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Project Gutenberg's Tip Lewis and His Lamp, by Pansy (aka Isabella Alden)
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Title: Tip Lewis and His Lamp

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</pre>

    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h1>
      TIP LEWIS AND HIS LAMP
    </h1>
    <center>
      <b>BY PANSY</b>
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <center>
      AUTHOR OF "ESTER RIED," "ESTER RIED YET SPEAKING," "MRS.
      SOLOMON SMITH LOOKING ON," "AN ENDLESS CHAIN," "FOUR GIRLS AT
      CHAUTAUQUA," ETC. ETC.
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <hr>
    <table summary="TOC" border="0" width="100%">
      <tr>
        <td>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH1">CHAPTER I.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH2">CHAPTER II.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH3">CHAPTER III.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH4">CHAPTER IV.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH5">CHAPTER V.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH6">CHAPTER VI.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH7">CHAPTER VII.</a>
          </p>
        </td>
        <td>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH8">CHAPTER VIII.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH9">CHAPTER IX.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH10">CHAPTER X.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH11">CHAPTER XI.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH12">CHAPTER XII.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH13">CHAPTER XIII.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH14">CHAPTER XIV.</a>
          </p>
        </td>
        <td>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH15">CHAPTER XV.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH16">CHAPTER XVI.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH17">CHAPTER XVII.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH19">CHAPTER XIX.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH20">CHAPTER XX.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH21">CHAPTER XXI.</a>
          </p>
        </td>
        <td>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH22">CHAPTER XXII.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH25">CHAPTER XXV.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH26">CHAPTER XXVI.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH27">CHAPTER XXVII.</a>
          </p>
          <p>
            <a href="#CH28">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a>
          </p>
        </td>
      </tr>
    </table>
    <hr>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h2>
      TIP LEWIS AND HIS LAMP.
    </h2>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH1"><!-- CH1 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Cast thy bread upon the waters."
    </h3>
    <p>
      The room was very full. Children, large and small, boys and
      girls, and some looking almost old enough to be called men
      and women, filled the seats. The scholars had just finished
      singing their best-loved hymn, "Happy Land;" and the
      superintendent was walking up and down the room, spying out
      classes here and there which were without teachers, and
      supplying them from the visitors' seat, which was up by the
      desk.
    </p>
    <p>
      The long seat near the door was filled this morning by half a
      dozen dirty, ragged, barefooted boys; their teacher's seat
      was vacant, and those boys looked, every one, as though they
      had come thither just to have a grand frolic.
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh, such bright, cunning, wicked faces as they had!
    </p>
    <p>
      Their torn pants and jackets, their matted hair, even the
      very twinkle in their eyes, showed that they were the
      "Mission Class."
    </p>
    <p>
      That is, the class which somebody had gathered from the
      little black, comfortless-looking houses which thronged a
      narrow back street of that village, and coaxed to come to the
      Sabbath school,&mdash;to this large, light, pleasant room,
      where the sun shone in upon little girls in white dresses,
      with blue and pink ribbons fluttering from their shoulders;
      and upon little boys, whose snowy linen collars and dainty
      knots of black ribbon had evidently been arranged by careful
      hands that very morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      But those boys in the corner kicked their bare heels
      together, pulled each other's hair, or laughed in each
      other's faces in the greatest good humour.
    </p>
    <p>
      The superintendent stopped before them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, boys, good morning; glad to see you all here. Where's
      your teacher?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hain't got none!" answered one,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gone to Guinea!" said another.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She was afraid of us," explained a third. "Tip, here, put
      his foot through one of her lace flounces last Sunday. Tip's
      the worst boy we've got, anyhow."
    </p>
    <p>
      The boys all seemed to think this was very funny, for they
      laughed so loudly that the little girls at their right looked
      over to see what was the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip ran his fingers through his uncombed hair, and laughed
      with the rest.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said the superintendent, "I'm going to get you a
      teacher,&mdash;one you will like, I guess. I shall expect you
      to treat her well."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was just one person left on the visitors' seat,&mdash;a
      young lady who looked shy and quiet.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Mr. Parker," she said, when the superintendent told her
      what he wanted, "I can't take that class; I've watched those
      boys ever since they came in,&mdash;they look mischievous
      enough for anything, and act as they look."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then shall we leave them with nothing but mischief to take
      up their attention?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, but&mdash;they really ought to have a better teacher
      than I,&mdash;some one who knows how to interest them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, Miss Perry, the choice lies between you and no one."
