. Tip\nhad learned to read. Patiently, earnestly, he had plodded on through the\nlong winter; now his sad blunderings in that line were over for ever; not\na boy in school read more slowly, distinctly, and correctly than Tip\nLewis. The selections were to be made by the committee, immediately after\nclass, of those who were considered ready to enter the history class on\nthe following term. This was the highest reading class in the school: and\nTip's eyes fairly danced when Mr. Holbrook, who was chairman of the\ncommittee, out of a class of thirteen read but two names,--\"Thomas Jones\"\nand \"Edward Lewis.\"\n\n\"Hallo, Tip!\" Howard Minturn had said to him at recess; \"let's shake\nhands. Welcome to history; it's awfully hard and interesting.\"\n\nAnd Tip did shake hands, and laughed; and looked over at the other\nclique--the dunces--with a half-patronizing nod to Bob Turner; and\nwondered how he _could_, have borne it to have been numbered with them\nthat day; then he felt that he was climbing into the first set, and\nclimbing _fast_.\n\nIn spelling, too, he came off conqueror; spelled down the class, spelled\nuntil Mr. Burrows closed his book with the words, \"I presume you are\ntired of this, gentlemen, and, as our examinations are confined to the\nlessons, I think it will hardly pay to go further, for Edward has not\nmissed since the second week in the term.\"\n\nSo again, flushed and excited, Tip went to his seat victorious. Only\narithmetic now, and he would be through with the working part of the day.\nIt was the last recitation in the morning, and he was so eager and\nanxious to do well, that he began to grow nervous.\n\nThe class was called at last. They had gone slowly and carefully through\nlong division, and would be ready for fractions next term. The recitation\npassed off finely. Tip had not studied day and night during the winter\nfor nothing. He was at the board, working an example in long division; it\nwas almost finished. The hand of the clock pointed to ten minutes of\ntwelve. In ten minutes he would be through, and his name would stand on\nthat honoured list, among those who had not missed one word or made one\nmistake during the examination. His hand began to tremble. What was the\nmatter with that example? Oh, what _was_ the matter? The remainder was\ntoo large; no--it was too small; no--it was--he didn't know what!\nEverybody was watching him; he heard a boy laugh softly. He had made a\nmistake, then; what was it? where was it? Mr. Burrows' voice came to him,\ncalm and kind:\n\n\"Edward, don't get excited. Look at your remainder closely; take the\nfirst figures of divisor and remainder--nine in thirty-one, how many\ntimes? That will help you.\"\n\nEllis Holbrook stood but a step from the blackboard, just behind him. Tip\nheard his low whisper, \"Seven,\" and, without waiting to think,--indeed,\nhe was too nervous to think,--he caught at the number.\n\n\"Seven times!\" he said hurriedly.\n\nThen he heard bursts of laughter from the boys, and dashed down his chalk\nin an agony of shame and pain. And the clock struck twelve!\n\nThe honour was lost.\n\nThe boys gathered around him after school was closed.\n\n\"It was too bad, Tip,\" Howard Minturn said, in a tone of honest\nsympathy. \"You'd have had it in a minute more.\"\n\n\"I'd have had it if it had not been for Ellis Holbrook, and he's a mean\nscamp!\" Tip answered, in a rage.\n\n\"Whew!\" said Will Bailey; \"what did Ellis do?\" and Ellis turned, and\nproudly confronted the angry boy.\n\n\"He told me wrong just on purpose; that's what he did, and he knows it.\"\n\nAnd Tip broke away from them, and dashed out of the room.\n\nHoward Minturn stood aghast! That Ellis Holbrook, his best friend, and\nthe very pink of honour among the boys, should do so mean a thing, he\ncould not think, and yet it was hard to think that Tip had not told\nthe truth.\n\n\"What does he mean, Ellis?\" he asked at last.\n\n\"You'll have to ask him if you want to find out,\" said Ellis haughtily.\n\"He knows better than anybody else what he means, I guess.\"\n\nThe boys started homeward presently in a body. Bob Turner and his friends\nsurrounded Tip, and Bob, who never lost a good opportunity for teasing,\ncommenced at once:\n\n\"Poor little fellow, missed his lesson, so he did. Don't him cry; him\nshall have a penny to buy a multiplication-table with.\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue!\" answered Tip, too angry to see how foolish it was to\nlet such words, coming from a boy who didn't know a single line of the\nmultiplication-table, provoke him.\n\n\"_Such_ a pity!\" began Bob again; \"when it had spelled its lesson all so\nnice, and had its face washed and its hair combed so pretty. Mustn't cry\nnow, to spoil its face. Poor little fellow!\"\n\nTip turned to his tormentor a face perfectly white with rage, and the\nboys hardly knew his voice:\n\n\"Bob Turner, if you say another word, I'll knock you down and thrash you\nwithin an inch of your life. I will\"--\n\nOh, Tip Lewis! God forgive you for the way in which you in your blind\nrage have finished that sentence,--for the use which you have made of\nthat great Name, which above all others you profess to reverence and\nfear! The awful word, once spoken, recalled him to himself: he\nclapped both hands over his face and ran wildly up the hill, then\ndown out of sight.\n\nThe boys had all heard it. Howard, Ellis, Will Bailey, and a half-dozen\nothers, were just behind him.\n\nEllis Holbrook's pride rose high.\n\n\"There's your wonderful boy,\" he said, \"who was so changed, and has\ntaken it upon himself to preach so many sermons to _me_. I'm sure I\nnever finished any of my angry speeches with an oath, if I _am_ so far\nbelow him.\"\n\nWhat an afternoon that was to Tip! he will _never_ forget it. He went\nno farther than the great tree, which was budding out in spring\ngreen. Down he sat on a stone, and once more covered his face with\nhis hands, and such a storm of rage and pain swept over him as he had\nnever known before.\n\nHow could he, how _could_ he have said that word?\n\nEver since he had learned to pray, he had been afraid of that\nsin,--afraid he might forget, and go back to his old habits, and he had\nwatched and guarded his lips with such care and prayer. But lately he had\ngiven up all fear; it had been such a long time, and he had never once\nfallen, he felt sure that he never would again.\n\nHe had felt so sure and proud and strong, that he had asked no help from\nGod that day; he had been so eager to spend every moment on his\narithmetic, that he had found no time to go to his Bible for strength. No\nwonder--oh, no wonder that he fell! He had been standing too firmly,\nfeeling no need of help. Now, what should he do? How low he felt, how\nmean! Could God forgive him? Yes, He _could_.\n\nTip felt in his soul that there was nothing which God could _not_ do, and\nyet he felt too mean and fallen to dare to ask Him for anything more; he\nforgot for the moment that Jesus Christ died to save _sinners_.\n\nThe sun went on over his head, and commenced his afternoon work; then\nthere came up the hill the sound of the school-bell, but Tip took no\nnotice of that; he didn't want to _think_ of school, much less even _go_.\nHe began to fumble presently for his Bible,--he _must_ have some help. It\nopened of itself at the Psalms, and he read the first line which he saw:\n\"Unto Thee, O God, do we give thanks \"--No, not that, and he turned back\na couple of leaves. \"Make a joyful noise \"--No, no! he didn't want to\nhear anything about joy; his heart was as heavy as lead. So he turned\nover several leaves at once: he _must_ find something that would read as\nif it meant him. \"O Lord, rebuke me not in Thy wrath, neither chasten me\nin Thy sore displeasure.\" Oh, that was it! God was very angry with\nhim,---had a right to be,--this was just what he ought to say. He read on\nthrough the psalm; almost every verse seemed for him, and when he read\nthe one next to the last,--\"Forsake me not, O Lord; O my God, be not far\nfrom me,\"--he said it over and over, and finally, in a great burst of\ntears, got down and said it on his knees.\n\nThe short spring day was over, and the chilly night was setting in. Tip\nhad reached home finally, had split the wood for the next day, done\nwhatever he could find to do about the house, and then carried the vests\nwhich his mother had just finished to the clothing-store,--going away\naround behind the mill so as to avoid passing the schoolhouse, lest he\nmight chance to see some of the boys. Then he came home, ate his supper\nin silence, and went up to his attic. He felt better than he had at noon,\nbut his heart was still heavy, and he dreaded the next day, not knowing\nwhat he ought to do, or how to do it. This was Thursday evening, but he\ndidn't mean to go to prayer-meeting. Kitty had asked him, had even coaxed\na little, but he said, \"No, not to-night.\" He felt stiff and sore from\nhis long sitting under the great tree in the early spring dampness. He\ntold himself that this was the reason why he was not going to\nprayer-meeting; but the real one was, he felt as if he could not possibly\nface Mr. Burrows that evening, and _certainly_ not Mr. Holbrook,--of\ncourse, Ellis had told him all about it. He felt very tired, and his\nhead and limbs ached; he was going to read a chapter in his Bible and go\nto bed. He chose the same psalm which had come to him with so much power\nthat afternoon, read it slowly and carefully, then knelt down to pray,\nand as he did so a new trouble loomed up before him. What should he do?\nHe had prayed for Ellis Holbrook and Bob Turner ever since he began to\npray for himself, but he felt as though he could not possibly pray for\neither of them to-night. Both had tried to injure him; both had\nsucceeded. He wished them no harm: he didn't want to choke or drown them,\nas he had felt like doing at noon, but clearly he didn't want to pray for\nthem. He had arisen from his knees, and was sitting on the edge of the\nbox which was his table and chair, with a very troubled face. The more he\nthought about it, the more he felt that he could not pray for those boys\njust then. At last he thought he had found a way out of the difficulty.\nHe said to himself that he was very tired, almost sick; he would just\nrepeat the Lord's Prayer and go to bed. In the morning, very likely, he\nshould feel differently; he almost knew he should. So he knelt down once\nmore.\n\n\"Our Father which art in heaven,\" slowly reverently, through the sweet\npetition, until he came to \"forgive us our debts as we\"--There he\nstopped. He understood that prayer; they had been taking it up in Sunday\nschool, a sentence at a time, and talking about it, and only the Sunday\nbefore last that sentence had been explained. To-night Tip could not\nfinish it; there was no getting around the fact that he had not forgiven\neither Ellis or Bob. Once more he got up, and took a seat on the edge of\nhis bed to think. He was never so perplexed in his life. What ought he to\ndo? Couldn't he pray at all? Mr. Holbrook had said he must never mock God\nby asking for what he did not mean, and to say those words, \"as we\nforgive our debtors,\" feeling as he did to-night, would be mocking God.\nHe ought not to feel so, but how could he help it? Suddenly, with a\nlittle sigh of relief, he went down on his knees again: he had thought of\nsomething which he could say. \"Oh, Jesus, make me feel like praying for\nBob and Ellis; make me want them to be Christians as hard as I did last\nnight; make me feel like forgiving them.\" Then there was silence in the\nlonely attic, while Tip, still on his knees, struggled with the evil\nspirit within him, and came off conqueror, for presently he added, \"Oh,\ndear Jesus, I'll forgive them both!\" and then he finished the\nprayer--\"forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.\" While he went\naround after that, making ready for rest and sleep, the \"peace of God\nwhich passeth understanding\" came down and settled in his heart.\nPresently he seemed to come to another difficulty, for he sat down with\none boot in his hand and one still on his foot. This question, however,\nwas settled promptly: he pulled the boot on again in a hurry, then picked\nup his jacket and put that on, seized his hat, and ran down-stairs.\n\n\"Kitty,\" he said, putting his head in at the kitchen door, \"I'm going,\nafter all; come on.\"\n\nAnd Kitty joyfully ran for her hood and shawl.\n\nBut Tip did not open his lips in prayer-meeting that evening; he felt\nbowed down to the very ground with shame; he did not once raise his eyes\nto the seat where Howard Minturn, Will Bailey, and others of the\nschoolboys were sitting; and, when the short hour was gone, he made haste\nto get out from Mr. Holbrook's sight and the sound of his voice. But he\nhad much reason, after that, to thank God that he did not succeed. He had\njust got from under the gaze of the hall-lamp, and stood a minute in the\ndarkness waiting for Kitty, when he felt Mr. Holbrook's hand on his arm,\nand heard his kind, quiet voice:\n\n\"Edward, Mrs. Holbrook has some little business to transact' with Kitty\nto-night; shall I walk with you?\" And, as Tip saw there was no help for\nit, and walked by his side, he said, \"I didn't see you at school this\nafternoon: how was that?\"\n\n\"Mr. Holbrook, didn't Ellis tell you about it this noon?\"\n\n\"Ellis has told me nothing. I heard, from one of the smaller boys, a very\nsad story. Have you anything to tell me?\"\n\n\"No, sir, I have not; it's all true. I got awful mad, and I said mad\nthings. I--I did worse than that.\"\n\nTip's voice sank to a solemn whisper. Mr. Holbrook, too, was silent and\nsad; at last he said,--\n\n\"What, Edward! do you mean to give up, and go back to the old life?\"\n\nAnd he remembered, years after, just how painfully his heart throbbed\nwhile he waited for Tip's answer; it was prompt and plain: \"No, sir; God\nwouldn't even let me do that.\"\n\nAnd then for a minute Mr. Holbrook did not speak for very\nthankfulness, that, through all this maze of sin, God was leading Tip\ninto the light again.\n\n\"Do you feel that you have God's forgiveness?\" he asked, speaking gently.\n\n\"Yes, sir.\" Tip could not give very long answers that evening.\n\n\"Why were you so quiet to-night in prayer-meeting?\"\n\n\"Because,\" said Tip, speaking low, \"I was ashamed to say anything before\nyou or Mr. Burrows or the boys, after what happened today.\"\n\n\"More ashamed with us than you were with God?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, I was; because God knows all about it,--just how sorry I am,\nand how He has forgiven me, and is going to help me; and you didn't\nknow that.\"\n\nAgain Mr. Holbrook was thankful.\n\n\"How about to-morrow, Edward?\" he asked at last.\n\nAnd this time Tip's answer was very low: I don't know; I don't know\nwhat to do.\"\n\n\"If you knew what was right to do, would you _do_ it?\"\n\n\"I'm pretty sure I'd _try_ to, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, did you honour or dishonour Christ to-day?\"\n\nTip's answer was in a more timid tone than he often spoke:\n\n\"I dishonoured Him.\"\n\n\"Do the boys know that you are very sorry, and have asked God to\nforgive you?\"\n\n\"No, sir; they don't know anything about it.\"\n\n\"Don't you think, for the honour of Christ, they ought to?\"\n\n\"I suppose so.\"\n\n\"Who ought to tell them?\"\n\nNo immediate answer came to this; then, after a little,--\n\n\"Mr. Holbrook, how could I tell them--to each one--about it?\"\n\n\"See if you cannot answer your own question. Will not all the boys be\nlikely to hear about it?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; they'll be sure to.\"\n\n\"And would they all be likely to hear what you have to say, unless you\nspoke to all at once?\"\n\n\"But, Mr. Holbrook, if I did that, it would have to be in school.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"But to-morrow is the last day, and it's examination.\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\nThat short word seemed to have a good deal of power over Tip, for he\nonly answered it by saying, after a long silence,--\n\n\"Mr. Holbrook, I wonder if you can think how very hard that would be?\"\n\n\"Edward, I wonder if you can think how very hard it was for your Saviour\nto listen to your words this noon?\"\n\nAnd Mr. Holbrook heard no more from Tip, save, when they reached the\ncorner, a very low, very grave \"Good-night.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\n\"He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in\ntrouble: I will deliver him, and honour him.\"\n\n\nThere were not many visitors in the next morning; it was too early, as\nyet, for any but the examining committee, and a few very fond, very\nanxious mothers. Mr. Burrows' hand was on the bell; in a few moments\nthe algebra class would be in full tide of recitation. Ellis and Howard\nhad their slates in their hands, ready to start at the first sound,\nwhen Tip Lewis left his seat and made his way towards the stage. Mr.\nBurrows looked surprised; this was entirely out of order; but a look at\nTip's face made him change his mind about sending him back to his seat,\nand bend his head to listen to the few words that were hurriedly\nwhispered in his ear. Then he looked more surprised, hesitated a\nminute, then asked,--\n\n\"Hadn't you better wait until noon, and I can detain the scholars a\nfew moments?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Tip, shaking his head, and speaking earnestly; \"I'm afraid, if\nI wait till noon, I shan't do it at all.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" Mr. Burrows answered finally. \"Scholars, one of your number\ntells me that he has something of importance to say to you; we will wait\nand hear him.\"\n\nIt was well for Tip that he was a bold boy, that every day of his life\nhad been such as to teach him a lesson of boldness, else his courage\nwould surely have failed him, when he felt the many curious eyes resting\non him. As it was, his face was scarlet, when he turned it away from the\ndesk and towards the boys. Yet he spoke promptly, as he always did when\nhe spoke at all:\n\n\"I want to tell the boys that I am sorry for yesterday. I suppose they\nall know what I did. I got awful mad, and I--I said a dreadful word. I\ndidn't think I would ever be so wicked again; I feel awful about it. But\nI don't want the boys to think that I don't love Jesus any more, because\nI do; and He is going to help me try Such a silence as was in that\nschoolroom then, the boys had never felt before! Mr. Burrows' face was\nshaded with his hand; he let the silence rest upon them for a moment,\nafter Tip had taken his seat; then he spoke, low and solemnly,--\n\n\"Boys, what God has forgiven, I feel sure that no scholar of mine will be\nmean enough ever to mention again.\"\n\nThen the bell sounded, and the business of the day went on. Tip had laid\nhis head down on the desk the minute he took his seat, and he kept it\nthere throughout the recitation. He had been through a fearful struggle;\nit was hard work for a boy like him to stand up before the school and\ntell them how he had fallen. But it was over now, and from his very soul\nhe felt that he had done right.\n\nBob Turner, sitting beside him, was quiet and sober; and when Tip raised\nhis arm with such a sudden jerk that he knocked his arithmetic to the\nfloor, Bob leaned over and quietly picked it up and laid it back in its\nplace; which was a wonderful thing for Bob Turner to do.\n\nAt noon the boys gathered around Tip, quiet and kind; no one spoke of\nwhat had been _the_ important event of the morning; all were on good\nbehaviour.\n\nEllis Holbrook came into their midst.\n\n\"Tip,\" he said, speaking gravely, yet very coldly, \"perhaps it would be\nas well for you to know that you made quite a blunder yesterday, when you\nsaid I told you wrong; I hadn't the slightest notion of telling you,\nright or wrong. But I know how you came to think so. I was looking out a\nword in Mr. Burrows' dictionary, and stood just behind you, when Mr.\nBailey leaned over and asked me how many there were in your class when\nall were present, and I answered him, seven.\"\n\nTip looked perfectly astonished.\n\n\"Why didn't you say so yesterday?\" he asked at last.\n\n\"Because you didn't give me a chance,\" Ellis answered coolly. \"I'm not in\nthe habit of cheating, nor of being told that I do, so I was not prepared\nwith an answer.\"\n\n\"That's true,\" said Tip, after a minute, answering the first part of\nEllis's sentence; \"that's true, I didn't. I was mad, and I just banged\noff before anybody could say anything. I might have known you didn't do\nany such thing; it ain't like you.\"\n\nAnd Tip walked away, leaving Ellis to think that the boy who was so far\nbelow him had shown much the better spirit of the two.\n\nThe busy day was drawing to a close; the last recitation was over, and\nthe boys were in a state of grand excitement, waiting to hear the report\nof the committee; waiting to know whose names were to stand on the Roll\nof Honour, having passed through the entire examination without a\nmistake. Poor Tip was sad; yesterday morning he had felt so sure that his\nname would have an honourable place, and to him it was so much more\nexciting, because it would be for the first time. How hard he had worked;\nand now it was all lost! Stupidly lost, too, he said to himself, over an\nexample that he had done a dozen times; and he drew a heavy sigh, and\nroused himself to listen to the report. Mr. Burrows had already called\nfor it, and Mr. Holbrook, as chairman of the committee, had arisen; but,\ninstead of reading the report, said,--\n\n\"Mr. Burrows, if there is time, I should like to say a few words to the\nscholars. Boys, you were all listeners to Edward Lewis's examination\nyesterday, and I presume you know better than I do how hard he has\nworked. Now, I think any one who watched him yesterday could not have\nfailed to see that, had he not grown excited and nervous, he could have\nworked that example. Mr. Burrows, may I put a question to vote?