    </p>
    <p>
      And, while she still hesitated and looked distressed, Mr.
      Parker bent forward a little, and said softly,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these My
      brethren, ye did it not to Me.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      The lady rose quickly, and gathered her mantle about her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will go, Mr. Parker," she said, speaking quickly, as if
      afraid her courage would fail her. "Since there is no one
      else, I will do the best I can; but oh, I am afraid!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Down the long room, past the rows of neatly-dressed,
      attentive children, Mr. Parker led her to the seat near the
      door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, boys," said he, "this is Miss Perry. Suppose you see if
      you can't all be gentlemen, and treat her well."
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Perry sat down in the teacher's chair, her heart all in
      a flutter. She taught a class in her own Sabbath school
      hundreds of miles away,&mdash;five rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed
      little girls gathered around her every Sabbath; but they were
      little girls whose mothers had taught them to love their
      lessons, to listen respectfully to what their teacher said,
      to bow their heads reverently in prayer; and more than that,
      they loved her, and she loved them. But these boys! Still she
      must say something: six pairs of bright, roguish eyes,
      brimful of fire and fun, were bent on her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Boys," she said gently, "have you any lessons for me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not much," answered Bob Turner, who always spoke first.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We don't get lessons mostly. Don't come unless it's too hot
      to go fishing or berrying."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tip comes 'cause he's too lazy to go past the door,"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't!" drawled out the boy they called Tip; "I come to
      get out of the sun; it's hotter than sixty down home."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never mind, boys," said their frightened teacher; for they
      were all laughing now, as though the funniest thing in the
      world had happened. "See here, since you have no lessons,
      shall I tell you a story?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh yes, they were willing enough to hear a story, if it
      wasn't stupid.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll tell you something that happened to a boy when he was
      about thirteen years old. His name is Robert; he told me this
      story himself, so you may be sure it's true.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He said one evening he was walking slowly down the main
      street of the village where he lived"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where was that?" asked Bob Turner.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, it was away out west. He said he felt cross and unhappy;
      he had nowhere in particular to go, and nothing to do. As he
      walked, he came to a turn where two roads met. 'Now,' thought
      he, 'shall I turn to the left and go home, and hang around
      until bed-time, or shall I turn to the right and go down to
      the river awhile?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "You see, Robert hadn't a happy home,&mdash;his mother was
      dead, and his father was a drunkard.
    </p>
    <p>
      "While he stood thinking, a boy came around the other corner,
      and called out,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Going home, Rob?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Don't know,' said Robert; 'I can't make up my mind.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Suppose you come on down to our house, and we'll have a
      game of ball?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Still Robert waited. He was fond of playing ball,&mdash;that
      was certain,&mdash;and he liked company better than to walk
      alone; why he should think of wandering off down to the river
      by himself he was sure he didn't know. Still something seemed
      to keep saying to him, 'Go this way&mdash;turn to the right;
      come, go to the river, 'until he said at last,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No; I guess I'll take a walk this way first.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "And he turned the corner, then he was but a few steps from
      the river."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What came of the other fellow?" asked Bob.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, some more boys came up just then, and he walked along
      with them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was a large elm-tree on the river bank, and there was
      one particular spot under it that Robert called his seat; but
      he found a gentleman seated there this time; he had a book in
      his hand, partly closed, and he was leaning back against a
      tree, watching the sunset.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He looked around as he heard Robert's step, and said, 'Good
      evening; will you have a seat?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "He moved along, and Robert sat down on the grass near him;
      then he said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I heard a boy call out to another just now, "Going home,
      Robert?" Are you the boy?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No,' said Robert; 'Hal Carter screamed that out to me just
      as he came round the corner.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Oh, you are the one he was talking to. Well, I'll ask you
      the same question. <i>Are</i> you going home?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No,' said Robert again; 'I have just walked straight away
      from home.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Yes; but are you going up <i>there</i>?' And the gentleman
      pointed up to the blue sky. 'That's the home I mean; I've
      just been reading about it; this river made me think of it.
      Where it says, you know, "And he showed me a pure river of
      water, clear as crystal." Then it goes on to describe the
      city with its "gates of pearl" and "streets of gold," the
      robes and crowns that the people wear, the harps on which
      they play, and, after this warm day, I couldn't help thinking
      that one of the pleasantest things about this home was the
      promise, "Neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat."
      Aren't you going to that home, my boy?'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'I don't know,' Robert said, feeling very much astonished."
    </p>
    <p>
      At this point the superintendent's bell rang, and Miss Perry
      had to hasten her story.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I haven't time, boys, to tell you all the gentleman said,
      but, after that talk, Robert began to think about these
      things a great deal, and pretty soon he learned to read the
      Bible and to pray. That was more than fifty years ago. He is
      an old minister now; I have heard him preach a great many
      times; and he told me once he should always believe God put
      it into his heart to turn to the right that evening, instead
      of the left."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh!" exclaimed Tip, just here; and Miss Perry stopped.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Joe pinched me," said Tip, to explain his part of the noise.
    </p>
    <p>
      But their teacher felt very badly; they had not listened to
      her story as though they cared to hear it; they had slid up
      and down the seat, pulled and pinched and pricked each other,
      and done a great many mischievous things since she commenced;
      and yet now and then they seemed to hear a few words; so she
      kept on, because she did not know what else to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Mr. Parker," she said, when the school was dismissed,
      and her noisy class had scrambled, some through the window
      and some through the door, "some man who understands boys
      ought to have had that class; I haven't done them any good,
      but I tried;" and there were tears in her eyes as she spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You did what you could," said the superintendent kindly;
      "none of us can do more."
    </p>
    <p>
      Some loving voice ought to have whispered in that teacher's
      ear, "He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed,
      shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his
      sheaves with him."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH2"><!-- CH2 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Tip Lewis yawned and stretched, and finally opened his eyes
      rather late on Monday morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, bother!" he said, with another yawn, when he saw how the
      sun was pouring into the room; "I suppose a fellow has got to
      get up. I wish getting up wasn't such hard work,&mdash;spoils
      all the fun of going to bed; but then the old cat will be to
      pay, if I don't get around soon."
    </p>
    <p>
      And with this he rolled out; and when he was dressed, which
      was in a very few minutes after he tumbled out of his ragged
      bed, he was the self-same Tip who had been at the bottom of
      most of the mischief in Miss Perry's class the day
      before,&mdash;the very same, from the curly hair, not yet
      combed nor likely to be, down to the bare, soiled feet.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bed which he had just left, so far as neatness was
      concerned, looked very much like Tip, and the room looked
      like the bed; and they all looked about as badly as dust and
      rags and poverty could make them look.
    </p>
    <p>
      After running his fingers through his hair, by way of
      finishing his toilet, Tip made his way down the rickety
      stairs to the kitchen.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed as though that kitchen was just calculated to make
      a boy feel cross. The table stood against the wall on its
      three legs, the tablecloth was daubed with molasses and
      stained with gravy; a plate, with something in it which
      looked like melted lard, but which Tip's mother called
      butter, and a half loaf of bread, were the only eatable
      articles as yet on the table; and around these the flies had
      gathered in such numbers, that it almost seemed as though
      they might carry the loaf away entirely, if too many of them
      didn't drown themselves in the butter. Over all the July sun
      poured in its rays from the eastern window, the only one in
      the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip stumbled over his father's boots, and made his way to the
      stove, where his mother was bending over a spider of sizzling
      pork.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," she said, as he came near, "did you get up for all
      day? I'd be ashamed&mdash;great boy like you&mdash;to lie in
      bed till this time of day, and let your mother split wood and
      bring water to cook your breakfast with."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You cooked, a little for you, too, didn't you?" asked Tip,
      in a saucy, good-natured tone. "Where's father?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Just where you have been all day so far,&mdash;in bed and
      asleep. Such folks as I've got! I'm sick of living."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Mrs. Lewis stepped back from the steaming tea-kettle, and
      wiped great beads of perspiration from her forehead; then
      fanned herself with her big apron, looking meantime very
      tired and cross.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet Tip's mother was not so cross after all as she seemed;
      had Tip only known it, her heart was very heavy that morning.