\"\n\nAnd Mr. Burrows giving a hearty consent, he continued, \"Very well. Now I\nwant every boy here, who is willing to allow Edward Lewis to go to the\nboard _now_ and try that example, and, if he succeeds, give him the place\nwhich would have been his yesterday, to stand up.\"\n\nEllis Holbrook was the first to spring to his feet, and every single\nboy in the room followed his example; Tip alone sitting still, with\nburning cheeks.\n\n\"Well done,\" said Mr. Holbrook \"Now it only remains to get your teacher's\nconsent to our plan.\"\n\nWhich Mr. Burrows gave by wheeling his table from before the blackboard\nand picking up an arithmetic. \"You may come forward, Edward. I will\ndictate the example; which one is it?\"\n\n\"The thirty-ninth, sir; fifty-first page.\"\n\nBy this time Tip was at the board. How they watched him! how fearful his\nteacher was for him! how he longed to have him succeed! Tip worked fast\nand boldly; his hand did not tremble; chalk and fingers and brain did\ntheir duty; the terrible \"nine in thirty-one, how many times,\" as a test\nfor the larger number, was reached, and an unusually large and bold\nfigure _three_ was placed in the quotient; a few more rapid dashes, and,\nwith a grand flourish after the \"seventeen remainder,\" Tip threw down the\nchalk, pushed back the hair from his hot temples, and walked to his seat.\nThe boys could not keep quiet any longer: a very soft tapping was heard\nat first, then, finding they were not silenced, it rose to a loud,\ndecided stamping of many feet. But Mr. Holbrook was on _his_ feet again,\nand they were quiet directly, for the report was finally to be read.\n\n\"My son,\" said Mr. Holbrook, not long after, laying his hand kindly on\nEllis's shoulder, as he was hurrying from the room, \"what do you think of\nEdward's religion to-night?\"\n\n\"I think it is honest, sir,\" Ellis answered quickly. \"Excuse me, father,\nif you please; I must see Howard a minute before he goes;\" and so he ran\naway from his father's longing look.\n\nAs for Tip, he borrowed from Howard Minturn a copy of the village paper,\nwhich came out a few days after, and read the report of the examination;\nread this sentence: \"And, among all the pupils, perhaps no one of them\nhas made more rapid or astonishing progress than has Edward Lewis.\"\n\nThen, while the twilight deepened, he turned eagerly to the next column,\nwhich read in this way:--\n\n  \"ROLL OF HONOUR;\n\n  \"Being an alphabetically arranged List of those\n  who passed the entire Examination without\n  making an error:\n\n  WILLARD BAILEY.\n  ELLIS HOLBROOK.\n  HARVEY JENNINGS.\n  EDWARD LEWIS.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\n\"I will lead them in paths that they have not known.\"\n\n\n\"See here, Tip,\" called Mr. Minturn, appearing in his store door one\nmorning not long after the examination; \"I want to talk to you.\"\n\nTip swung his basket off his shoulder, and went into the store. He was at\nwork for Mr. Dewey, and every piece of meat which he carried home took\nthe form, in his eyes, of a Latin grammar and a dictionary; for these two\nbooks were what he was at present aiming after.\n\n\"I'm in a great hurry, Mr. Minturn,\" he said; \"I've got a piece of meat\nfor your folks in my basket, and I expect they want it.\"\n\n\"They'll have to wait till they get it,\" answered Mr. Minturn; \"but I\nnever hinder folks long. What are you going to do with yourself, now\nschool's out?\"\n\n\"Oh, work; anything I can find to do while vacation lasts.\"\n\n\"So you're going to keep on at school, are you? I thought likely, since\nyour father was laid up, you'd he hunting for steady work, so you could\nhelp the family along. There's a hard winter coming, you know.\"\n\nThere was no mistaking Mr. Minturn's tone. It said, as plainly as words\ncould have done, \"That's what I think you ought to do, anyhow.\"\n\nTip looked troubled. \"There's nothing for me to do,\" he said at last; \"I\ndon't know of a place in this town where I could get steady work that I\ncould do; and besides, if there was, I'm after an education now.\"\n\n\"My brother is here from Albany,\" Mr. Minturn made answer to this. \"He is\na merchant, has a large store there, and keeps a great many clerks. He's\nbeen plagued to death lately with one of his boys,--when he sent him home\nwith bundles, he'd open them and help himself; and my brother told me\nlast night, if I could warrant him a boy who was perfectly honest, he'd\ntake him home with him, pay his fare down, and do well by him. I thought\nof you right away, and I told my brother that you were just the boy for\nhim,--you'd be as true as steel; but then, if you're going to keep on at\nschool, it's all up.\"\n\nMr. Minium did not add, that he had kept his brother until eleven o'clock\nthe night before, telling him Tip's history,--what a boy he had been, how\nhe had changed, how he was struggling upward; and, finally, the whole\nstory of the examination,--the failure, the downfall, the public\nconfession; nor how his brother had listened eagerly, and had said, with\nenergy, after the story was finished,--\n\n\"Such a boy as that ought to be helped; and I'm ready to help him.\"\n\nNone of this did Tip hear, but he stooped down for his basket when Mr.\nMinturn had finished speaking, with a bright blush on his cheek. It was\nsomething for a boy like him to be called \"as true as steel.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he said decidedly; \"I'm going to keep on at school, that's\ncertain. Thank you all the same.\"\n\nAnd out he went; yet all the way up and down the streets his thoughts\nwere busy over what he had just heard. It was _time_, certainly, as poor\nas they were, that he began to work; his mother's sewing supported the\nfamily now, and hard and late into the nights she had to work to keep\nthem from hunger. Tip had thought of this question before, but had\nalways comforted himself with the thought that work was not by any means\nan easy thing to get in the village; the odd jobs which he could find,\nout of school hours, being really the only things he could get to do.\nBut no such comfort came to him to-day: here was a chance, and a\nsplendid one, for getting steady work, and by and by good wages\nprobably; why wasn't he glad?\n\nOh, ever since he gave himself to Christ, there had been in his heart a\nlonging to get an education, and not only that, but to become a minister.\nVery small, faint hopes he had, and even those were frightened sometimes\nat their own boldness; but every day the desire grew stronger, and it did\nnot seem as though he could possibly give up school now. It was out of\nthe question, he told himself, just as he was beginning to enjoy his\nbooks so much, and was doing well. Mr. Burrows would be disappointed in\nhim; he had encouraged him to study. No, it couldn't be done. He would\nconsider the matter settled. And yet there was his mother, working day\nand night, and he, her only son, not helping. There was his father,\ngrowing weaker every day, coughing harder every night; long ago they had\ngiven up the hope that the cough would ever leave him. There was Kitty,\nwho ought to be in school, but could not because her mother _must_ have\nthe little help which she could give. Tip was half distracted with\nthinking about it; he felt provoked at Mr. Minturn, and Mr. Minturn's\nbrother, and the store in Albany, and the boy who helped himself out of\nother people's bundles; they were all trying to cheat him out of his\neducation. A dozen times he said it was settled, and as many times began\nat the beginning to think it all over again. He went home finally, after\nthe meat was carried around; but this didn't help him any. Home hadn't\ngone back to its old state of dirt and disorder: Kitty's first attempt\nhad been too successful, and she had liked the looks of things too well\nto give up; so there was a great change for the better in the\nhousekeeping, which both Kitty and her mother enjoyed. Still, there was\nno denying that, though a clean, it was a very forlorn little room, with\nvery few things for comfort or convenience. Tip had never seen this with\nsuch wide-open eyes as he did today; so coming home did not quiet the\nvexing thoughts.\n\nHe split wood and pumped water without whistling a note, growing more\nsober every minute. At last, after supper, when the work was all done\nthat he could do, he drew a sigh of relief; it was so nice to have time\nfor thought. He could go up to his attic, and he would not come down,\nno, not if it wasn't in three days, until this thing was decided finally\nand for ever.\n\nKitty sewed steadily on the seam which her mother had fixed for her, and\nwondered why Tip didn't come down and hear her lesson, which had been\nready for him this hour. It was another hour before he came; then his\nmother said,--\n\n\"Tip, if you've a cent in the world, do take it, and go and get your\nfather some of that cough-candy. I do believe he hasn't stopped coughing\nsince supper.\"\n\nTip took his hat and started for the store; as he went he whistled a\nlittle. The cough-candy was found at a store away up town, and, getting a\npaper of it, Tip dashed on around the corner and opened Mr. Minturn's\nstore door.\n\n\"When is your brother going home?\" he asked, without ceremony, seeing Mr.\nMinturn behind the counter.\n\n\"Next Monday.\"\n\n\"Well, I'm going to talk to father, and I think likely I'll want to go\nalong with him.\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\nSo Tip slammed to the door and ran away and Mr. Minturn never knew what a\ndownfall that decision had been to the boy's dear hopes and plans.\n\nIt was all settled in the course of a day or two. Mr. Minturn from Albany\nwas very kind. Tip was to have wages that seemed a small fortune to him,\nand enough had been advanced to get him a new suit of clothes, which his\nmother made.\n\nOne would have supposed that the future would look bright to him; yet it\nwas with a very sad heart that he took his seat in prayer-meeting that\nThursday evening, the last time he expected to be in that room for--he\ndidn't know how long. He had a feeling that he ought to be very glad and\nthankful, and wasn't at all.\n\nThrough the opening hymns and prayers his heart kept growing heavier\nevery moment, and it was not until Mr. Holbrook arose, and repeated the\ntext which he had chosen for the evening, that Tip could arouse himself\nto listen. It was a queer text, so he thought,--\"Who shall roll away the\nstone?\" What could Mr. Holbrook be going to say on that? He found out,\nand had reason to remember it for ever after. As he went out from that\nmeeting, his thoughts, had he spoken them, would have been like these:\n\n\"That's true,--I don't believe any man but Mr. Holbrook would ever have\nthought of it: they worried at a great rate about that stone, how they\nwould get it rolled away, and when they got there it was gone. I'll\nremember that. I'll do just as he said: when I see a stone ahead of me, I\nwon't stop and fret about it; I'll walk straight up to it, and when I get\nthere maybe it will roll out of my way.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\n\"A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver.\"\n\n\nBehold Tip, now in Albany, far away from home and friends, from every one\nthat he had ever seen before, save Mr. Howard Minturn, young Howard's\nuncle. But he had been there some time, and was growing into a\nsettled-at-home feeling. It had been a wonderful change to him. Mr.\nMinturn did not board his clerks; but for some reason, best known to\nhimself, he had taken Tip home with him. For a few days the boy felt as\nthough the roses on the carpets were made of glass, and would smash if he\nstepped on them. But he was getting used to it all; he could sit squarely\non his chair at the table instead of on the edge, spread his napkin over\nhis lap as the others did, and eat his pie with a silver fork under the\nlight of the sparkling gas.\n\n\"Mother,\" said little Alice Minturn, \"why does father have Edward board\nhere, and sit at the table with us?\"\n\n\"Because, Alice, your father wants to help him in every way; your uncle\nMinturn thinks he is an unusually good, smart boy.\"\n\n\"I think so too,\" said Alice, and was satisfied.\n\nAnd Tip Lewis was Tip no longer; no one knew him by that name; every one\nthere said \"Edward,\" save the store clerks, and they called him \"Ed.\"\n\nHe had a queer feeling sometimes that he was somebody else, and that Tip\nLewis, whom he used to know so well, would be very much astonished if he\ncould see him now.\n\nHe went into Sabbath school, and became a member of Mr. Minturn's Bible\nclass; but teachers were scarce, and before he had been there three weeks\nMr. Minturn sent him to take charge of a class of very little boys, who\ncalled him \"Mr. Lewis,\" and made him feel strange and tall. He began to\nrealize that he was almost sixteen years old, and growing very fast.\n\nHe was leading a very busy life now-a-days; at work all day, in and for\nthe store, and in the evening doing all he could with his books. Those\nbooks and his love for them were a great safeguard to him, kept him away\nfrom many a temptation to go astray; and yet it was hard work to\naccomplish much in the little time he had, and with no helper. Sometimes\nhe sighed wearily, and felt as though the road was full of stones.\n\n\"I pity you, old fellow,\" one of the younger clerks said to him one\nevening, as they were leaving the store.\n\n\"I don't know for what,\" was the good-natured answer.\n\n\"Why, Mr. Minturn's pink of a perfect and wonderful and altogether\namazing son Ray has just got home from the University; saw him pass the\nstore not an hour ago, leaning back in the carriage like a prince.\"\n\n\"What's he?\" asked Edward.\n\n\"He's a prig; that's what he is.\"\n\n\"What's a prig?\"\n\n\"Ho! you're a greeney, if you don't know what a prig is. Wait till he\nsnubs you and lords it over you awhile; then I guess you'll know. He'll\nhave a good chance, seeing you're right there at the house all the while.\nI wouldn't be in your shoes for a penny.\"\n\nSpite of its making him a great greeney, Edward did not know what a prig\nwas; but, judging from his companion's tone, he decided that it must be\nsomething very disagreeable. He went home feeling cross and\nuncomfortable, wishing that Ray were anybody in the world rather than Mr.\nMinturn's son, or anywhere else rather than at home. He was beginning to\nhave such a nice time there; they were all so kind to him, and really\nseemed to like him. It was too bad to have it all spoiled.\n\n\"I know what kind of a fellow he is,\" he muttered to himself; \"he's like\nthat Mr. Symonds who comes to the store twice a week or so after kid\ngloves, and acts as if he thought he was a great deal too good to ask me\na decent question. My! I wish he was in Texas.\"\n\nThe dining-room was a blaze of light when he peeped in, soon after the\nfamily were gathered waiting for Mr. Minturn. The newcomer sat on the\nsofa, one arm a-round little Alice, and the other resting gently on his\nmother's lap. Edward guessed, by his mother's face, that she did _not_\nwish he was in Texas. Mr. Minturn came in presently, and Edward stole\ninto the room just behind him; but Alice called him eagerly:\n\n\"Edward, Ray has come! Come over here and see him.\"\n\n\"Go ahead,\" said Mr. Minturn, as Edward stood still, with very red\ncheeks; and Ray sat up and held out his hand.\n\n\"How do you do, Edward? Alice has been making me acquainted with you this\nafternoon, so you're not a stranger.\"\n\nHow very clear and kind his tones were! Edward was astonished. That same\nevening he was more astonished. He was in the library, at work over his\nbooks; Mr. Minturn had to go to a committee meeting, expecting to be\ndetained late; as he arose from the dinner-table, he said,--\n\n\"How am I to get in to-night? Here's my night-key in two pieces.\"\n\n\"I'll be night-key, sir,\" said Edward promptly.\n\n\"Well, you may; you can take your books to the library, and have a long\nevening to pore over them.\"\n\nSo he was there, poring over them with all his might, when the door\nopened gently, and Ray Minturn came in.\n\n\"Are you hard at work?\" he asked kindly.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" said Edward, wishing he would go out again. But he didn't\nseem in a hurry to do so; he took a book from the case, and glanced over\nit a moment, then came towards Edward.\n\n\"What are you studying?\"\n\n\"Fractions,\" answered Edward briefly.\n\n\"Do you have any trouble?\"\n\n\"Yes, lots,\" speaking a little crossly, for he wanted to go on with his\nwork; \"I can't get this one I'm at, to save my head.\"\n\n\"Suppose I see what is the matter.\" And Bay drew a chair to the table and\nsat down, glancing his eye over the slate.\n\n\"Rather, suppose you see for yourself,\" he said in a few moments. \"Just\nrun over that multiplication at the top of the slate.\"\n\n\"Oh, bother!\" Edward said, after he had obeyed orders; \"that figure three\nhas made me all this trouble.\"\n\n\"Smaller things than figure threes make trouble. Have you been to\nschool lately?\"\n\n\"Always, till I came here; but I might just as well have been out until\nlast winter.\"\n\n\"What happened last winter?\"\n\n\"Lots of things,\" answered Edward, with brightening eyes. But he\ndidn't seem disposed to state any of them; so, after waiting a little,\nRay asked,--\n\n\"Wouldn't you get on faster with your books if you had a teacher?\"\n\n\"Think likely I should; but I haven't got any, so I'll have to get on as\nfast as I can.\"\n\n\"How would it do if I should play teacher while I am at home, and give\nyou the hour from nine till ten?\"\n\nEdward laid down his pencil, turned his eyes for the first time full upon\nKay, and looked at him in silent astonishment.\n\n\"Do you mean it?\" he asked at last.\n\n\"Certainly I do; I shouldn't say so if I didn't. Don't you think you\nwould like it?\"\n\n\"Like it! I guess I would. But I don't know--What do you do it for?\"\n\n\"Because I am glad to help a boy who seems to be trying to help himself.\nWe will consider it settled, then. It is ten o'clock; will you come out\nto prayers now?\"\n\nAnd at this the astonished look on Edward's face deepened.\n\n\"Is Mr. Minturn here?\" he asked.\n\n\"No; but his son is. Are you so surprised that I should have prayers in\nmy father's absence?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Edward; \"I didn't know--I mean I didn't think\"--\n\n\"You didn't think I had learned to pray, perhaps. Thank God, I have.\"\nThen he laid his hand kindly on Edward's shoulder. \"Have _you_ learned\nthat precious lesson yet, my friend?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Edward softly; \"a good while ago.\"\n\n\"I am very glad; you will never learn anything else that is quite so\nimportant. What is all the study for, by the way? Have you any plans.'\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Edward, astonished at what he was about to tell to a\nstranger; \"I want to get an education, and then, if I possibly _can_ do\nthat, I want to be a minister.\"\n\nRay's hand fell from his shoulder, and when he answered this, his voice\nwas low and a little sad:\n\n\"God bless you, and help you. I hope you will never have to give it up.\"\n\nEdward made up his mind that night that a prig meant the best and\nkindest,--yes, and the wisest young man in the world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\n\"Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.\"\n\n\nThe long, bright summer days and the glowing autumn days were gone;\nmid-winter was upon them. During all this time Edward was hard at work;\nthere was plenty of business to be done at the store. He had been\npromoted; very rarely, now-a-days, was he called on to carry home\npurchases, or to do errands. He had his counter and his favourite\ncustomers. There had been another change, too, which Edward felt sure Ray\nhad had a hand in; Ray had a hand in everything that was good and\nthoughtful. He had long evenings for study now; he came up to dinner with\nMr. Minturn at six o'clock, and had no further work to do until the next\nday. Oh, those long evenings! What rapid progress he made! what a\nteacher Ray was! Could a boy help getting on who was so carefully and\nkindly led?\n\nWhat was _not_ Ray to him?--teacher, friend, brother; constant,\nunfailing, loving guide. Edward was learning to love him with an\nalmost worship.\n\nMeantime, every one saw better than did Edward himself how he had\nchanged. He had not been in constant intercourse with a Christian family,\nwho lived their religion every day and every hour, for nothing; his\nimprovement had been constant and rapid.\n\nHe came home from the post office one evening with his hands full of\nletters, among them a very queer-looking one for himself. He carried the\nothers to the library, and his own to his room. Such an odd letter as it\nwas! He was glad it was his business to get the mail, and that none of\nthe other clerks had seen this, with his name written at the very top of\nthe envelope, and written \"Tip\" at that. How oddly it looked, and how\nqueerly it sounded when he said it over! It was so long since he heard\nthat name, he never wanted to again. He was glad that Ray Minturn had\nnever called him Tip, nor heard him called so.\n\nWho could it be from? Nobody wrote to him except Kitty, and once in a\nlong while his mother; but this was no home-letter. At last he broke the\nseal, and read:--\n\n\n\"DEER TIP,--Mother's dead, I feel bad, you kno that, so what's the use?\nI've got to go to work. I like you better than any of the other felows,\nalways did. Can't I com out there to your store and work, I'll behave\nmyself reel wel; I _will_, honour bright, if you'll git me a place.\nI've got money enuff to get there. I dug potatoes for old Williams and\nearned it. Rite to me rite off that's a good fellow. I want to com\nawful. BOB TURNER.\"\n\n\nEdward was thunderstruck! he dropped the letter on the floor in disgust.