      She did not blame his father for his morning nap, not a bit
      of it; she was only glad that the weary frame could rest a
      little after a night of pain. She had been up since the first
      grey dawn of morning, bathing his head, straightening the
      tangled bedclothes, walking the floor with the restless baby,
      in order that her husband might have quiet. Oh no; there were
      worse women in the world than Mrs. Lewis; but this morning
      her life looked very wretched to her. She thought of her
      idle, mischievous boy; of her naughty, high-tempered little
      girl; of her fat, healthy baby, who took so much of her time;
      of her husband, who, though she never said it to him, or even
      to herself, yet she knew and felt was every day growing
      weaker; and with these came the remembrance that her own
      tired hands were all that lay between them and want; and it
      is hardly a wonder that her voice was sharp and her words ill
      chosen. For this mother tried to bear all her trials alone;
      she never went for help to the Redeemer, who said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wah!" said Johnny, from his cradle in the bit of a bedroom
      near the kitchen,&mdash;which kitchen was all the room they
      had, save two tiny bedrooms and Tip's little den up-stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Lewis glanced quickly towards the door of her husband's
      room; it was closed. Then she called,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty, make that baby go to sleep!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh yes!" muttered Kitty, who sat on the floor lacing her old
      shoe with a white cord; "it's easy to say that, but I'd just
      like to see you do it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah yah!" answered Johnny from the cradle, as though he tried
      to say, "So should I."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, not being noticed, he gave up pretending to cry, and
      screamed in good earnest, loud, positive yells, which brought
      his mother in haste from the kitchen.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ugly girl!" she said to Kitty, as she lifted the conquering
      hero from his cradle; "you don't care how soon your father is
      waked out of the only nap he has had all night. Why didn't
      you rock the cradle? I've a notion to whip you this minute!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I did," answered Kitty sulkily; "and he opened his eyes at
      me as wide as he could stretch them."
    </p>
    <p>
      Crash! went something at that moment in the kitchen; and,
      with Johnny in her arms, Mrs. Lewis ran back to see what new
      trouble she had to meet. Tip, meantime, had been in business;
      being hungry, he had cut a slice of bread from the loaf, and,
      in the act of reaching over to help himself to some butter,
      hit his arm against a pitcher of water standing on the corner
      of the table. Over it went and broke, just as pitchers will
      whenever they get a chance. This was too much for the tired
      mother's patience; what little she had vanished. She tossed
      the slice of bread at Tip, and as she did so, said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "There! take that and be off. Don't let me see a sight of
      your face again to-day. March this instant, or you will wish
      you had!"
    </p>
    <p>
      And in the midst of the din, while his mother looked after
      the pork, which had seized this occasion for burning fast to
      the spider, Tip managed to spread his slice of bread, find
      his hat, and make good his escape from the comfortless home.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was an hour yet to school-time; or, for the matter of
      that, he might have the whole day. Tip went to school, or let
      it alone, just as he pleased. He made his way straight to his
      favourite spot, the broad, deep pond, and laid himself down
      on its grassy bank to chat with the fishes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My!" he said; "how nice they look whisking about. It's cool
      down there, I know; they don't mind the sun. I wish I had my
      fish-pole here, I'd have one of them shiny big fellows there
      for my dinner; only it's too hot to fish, and it would seem
      kind of mean, besides, to get him up here in this blazing
      sun. Hang me if I make even a fish get out of the water
      to-day, when it can stay in!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Of all the scholars in Miss Perry's class, the one who she
      would have said paid the least attention was this same boy
      who was lying on his face by the pond, envying the fishes.
      Yet Tip had heard nearly every word she said; and now, as he
      looked into the water, which lay cool in the shade of some
      broad, branching trees, there came into his heart the music
      of those words again,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I declare," he said, as the meaning of those words dawned
      upon him, "I'd like that! they'll never be too warm again. It
      was a pretty nice story she told us about that boy. He
      couldn't have had a very good time; his father was a
      drunkard. I wish I knew just about what kind of a fellow he
      was; he turned right square round after that man talked to
      him. Now he is a minister; I suppose lots of people like him.