\nWhat was to be done now? The idea of having Bob Turner there was\nperfectly dreadful; besides, thank fortune! it was impossible. They\nwanted more help, to be sure, had been looking out for a boy that very\nday, but not such a one as Bob,--that was out of the question; and\nyet--Bob's mother was dead! In his rude, careless way, Bob had loved his\nmother rather better than he had any one else, and Edward did not doubt\nthat he felt badly. He was without friends now; surely he needed one if\nhe ever did. But it was _so_ disagreeable to think of having him\nthere,--he was so different from any of the others, and he would call\n_him_ Tip, and be always around in his way; would seem to lead him back\nto the old life from which he thought he had escaped altogether. It was\nnot to be thought of for a moment. But then--and now came a startling\nthought. How long he had been praying for Bob! Perhaps this was the way\nin which God meant to answer, by giving him a chance to work as well as\npray. Perhaps he ought to be _willing_ to have him come. No matter how\nmuch the clerks might make fun of him for having such a friend; no matter\nhow much pain and annoyance it might cause him; if this was God speaking\nto him to help his brother, how dreadful it would be to make no answer!\n\nHe sat down to think about it; his algebra lay open before him; he was\nnot quite ready for Kay, but he could not attend to algebra now.\n\n\"Let me see,\" he said; \"if there _should_ be such a thing as that Bob\ncould come, what would I do for him? One of two things is certain, either\nhe'll lead me or I shall him; we always did when we were together much.\nWhich will it be? If he leads me, he'll lead me into mischief, just as\nsure as the world; if I lead _him_, I'll try to keep him out of mischief.\nIt's clear that I ought to be the leader. Now, how would I do it, I\nwonder? Bob ought to be a Christian; he won't be safe two minutes at a\ntime until he is. If God says anything, He says He'll hear prayer. If I\nbelieve that, why don't I pray for Bob, so that he'll be converted? I\n_do_ pray for him always, but it's kind of half-way praying--kind of as\nif I thought it was a pretty hard thing for God to do after all. That's\nwrong. God wants him safe, and He knows he isn't safe now, and He's\nwilling to help him; it must be my fault that He don't. My business and\nlessons, and all that sort of thing, are putting Bob and Ellis, and even\nfather, pretty much out of my thoughts. That's wrong too, and must be\nstopped. Mr. Minturn says a thing is never half done that hasn't a corner\nin the day belonging to itself. I'll try that rule. After this, every\nevening at half-past eight, I'll come up here to my room and lock the\ndoor, and I'll pray for Bob; I'll pray as though I expected an answer,\nand was going to be on the look-out for it. I won't let anything hinder\nme from coming at just that time, unless it's something that I can't\nhelp. Meantime, I'll get him a place if I can.\"\n\nEdward was as straightforward as Tip had been; this point decided, he\nwent down-stairs to the library door, and knocked.\n\nMr. Minturn was alone, and busy; but he looked up as Edward entered in\nanswer to his \"Come in.\"\n\n\"Well, sir, what is it?\"\n\n\"Have you time for a little piece of business?\"\n\n\"Always time for business; sit down. What is it about?\"\n\n\"Have you found a boy yet?\"\n\n\"No. Have you?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; there's a boy out home who wants to come; I've just had a\nletter from him. His name is Turner--Bob Turner.\"\n\n\"Is he a good boy?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, that's plain! What are you talking about, then?\"\n\n\"I want you to make him a good boy, sir.\"\n\n\"Humph! that's an idea. I can't make boys over new. Is he honest?\"\n\n\"No, sir, I don't think he is very,--not what you mean by honest; but his\nmother is dead, and he hasn't any friends; he goes with a miserable set\nof fellows, and he'll get worse than he is in no time if he stays there.\"\n\n\"And the whole of it is, you think it's my duty to let him come, and try\nto save, him! Suppose I should, what would you do for your share?\"\n\n\"I'd try, too.\"\n\n\"How?\"\n\n\"Why, I'd try to get him to do right.\"\n\n\"Suppose he should try to get you to do wrong?\"\n\n\"He couldn't!\" said Edward positively.\n\n\"How did you find that out?\"\n\n\"Because I should pray for myself every day, and for Bob too; and God\nhears prayer.\"\n\n\"Yes, but God's people sometimes get very far away from Him; if this Bob\nshould lead _you_ astray, I'd be sorry I ever heard of him.\"\n\n\"I don't feel much afraid,\" Edward said, speaking this time in a more\nquiet, less positive tone, \"for I never go wrong when I pray often; pray\nabout everything that comes up, you know, and mean what I pray for.\"\n\n\"Humph!\" said Mr. Minturn; \"that's a good idea; I guess you're pretty\nsafe under _that_ rule.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" said Edward, reserving one of his best arguments till the\nlast, \"I know somebody who would help Bob ever so much,--Mr. Ray would\nfind him out.\"\n\nMr. Minturn's eyes grew bright, and he smiled a half sad smile.\n\n\"Yes,\" he said, \"that's true enough; Ray can't come near anybody without\nhelping him. Well, write to the boy to come on; we'll try him. Has he\nanything to come with?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, he says he has money enough to get here.\" And Edward went away\nglad, for he had begun to be very willing to have Bob there.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\n\"If ye abide in Me, and My word abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will,\nand it shall be done unto you.\"\n\n\nEdward got up one morning feeling years older than he had only the\nmorning before,--older and graver, feeling a great responsibility resting\non his shoulders; for he was The weary frame, racked with so many pains,\nwas at last at rest. Kitty had written just a line, telling the sad\nstory, but it did not reach him until nearly a week after; and with it\ncame Mr. Holbrook's,--a long letter, full of tender sympathy, telling all\nabout how, in the afternoon of an early spring day, they had laid his\nfather by Johnny's side.\n\nEdward read on eagerly, until he came to this sentence: \"My dear boy, I\nhave a most precious message for you. I was with him only an hour before\nhe died, and at that time he said to me, 'I want you to tell Tip that God\nhas heard his prayer, and saved his father; and that I shall watch for\nhim to come to heaven, and bring all the rest.' And, Edward, I haven't a\nshade of doubt but that your father is with his Redeemer; you must let me\nquote again a verse which I once gave you: 'I love the Lord, because He\nhas heard my voice and my supplications.'\"\n\nAnd at this point the letter dropped from his hand, and Edward shed his\nfirst tears for his father.\n\nIt was curious, the different ways that Mr. Minturn and his son had of\nexpressing sympathy.\n\n\"Oh,\" Mr. Minturn said, when he was told, \"why in the world didn't they\nsend for you?\"\n\n\"Because, sir, my father died very suddenly, and my mother thought I\ncould not afford to come so far for the funeral.\"\n\n\"Afford! as if that would have made any difference. Did they think I\nwould let it cost _you_ anything?\"\n\nEdward showed Mr. Holbrook's letter to Ray after that; and when it\nhad been read, expressed the feeling which had been much in his heart\never since the news came, and which had been strengthened by Mr.\nMonturn's words:\n\n\"I shall always be sorry that I could not have gone to the funeral.\"\n\nAnd Bay answered, resting his arm, as he spoke, lightly on Edward's\nshoulder, to express the tenderness which he felt, \"No you won't, my dear\nfellow; when you get up there, in the glory of the Redeemer's presence,\nand meet your father face to face, you will not remember to be sorry that\nyou did not see him _buried_.\"\n\nMeantime Bob had come, and been set at work. He did not board at Mr.\nMinturn's. Edward had heard that matter arranged with a little sigh of\nrelief; his precious hour with Ray, then, would be undisturbed.\n\nBob was doing very much better than anybody who knew him would have\nimagined he _could_ do; he seemed to have made up his mind to behave\nhimself, sure enough. Yet his being there was a trial to Edward in\nseveral ways: he had a great horror of being called \"Tip;\" that name\nbelonged to the miserable, ragged, friendless, hopeless boy who used to\nwander around the streets in search of mischief, not to the young man\nwho was a faithful clerk in one of the finest stores in Albany, besides\nbeing a teacher in Sabbath school, and a very fair scholar in Latin\nand algebra. But Bob Turner could not be made to understand all this;\nand though he stared at the neat black suit which Edward wore, and\nopened his eyes wide when Mr. Minturn went and came in company with his\nold companion, and honoured him in many ways, he still called him\n\"Tip,\" in clear, round tones, that rang through the store a dozen times\na day. But there was nothing which Ray could not smooth over, so Edward\nthought, when one evening he flounced into the library with a very much\ndisturbed face.\n\n\"I wish that fellow knew anything,\" he said angrily.\n\n\"What is the matter now?\" Bay asked, meeting the bright, angry eyes with\na quiet smile.\n\nEdward laughed a little. \"Well, I can't help feeling vexed; Bob screeches\nthat hateful little name after me wherever I go. I despise that name, and\nI wish he could be made to understand it.\"\n\n\"How did you happen to be called Tip at first?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Edward, turning over the leaves of his dictionary, \"my little\nsister Kitty made it up before she could talk plain. How she ever got\nthat name out of Edward, I don't know; I'm sure I wish she had been\nasleep when she did it; but that's what she called me, and that's what\nI've been ever since.\"\n\n\"And did Johnny, the little boy that died, ever call you so?\"\n\nEdward's eyes began to grow soft.\n\n\"Often,\" he said gently; \"and it was about the only name he could speak;\nhe was a little fellow.\"\n\n\"Well, Edward, I should not think it would be such a very disagreeable\nname to you, when your father, who is gone, always used it, and always in\nkindness, you told me; and it is the only name by which little Johnny can\nremember you. There are two things to be thought of in this matter,\" Ray\ncontinued, after a moment, finding Edward not disposed to speak: \"one is,\nif you hope to do anything with this old companion of yours, you must be\nready to take worse things from him than a quiet, inoffensive little name\nlike that; he will learn your right name, perhaps, in time. And the other\nis--What is Bob Turner's right name, my friend?\"\n\nEdward's face flushed, his lips quivered into a little smile, then he\nlaughed outright.\n\n\"It would be ridiculous to call _him_ Robert!\" he said, still laughing.\n\"Ray, here's my exercise, if you want it now.\"\n\nAnd Ray heard no more complaints about the offending little name.\n\n\"Say, Tip, just go home with me to-night,\" Bob coaxed one evening, as\nEdward, having been detained late at the store, was leaving just as Bob\nwas closing the shutters. \"Mr. Ray's head is so bad you won't have any\nplaguy lessons to-night to hinder you. Every single fellow in the store\nbut me is going to the theatre, and I am awful lonesome up there alone.\"\n\n\"It is a wonder you are not going too,\" said Edward.\n\n\"No, it ain't. I can keep a promise once in a while, I reckon. That\nRay Minturn can do anything with a fellow, and I was fool enough to\npromise him that I wouldn't go. Come, go up home with me; do, that's a\ngood fellow!\"\n\n\"No,\" said Edward decidedly, \"I can't.\"\n\n\"Now, Tip Lewis, I think you're real mean; you don't never come to see me\nno more than if I was in Guinea. You act as if you were ashamed of me,\nand I keep my word and behave myself, too; and you're a mean,\nchicken-hearted fellow, if you're ashamed to notice me now-a-days, just\nbecause you board in a big house and dress like a dandy.\"\n\n\"Poh!\" said Edward; \"what nonsense that is! I'd look well being ashamed\nof any one that Minturn talked with. But, Bob, I can't go to-night, nor\nany other night just about this time; because I made a promise that I'd\ndo something else, at exactly half-past eight, and that nothing in the\nworld should hinder me if I could help it; and it can't be far from\nhalf-past eight now.\"\n\nBob eyed him curiously. \"Tip, you're the oddest fellow born, I do\nbelieve,\" he said at last \"Is it lessons?\"\n\n\"No, it's nothing about lessons.\"\n\n\"Couldn't I _help_ you to do it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Edward, after a thoughtful silence; \"you _could_ help me\nbetter than any one else, only you won't.\"\n\n\"Well, now,\" Bob answered earnestly, \"as sure as I'm alive, I will, if\nyou'll tell me what it is; I'll help you this very night.\"\n\n\"Do you promise?\" asked Edward.\n\n\"Yes, I do, out and out; and when I promise a thing through and through,\nwhy, _you_ know, Tip Lewis, that I do it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Edward, as he tried the door to see that all was safe before\nleaving, \"then I'll tell you. Every night, at exactly half-past eight, I\ngo to my room and ask God over and over again to make you want to be a\nChristian.\"\n\nNot a single word did Bob answer to this; he took long strides up the\nstreet by the side of Edward in the direction of Mr. Mintern's, never\nonce speaking until they had reached the door, and stood waiting to be\nlet in; then he said, \"Tip, that's mean.\"\n\n\"What is?\"\n\n\"To get a fellow to promise what he can't do.\"\n\n\"I have not. Don't you want to be a Christian?\"\n\n\"No; I can't say that I'm particular about it.\"\n\n\"But that's too silly to believe. You need a friend to help you about as\nbadly as any one I know of, and when you can have one for the asking, why\nshouldn't you want Him? Besides, I didn't say _make_ you a Christian,\nanyhow; I said make you _want_ to be one. You can pray, that _I'm_ sure;\nany way, you promised, and I trusted you.\"\n\nBob followed him through the hall, up the stairs, to his neat little\nroom, and whistled \"Hail, Columbia,\" while he lighted a match and turned\non the gas.\n\n\"My! you have things in style here, don't you?\" he said, looking around,\nwhile the bright light gleamed over the pretty carpet and shining\nfurniture.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Edward; \"everything in this house is in style. Bob, it's\nhalf-past eight.\"\n\n\"Well,\" Bob said good-naturedly, \"I'd like to know what I'm to do; this\nis new business to me, you see.\"\n\n\"I'm going to kneel down here and pray for you, and you promised to do\nthe same.\"\n\nEdward knelt at his bedside, and Bob, half laughing, followed his\nexample. But Christ must have been praying too, and putting words into\nEdward's heart to say. By and by, in spite of himself, Bob had to put up\nhis hand and dash away a tear or two. He had never heard himself prayed\nfor before.\n\nThat evening was one to be remembered by Bob Turner, for more than one\nreason. Bay sent for both of the boys to come to his room; he was sick,\nbut not too sick to see and talk with Bob whenever he could get a chance.\nHe made the half-hour spent with him so pleasant, that Bob gave an eager\nassent to the request that he would come often. More than that, he kept\nhis word; and as often as he passed Edward's door, towards nine o'clock,\nhe stepped lightly, for he knew that he was being prayed for, and there\nbegan to come into his heart a strange longing to pray for himself. One\nevening he discovered that Ray, too, prayed every night for him, and the\nvague notion grew into a certainty, that what they two were so anxious\nabout for him, he ought to desire for himself.\n\n\"Ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.\"\n\nEdward had taken this promise into his heart; he was trying to live up\nto the condition to abide in Christ, and in due season God made His\npromise sure.\n\n\"I wish,\" Bob said to Ray one evening when the weary head was full of\npain,--\"I _do_ wish I could do something for you.\"\n\n\"You can,\" Ray answered quickly,--\"something that I would like better\nthan almost anything else in the world.\"\n\n\"What is it?\" Bob's question was sincere and eager.\n\n\"Give yourself to Christ.\"\n\nBob heard this in grave, earnest silence.\n\n\"I would,\" he said after a minute, \"if I knew how.\"\n\n\"Do you mean that?\"\n\n\"Yes, I do; I'm sick of waiting, and I'm sick of myself.\"\n\n\"If I should tell you how, would you do it?\"\n\n\"Yes, I would,\" spoken evidently with honest meaning.\n\n\"Kneel down, then, here beside me, and say to God that you want to be a\nChristian; that you are willing to give yourself up to Him now and for\never, to do just as He tells you.\"\n\nBob hesitated, struggling a little, and at last knelt down. There was\nsilence in the room, while three sincere hearts were lifted up in prayer;\nand surely Christ bent low to listen. When Bob would have risen, Bay laid\none hand on his arm, and, steadying his throbbing head with the other,\nsaid solemnly,--\n\n\"Blessed Redeemer, here is a soul given up to Thee. Do Thou take it, and\nwash it in Thy precious blood, and make it fit for heaven. We ask boldly,\nbecause Thou hast promised, and we know that Thy promises are sure.\"\n\n\"Edward,\" Ray said the next evening, as they sat alone, and were silent\nfor a little, after Bob had left them, and gone home rejoicing in the\nhope of sins washed away, \"what was that verse that your minister at home\nquoted for you in his letter?\"\n\n\"I love the Lord, because He has heard my voice and my supplication,\"\nEdward repeated it with brightening eyes.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\n\"And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away.\"\n\n\nOnward sped the busy days, until at last there came an evening which made\nit exactly three years since Edward had first set foot in Albany. They\nhad been years of wonderful progress to him. He had gone on steadily with\nhis evening studies; he had been an eager pupil, and Ray had been a\nfaithful teacher. This evening he sat in the library waiting for Ray, but\nhe had a very troubled face. Once more he took Kitty's long letter out of\nhis pocket. Kitty wrote long letters once in two weeks, but it was a rare\nthing to have a postscript added by his mother. He turned to this and\nread it again; it was a very kind one. They were doing well now, so she\nwrote. Her health was very good, now that she slept quietly at night;\nand just here Edward knew there had come in a heavy sigh, because there\nwas no constant coughing to disturb her rest. She had steady work, and\ncould support Kitty and herself nicely without his help; he must keep\nwhat he earned for himself after this. \"Kitty says you want to go to\nschool,\" so the letter ran; \"if you do, save up your money for that. Your\npoor father had a notion that you would make a scholar; I think it would\nplease him if you did.\"\n\nSurely he could not wish for a kinder, more thoughtful letter than this;\ncoming from his _mother_, too! she must have changed much, as well as\nhimself. But this very letter had greatly unsettled his quiet life; the\nold longing to give himself up to study, to prepare for the ministry, had\nbroken loose, and well-nigh overwhelmed him with its power. He wanted it,\noh, so much! it had grown strong, instead of weak, during these three\nyears. But what to do, and how to do it? That was the question. Certainly\nhe was not prepared to answer it. If he stayed where he was, led his busy\nlife all day in the store, how was he ever to go through with the\nnecessary course of study, which it was high time he commenced in\nearnest? If he left them, these dear friends, who had taken him into\ntheir home and hearts, and made him feel like one of thorn, how was he to\nlive while he studied? How, indeed, could he study at all? The truth was,\nEdward, calling to mind Mr. Holbrook's lecture that last evening in the\nhome prayer-meeting, and his resolution taken then, thought that the\nstone was ahead of him no longer, but that he had walked _close_ up to\nit, and could not take another step because of it, and very large and\nimpossible to move did it look to his shortsighted eyes.\n\nJust as he was growing hopelessly moody, Lay came in, and settled himself\namong the cushions, rather wearily.\n\n\"Ray,\" said Edward anxiously, \"you are not well enough for lessons\nto-night.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Ray, smiling, however, as he spoke; \"I think I am not,\nbecause I want to talk instead. I am full of a scheme which needs your\nhelp; for once we'll let the lessons go. It is an age since I have heard\nanything concerning your plans; you have not given up your desire for the\nministry, I hope?\"\n\n\"No, Ray; I shall never give that up.\"\n\n\"I thought not; it would not be like you. That being the case, isn't it\ntime to do something definite?\"\n\n\"Time, certainly,\" Edward answered gloomily; \"but what's to do?\"\n\n\"That brings me to the unfolding of my scheme. Edward, do you know\nthat it was my lifelong desire to reach the point towards which you\nare looking?\"\n\n\"_No_,\" said Edward, with pitying interest; \"I never thought of it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" and Ray smiled sadly, \"it is so; and I hope you may never know\nhow hard it is to have to give up such a wish. I cannot say that I did\nactually give it up entirely until very lately. I gave up all study three\nyears ago, and came home to regain strength! _you_ know how well I have\nsucceeded in that.\" And Ray pressed his thin, wasting hand across his\ndamp forehead. \"It is all over now, _utterly_.\" The hand did duty now for\na moment, shading his eyes from the light. Presently he spoke more\ncheerily. \"All over for myself, but not for you; so, Edward, what I want\nto say to-night, in brief, is this: You have talents, perseverance, and\nhealth; I have money,--the four combined cannot fail to speed you in your\nwork. What say you?