      It must be kind of nice, the whole of it. I would like to be
      somebody, as true as I live, I would. I'd like to have the
      people say, 'There goes Tip Lewis; he's the best boy in
      town.' Bless me! that would be funny; I don't believe they
      could ever say it; they are so used to calling me the worst,
      they couldn't help it. What if I should reform? I declare I
      don't know but I will."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Tip rolled over on his back, and looked up into the blue,
      cloudless sky; lying there, he certainly had some of the most
      sober thoughts, perhaps the only really sober ones he had
      ever known in his life. And when at last he slowly picked
      himself up, turned his back upon the darting fishes, and
      walked towards the school-house, he had in his mind some
      vague notion that perhaps he would be different from that
      time forth. Just what he was going to do, or how to commence
      doing it, he didn't know; but the story, to which he had
      seemed not to listen at all, had crept into his heart, had
      commenced its work; very dimly was it working, very blindly
      he might grope for a while, but the seed sown had taken root.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH3"><!-- CH3 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these My
      brethren, ye did it unto Me."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Around the corner, and far up the street from where Tip Lewis
      lived, there stood a large white house; not another house in
      the village was so beautiful as this. Many a time had Tip
      walked slowly by the place, and cast the most admiring
      glances on the broad green lawns and bubbling fountain, of
      which he caught; glimpses from the road. Often he had stood
      outside, at the great gate, and fairly <i>longed</i> for a
      nearer view of that same fountain; for the truth was, though
      he was such a rough, mischief-making,&mdash;yes, a
      <i>wicked</i> boy, down in his heart he had a great love for
      beautiful things.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this Fourth of July morning, Tip was up and abroad very
      early. He held a horse, which had been so frightened by
      fire-crackers that it wouldn't stand still a minute, and the
      owner of it gave him ten cents, with which he immediately
      bought fire-crackers for himself, and frightened the very
      next horse he saw. When the great cannon on the hill was
      fired, he got in the way, just as much as he knew how, which
      was a great deal; he contrived to be around when the largest
      bell was rung, and add his voice to the uproar among the boys
      who were gathered around the church doors; indeed, wherever
      there was commotion or confusion, Tip managed very soon to
      be, and to do his part towards making the most of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      About ten o'clock he had lived out the most of his pleasures,
      having been on hand since a little after three. He had no
      more money to spend, saw no chance of getting any more; he
      had had no breakfast, and was very much in doubt as to
      whether he would get any, if he took the trouble to go home;
      he had some way lost track of all his companions; and,
      altogether, he was beginning to feel as if the Fourth of July
      were a humbug. He felt ill-used, angry; it seemed to him that
      he was being cheated out of a good time that he expected to
      have. He sat down on the edge of an old sugar-barrel and
      thought about it a while; then finally, with his hands in his
      pockets, and whistling "Yankee Doodle" in honour of the day,
      he sauntered along the street in search of something to take
      up his time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hurrying towards him, with hands not in his pockets, but full
      of packages, came Mr. Mintum, the owner of the grand white
      house on the hill.
    </p>
    <p>
      To Tip's surprise, the gentleman halted suddenly before him,
      and, eyeing him closely, asked, "Whose boy are you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "John Lewis's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where do you live?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "T'other side of the pond, by the mill."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, your father is the carpenter, I suppose,&mdash;I know
      him. What's your name?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tip."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tip! What kind of a name is that? is it all the one you
      own?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Tip, "I suppose my name was Edward when I was a
      little shaver; but nobody knows it now; I don't myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Tip, then, I'll call you that, for I want you to know
      yourself to-night. What are you going to do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "When? to-night? Oh, hang around, I s'pose,&mdash;have some
      fun, if I can find any."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fun. Is that what you're after? You come up to my house
      to-night at dark, and see if you can find it there. We are
      going to have fireworks, and songs, and all the fun we can."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip was not by any means a bashful boy, and it took a great
      deal to astonish him; but this sudden invitation almost took
      his breath away. The idea that Mr. Minturn had actually
      invited <i>him</i>, Tip Lewis, to come to the white
      house!&mdash;to come near to that wonderful fountain, near
      enough perhaps to feel the dash of its spray! He could have
      danced for joy; yet, when Mr. Minturn said, "Well, will you
      come?" for the first time in his life he was known to stammer
      and hesitate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I&mdash;I don't&mdash;know. I haven't got any clothes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Clothes!" repeated Mr. Minturn; "what do you call those
      things which you have on?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I call 'em <i>rags</i>, sir," answered Tip, his
      embarrassment gone, and the mischief twinkling back into his
      face again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Minturn laughed, and looked down on the torn jacket and
      pants.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a bad name," he said at last. "But you've got water at
      your house, haven't you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lots of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then put your head into a tub of it, and a clean face up to
      my house to-night, and we'll try and find that fun you're
      looking for."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Mr. Minturn, who had spent a great deal of time for him,
      was passing on. "See here!" he called, after he had moved
      forward a few steps; "if you see any boy raggeder than you
      are yourself, bring him along,&mdash;bring every boy and girl
      you meet who haven't anywhere else to go."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ho!" said Tip, as soon as the gentleman was at safe
      distance; "if this isn't rich, then I don't
      know,&mdash;fireworks in that great yard, pretty near the
      fountain maybe, and lots of fun. We can take anybody we like.
      I know what I'll do. I'll hunt up Bob Turner; his jacket has
      got enough sight more holes in it than mine has. Oh, ho!
      ain't it grand, though?" And Tip clapped his hands and
      whistled, and at last, finding that didn't express his
      feeling, said, "Hurrah!" in a good strong tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yes, hurrah! Tip is right; it is glorious to think that one
      man out of his abundance is going to open his heart, and
      gather in God's poor, and, for one evening at least, make
      them happy.