\"\n\n\"I--I don't understand you,\" Edward spoke, in complete bewilderment.\n\n\"Let me speak more plainly. I want you to go now, _immediately_, to some\ngood preparatory school, thence to college, thence to the seminary, and\nthe means wherewith to do these three important things shall be at your\ndisposal. Isn't that plain?\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Edward, \"I don't know what to say; I am too much astonished,\nand--and thankful.\"\n\n\"Then you will do it?\"\n\n\"Only,--Ray?\"\n\n\"Well?\"\n\n\"Isn't there a right kind of pride, about being helped in these things?\"\n\n\"There is a great deal of wrong kind of pride. Let me show you;\" and he\nsat up and spoke eagerly. \"It is right and honourable for people to help\nthemselves in this world, but very vain and foolish to refuse help which\nwould greatly aid the cause that they profess to have at heart. You see\nhow it is: God has given me money; I am ready and waiting to give it back\nto Him. I would gladly give myself to Him in the ministry; I have longed\nand prayed for this; but He has seen fit not to answer as I wished. I\nhave no strength to give; you have, and are ready to give it. Do you\nthink God would be less pleased with the offering if we united it, thus\ngiving me a chance to do something?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Edward, speaking very slowly; \"only, I had hoped to\naccomplish my plans without help from any one but God.\"\n\nRay leaned back again among the cushions, and spoke wearily,--\n\n\"That is, you prefer to be a great many years longer in preparation than\nyou need be, and have about half as much strength finally as you would\nhave, had you not overworked, rather than give me a chance to do what I\ncould, since I cannot do what I would.\"\n\n\"But, Ray, there are plenty of people to help, even if you do no more for\nme. The world is full of poor young men, struggling to get an education.\"\n\n\"Yes, that is so; and I suppose you would enjoy helping some young\nman out in Oregon, of whom you had never heard, quite as well as you\nwould me.\"\n\nEdward came quickly to the sofa where Ray was lying, and laid his hand\ntenderly over the closed eyes.\n\n\"Ray, there is nothing in the world I would not do for you.\"\n\n\"Will you let me help you into the ministry, as rapidly as money\n_can_ help?\"\n\n\"I will be glad to; it is a great, noble offer, and I thank you from my\nheart. You mustn't think that I don't; only I thought--perhaps\"\n\n\"I know,\" said Ray, for Edward had stopped doubtfully; \"I understand just\nhow you feel; but I _do_ think the feeling, in this case at least, is\nwrong; and, my dear brother, you will be glad when you know how thankful\nyou have made me.\"\n\n\"Yes; and after all you will not be doing any more for me--you\n_can't_--than you have done. I think money is very little, compared with\nthat. Ray,\" and Edward sank down among the cushions in front of him, \"I\ndo believe you are more to me than any other human being ever will be.\"\n\nRay smiled, quite as if he did not think so, but would not unsay it\nfor anything.\n\n\"It is all right,\" he said gently, after a little silence. \"I think you\nwill do so much more than I ever _could_ have done. God bless you, my\ndear brother!\"\n\nAfter that Edward went up to his room, got out his little red Bible,\nhis precious lamp, and, opening at the history of the rock-bound grave,\nread on until he came to the verse, \"And when they looked, they saw\nthat the stone was rolled away.\" Around this he made heavy marks with\nhis pencil, thinking, meantime, that the angel of the Lord was still at\nwork on earth.\n\n\"Bob,\" said Edward, stopping before Bob's counter, two days after this\nmatter was settled, \"I am going to start for home in the morning.\"\n\n\"Are you, though?\" Bob answered eagerly, stopping his work to take the\nsentence in fully. \"My! I wish I was going along, just to see what folks\nwould say.\"\n\n\"About _you_, do you mean?\" said Edward, laughing, and thinking\nwonderingly, as well as joyfully, of the change which there had been in\nBob Turner.\n\nBob had a counter too, and was no longer an errand-boy; there had very\nrarely been known such a rapid promotion in that store; but the truth\nwas, Mr. Minturn had early learned that Bob Turner was destined to be,\nnot a minister, nor a lawyer, not even a scholar, but a thorough,\nenergetic, successful merchant. He had no sooner made this discovery than\nhe determined to give the boy a chance.\n\nSo Bob had earned a name and a place in the store, and was a general\nfavourite with the other clerks, and was beginning to have customers who\nsought him out, and liked to make purchases of him. More than all, Bob\nwas an earnest Christian; his loving tenderness for, and almost worship\nof, Ray Minturn, kept him from being much led into temptation, and his\ninfluence over the younger clerks was growing to be for good. He was\ndestined to be more popular than Edward had been; for Edward had risen\ntoo rapidly, and was too much at home with the entire Minturn family, not\nto be looked upon with some degree of envy.\n\n\"Well, Tip,\"--Bob had never learned not to say Tip, and probably never\nwould, but Edward had long since forgotten to care,--\"tell every one\nat home that I'm well and happy, and never want to see one of them\nagain. I don't believe I have a friend there: anyhow, I know I don't\ndeserve to have.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\n\"Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? By taking heed thereto,\naccording to Thy word.\"\n\n\nKitty Lewis shook out the folds of her new bright pink calico dress,\nwalked to the little looking-glass, for about the tenth time, to see if\nthe dainty white ruffle around her neck was in order; then took a survey\nof the room, lest there might possibly be something else to do which\nwould improve its appearance.\n\nIt was the same little room in which Kitty had spent her childhood, from\nwhich Johnny first, and then long afterwards the husband and father, had\nbeen carried out to return no more. And yet it was not the same,--there\nwas a neat rag carpet on the floor, a Christmas gift from Mrs. Minturn;\nthe round table in the corner was covered with a bright red cloth, and\nstrewn with a few books and papers; the full white curtain was looped\naway from the window, and the light of a clear sunset glimmered in the\nroom; everything was neat and bright and cheery. The table was set for\ntea, the white cloth showing just the folds in which it was ironed; there\nwere three plates and three cups and saucers, instead of two, while\nKitty, in her restless wanderings around the room, and Mrs. Lewis, in her\nfrequent glances out of the window, both showed that somebody was being\nwatched and waited for.\n\n\"The eastern train is in,\" Kitty said finally \"Now, if he comes\nto-night, he'll be here in three minutes.\" And it could not have been\nmuch more than that when a quick, crushing step was heard on the gravel\noutside, then on the plank before the door, then the door swung open,\nand Edward Lewis walked into the little room out of which he had gone\nthree years before.\n\nKitty was all ready to spring forward, say, \"Oh, Tip!\" and throw her arms\nright around his neck. Instead, she stood still. Some way, in spite of\nthe long letters which had passed between them during these years, Kitty\nhad fully expected to see a stout, tanned boy, in a strong, coarse suit\nof grey, with thick boots and a new straw hat. Of, at least,--why, of\ncourse, she knew he must have changed some; hadn't she? But then she did\n_not_ think he would be so tall, and have a face and hands without tan or\nfreckle, or that his clothes would be so _very_ black and fine, and fit\nas though they had grown on him, or that his collar would be so white and\nglossy, or his boots so small and shiny. So Kitty stood still in\nembarrassed silence. But the mother,--oh, she saw in him the picture of\nthe dear, dead father, as he used to come to her long, long ago; the\nhusband who, through all change and poverty and pain, she had _always_\nloved! And all the tenderness that had ever been in her heart took form,\nand spoke in those words with which she came forward to greet her\nson,--\"Oh, my _dear_ boy!\"\n\nThere was happiness in the little home that night; only the bedroom door\nwas closed, and Edward knew that his father's bed was vacant.\n\nSuch a queer feeling as possessed him all the next day, while he went\naround the village! He went _every_where. He felt like walking through\nevery street, and stepping on every stone on which his feet had trod in\nthe old life, now utterly gone from him. He wandered down to the\nriver-bank, where he had lain that summer morning and envied the fishes;\nand, standing there, thanked God for the mission class in Mr. Holbrook's\nSabbath school. Thence to the cemetery, where by the side of little\nJohnny's grave the new life had been commenced. There was a long grave\nbeside the short one now; and, standing there, he thanked God for the\nhope which he had of meeting the father and the baby in heaven. Thence to\nthe great elm-tree at the foot of the hill; and, standing there, he took\nout once more the little red Bible, and turned the leaves lovingly;\nlingered over the name written by Mr. Holbrook's hand, turned again to\nthe first verse which he had ever read from its pages: \"Thy word is a\nlamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.\" Time and again had he\nproved the truth of that verse. There, under that very tree, it had\nhelped him to fight battles with Satan and come off conqueror. And he\nthanked God for the Bible. After that he went directly to the village;\njust looked in at the meat market for the sake of the old days.\n\nSomebody told Mr. Dewey who was coming, and he was just ready to say,\n\"Hallo, Tip!\" but instead, he came around from behind the counter, and,\nholding out his hand, said, \"How do you do, Lewis? Glad to see you.\"\nSomething, either in the city-made clothes or the quiet air of dignity\nwith which they were worn, made him dislike to say \"Hallo, Tip!\" to the\ntall young man before him.\n\nMr. Minturn shook him heartily by the hand. \"Never rejoiced over any\none's luck more in my life!\" he said; then, in the same breath, \"How's\nRay? Oh yes, I see how it is, poor fellow! And you love him too; of\ncourse, every one does.\"\n\nThere was still the schoolroom to visit, and as Edward went up the\nfamiliar walk he wished Bob Turner could have been with him to make this\ncall. But Bob was probably rushing like a top through the city store,\nwithout a thought of the old schoolhouse or the miserable days which he\nhad spent there.\n\nMr. Burrows himself answered the knock, and gave him a hearty greeting.\nThree years had made changes there. Edward found himself looking eagerly\ntowards the back row of seats fur the old faces,--Will, Howard, Ellis,\nand half a dozen others,--before he remembered that they had long since\nentered higher schools. The boys whom he hid left plodding through long\ndivision were filling those back seats now, and leading their classes in\nalgebra and Latin. He sat down near the blackboard to watch the progress\nof Joe Bartlett through an example in division. And behold, he was doing\nthat old never-to-be-forgotten example about the cows and sheep! He\npicked up an arithmetic eagerly.\n\n\"Mr. Burrows, do you remember that example?'\n\n\"I remember that it has puzzled some forty or more of my boys in the\ncourse of time,\" said Mr. Burrows, laughing; \"but nothing very special\nabout it.\"\n\n\"I do; it was the cause of my first promotion.\"\n\n\"Was it, indeed! I'm afraid it will never be the cause of poor Joseph's;\nit seems to be mastering him.\"\n\nMr. Burrows was engaged with a grammar class, and Edward offered to\nassist the bewildered Joseph.\n\n\"I remember those sheep of old,\" he said kindly, as he turned to the\nboard. \"Isn't it the 'stood him in' that troubles you?\"\n\n\"Yes, it is,\" Joe answered grumbly. \"I don't see no sense to it.\"\n\n\"Let me show you. Suppose\"--And he went through with the well--remembered\nexplanation. It was successful, Joe understood it, and went on briskly\nwith the figures.\n\nEdward turned towards Mr. Burrows. \"It was the way my father explained it\nto me,\" he said, with eyes that glistened a little.\n\nSome one brought Mr. Burrows a note, and, as he read and laid it down, he\nsaid, \"Now, Edward, if you had continued at school instead of running\naway from us, I should get you to hear this recitation in algebra, and\ntake leave of absence for a few minutes. There is a friend in town whom I\nwould give much to see before the next train leaves.\"\n\n\"Suppose you set me at it as it is.\"\n\nMr. Burrows looked surprised.\n\n\"Have you been studying algebra, Edward?\"\n\n\"Somewhat.\"\n\n\"How far have you been?\"\n\n\"Through.\"\n\n\"Do you feel _positive_ that you could do examples over here?\" turning to\n\"Evolution.\"\n\n\"_Entirely,\"_ Edward answered, smiling at Mr. Burrows' doubts. Ray had\nbeen a thorough teacher.\n\nSo Mr. Burrows went away, and Edward took his seat on the stage and\ncommenced the recitation. At first the boys were disposed to be wise, and\ndisplay their knowledge; when they had known him last, he was in\ndivision. But he was in algebra now, or rather through it, and they\nspeedily discovered that he seemed to have every example in the lesson\ncommitted to memory.\n\nMeantime, Mr. Burrows returned, and listened with astonishment and\ndelight.\n\n\"Thank you heartily,\" he said afterwards. \"You ought to fit yourself for\nteaching. But, Edward, you did not get through algebra alone?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Edward, flushing at the thought of Ray; \"I had the best and\nwisest teacher on earth.\"\n\nWell, he sat down in what had been his seat, and tried to imagine that it\nwas his seat still; that Bob would be in pretty soon, and plague him\nwhile he studied his spelling-lesson. But he could not do it. \"Things\nwere different,\"--very different. First and foremost, there was Ray: he\nhad not known _him_ in those days; if he had, he said to himself, things\nwould have been different long before they were.\n\nGoing back up town he met Mr. Holbrook, who turned and walked with him.\n\n\"And so,\" he said, after the long talk was concluded, \"you go next\nweek, do you?\"\n\n\"Next Tuesday, sir.\"\n\n\"Well, God bless you, my friend, as He has, and will.\" Then, after a\nminute, \"Edward, my son is a wanderer yet: do you still remember him?\"\n\n\"Always, sir,\" Edward answered, in firm, steady tones; \"and, Mr.\nHolbrook, God _never_ forgets!\"\n\nAs he went on past Mr. Minturn's store, could he have heard the remarks\nthat were made there, very likely he might have remembered a certain\nstatement which he made to the little fishes that summer morning.\n\nMr. Minturn, looking out after him, said to Mr. Dewey,--\n\n\"There goes one of the finest and most promising young men in this town.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Mr. Dewey, laughing a little; \"I used to notice that he\nimproved every day after he brought back those circus tickets.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\n\"For them shalt find it after many days.\"\n\n\n\"Come in;\" and the Rev. Edward Lewis laid down his book, pushed back\nhis study chair, and was ready to receive whoever was knocking at his\nstudy door.\n\n\"Mr. Lewis,\" said the little girl who came in in answer to his\ninvitation, \"father has just come from the post office, and he brought\nyou some letters, and here they are.\"\n\nMr. Lewis thanked his little next-door neighbour, took his letters, and,\nwhen the room was quiet again, settled back in his chair to enjoy them.\n\nThe first one was from a brother minister, begging an exchange. The next\nbrought a look of surprise and delight to his face, for he recognised\nEllis Holbrook's handwriting. And the delight spread and deepened as he\nread; especially when he came to one sentence: \"I asked father what\nmessage he had for you, and he replied, Send him this verse, and tell him\nthat again it is peculiarly his, 'I love the Lord, because He has heard\nmy voice and my supplication.'\" That, you see, would have told me the\nwhole story, without this long letter. \"I thank God that He put it into\nyour heart to pray for me, as also that He has heard your prayers. God\nbless you. By the way, father wants you to assist him on the first\nSabbath in July. I earnestly hope you can do so; he thinks you will be\ncoming east about that time.\"\n\nWas there ever a more thankful heart than was that minister's as he laid\ndown his old schoolfellow's letter? How constantly, how sometimes almost\nhopelessly, had he prayed for Ellis Holbrook! How many times had he been\nobliged to reassure himself with the promise, \"In due season we shall\nreap, if we faint not.\" And now again had God's word been verified to\nhim. He took the letter up once more, to look lovingly at that closing,\nnever before written by Ellis,--\"Your brother in Christ.\"\n\nThere was still another letter to read. That writing, too, was familiar;\nhe had received many reminders of it during the past years. He laughed as\nhe read, it sounded so like the writer:--\n\n\nALBANY, _June_--, 18--.\n\n\"DEAR TIP,--Do you have Fourth of July out your way this year? We do here\nin Albany; rather, I'm going to have one in my yard. Perhaps you remember\na Fourth of July which you took me to once, when we were ragged little\nwretches at home? I do, anyhow, and this is to be twin-brother to that\ntime. All the ugly, dingy little urchins that I know have been invited.\nWe're to have fine fireworks and fine singing and fine _eating_. My wife\nadded that last item,--thought it a great improvement. I'm not sure but\nit is; most things are that she has a hand in. Now, to come to the point\nof this letter,--you're to make the speech on that occasion. No getting\nout of it now! I planned this thing one day in the old schoolhouse. Oh,\ndid you know Mr. Burrows had given up teaching? Grown too old. Queer,\nisn't it? Don't seem as if anybody was growing old except me. At first I\nwasn't going to have my feast on the Fourth, because, you remember, it\nwas on _that_ day that our blessed Ray left us; but, talking with Mr.\nMinturn about it, he said Ray would have been delighted with it all,--and\nso he would, you know. Don't think we are going to gather in all Albany;\nit's only the younger scholars of the mission school, in which my wife\nand I are interested.\n\n\"Tell Howard and Kitty to be sure and come; they can put their visit a\nfew weeks earlier as well as not.\n\n\"Oh, by the way, if you have heard from Ellis Holbrook lately, you are\nsinging 'Glory Hallelujah' by this time!\n\n\"I am writing this in the counting-room, and am in a great hurry, though\nyou wouldn't think it. Shall expect you by the third, _certainly_.--\n\n\"Yours, etc.,\n\n\"BOB TURNER.\"\n\n\nThese letters came on Saturday evening. The next morning, in Sabbath\nschool, when the superintendent's bell rang, the minister left his class\nof mission scholars, and went up the aisle towards the altar, pausing\nfirst to speak with a bright-eyed little lady, who sat before her class\nof bright-eyed little girls.\n\n\"Kitty, where is Howard?\"\n\n\"At home, coaxing a fit of sick headache.\"\n\n\"Well, here are letters that will interest you both,--came last evening;\none contains an invitation. Tell Howard I think we must try to go. Mother\nbade me tell you she wanted to see you at the parsonage in the morning;\nshe is not out to-day.\"\n\nThen he went on. The scholars began to sit up straight, and fold their\narms; they knew they must listen if they wanted Mr. Lewis to talk to\nthem. When every eye was fixed on him, he began,--\n\n\"Children, I have a very short story to tell you to-day about myself.\nYears ago, when I was a little boy, my Sabbath school teacher told us a\nstory, one morning, which was the means of bringing me to Jesus. I have\nto thank that lady, next to God, that I am standing here to-day a\nminister of Christ. She was not our regular teacher, but was a stranger;\nI never saw her after that Sabbath. Perhaps you can imagine how I have\nlonged, since I became a man and a minister, to find that lady, and tell\nher what one hour of faithful teaching did for me. I thought it would\nhelp her, encourage her. I thought she would be likely to tell it to\nother teachers, and it would help them. But though I had it always in\nmind, and made very earnest efforts to find her, I never succeeded until\nlast week. You know, children, it is ten years since I came here to be\nyour pastor, and last week I learned that during all this time I have\nbeen living within twenty miles of the lady whom I have so long been\nseeking. And what else do you think I heard of her? Why, that two weeks\nago she died. Scholars, my first thought was a sad one, that I never\ncould thank her now. But you know I can; I expect to one of these days.\nWhy, when I get to heaven, one of the first things I shall do will be to\nseek her out and tell her about it. So, you see, she will know it, even\nif some of the watching angels up there have not told her already.\n\n\"Just here, I want to say one word to the teachers. This incident should\ncome with wonderful encouragement to your hearts, reminding you that you\nmay often speak words which spring up and bear fruit that reaches up to\nGod, though you do not know it, and _will_ not, until in heaven you take\nyour crowns, and question why there are so many stars.\n\n\"Children, next Sabbath I will tell you the story which led me to Christ;\nand all this week I am going to pray that it may have the same effect on\nsome of my scholars.\n\n\"It is time now for your verse. If any of you can find out why what I\nhave been telling you to-day made me think of this verse, you may tell me\nnext Sabbath. Now repeat,--'Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou\nshalt find it after many days.'\"","title":"Tip Lewis and His Lamp","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":49779}