    </p>
    <p>
      God bless Mr. Minturn!
    </p>
    <p>
      Never had the good man's grounds entertained such a group as,
      from all quarters of the large town, gathered before it was
      quite dark.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ragged boys and girls! If those were what be wanted, he had
      them, sure enough, of almost every age and size. There were
      some not so ragged,&mdash;some in dainty white dresses and
      shining jackets; but they went down and mingled with the
      others,&mdash;brothers and sisters for that night at
      least,&mdash;and were all, oh, <i>so</i> happy!
    </p>
    <p>
      How they <i>did</i> dance and laugh and scream around that
      fountain, and snap torpedoes and fire-crackers, and shout
      with wild delight when the rockets shot up into the sky, or
      the burning wheels span round and round, scattering showers
      of real fire right in among the crowds of children!
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, the evening hasted away; the very last rocket took its
      bright, rushing way up into the blue sky; and Mr. Minturn
      gathered his company around the piazza with the words,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, children, Mr. Holbrook has a few words to say to you,
      and after that, as soon as we have sung a hymn, it will be
      time to go home."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Holbrook was the minister; many of the children knew him
      well, and most of them were ready to hear what he had to say,
      because they knew, by experience, that he was old enough and
      wise enough not to make a long, dry speech after nine o'clock
      on the Fourth of July.
    </p>
    <p>
      Only Tip, as he turned longingly away from the last dying
      spark of the rocket, muttered, "Bother the preaching!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Holbrook came forward to the steps, as the boys and girls
      gathered around him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Children," said he, "we have had a good time, haven't we?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir!" came in a loud chorus from many voices.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; I thought you acted as though you felt pretty happy.
      Now this has been a busy day, and we are all tired, so I'm
      not going to keep you here to make a speech to you; I just
      want to tell you, in as few words as I can, what I have been
      thinking about since I stood here to-night. I have watched
      you as you frolicked around that fountain,&mdash;so many
      young, bright faces, all looking so happy,&mdash;and I said
      to myself, When the time comes for us to gather around that
      fountain of living water which is before the throne of God, I
      wonder if <i>one</i> of these boys and girls will be
      missing&mdash;<i>one</i> of them? Oh, children, I pray God
      that you may <i>all</i> be there, <i>every</i> one."
    </p>
    <p>
      Just a little speech it was,&mdash;so little that the
      youngest there might almost remember the whole of
      it,&mdash;yet it meant <i>so</i> much.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip Lewis had wedged his way in among the boys until he stood
      very near the minister, and his face wore a sober, thoughtful
      look. It was only two days since his long talk with himself
      at the pond. Fourth of July, with all the merrymaking and
      mischief that it brought to him, had nearly driven sober
      thoughts from his mind, but the minister's solemn words
      brought back the memory of his half-formed resolves, and
      again he said to himself he believed he would reform; this
      time he added that if he knew about <i>how</i> to do it, he
      would begin right away. He felt it more than ever when the
      sweet voices of many children floated out on the evening air,
      as they sang,&mdash;
    </p>
    <pre>
  "I have read of a world of beauty,
    Where there is no gloomy night,
  Where love is the mainspring of duty,
    And God is the fountain of light.
  I have read of the flowing river
    That bursts from beneath the throne,
  And beautiful flowers that ever
    Are found on its banks alone.
  I long&mdash;I long&mdash;I long to be there!"
</pre>
    <p>
      If somebody had only known Tip's thoughts as he stood there
      listening to the beautiful Sabbath school hymn! If somebody
      had only bent down to him, and whispered a few words, just to
      set his poor wandering feet into the narrow way, how blessed
      it would have been: but nobody did.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ah, never mind! God knew, and took care of him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH4"><!-- CH4 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "They that seek Me shall find Me."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Mrs. Lewis's room was in order for once; swept, and even
      dusted; the cook-stove cooled off, and the green paper
      curtain at the window let down, to shut out the noise and
      dust; it was quiet there too.
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty stood in the open door, her face and hands clean, hair
      combed, and dress mended; stood quite still, and with a sober
      face, unmindful, for once, that there were butterflies to
      chase and flies to kill all around her. In the only
      comfortable seat in the room, a large old-fashioned
      arm-chair, sat the worn, wasted frame of Kitty's father.
      There was a look of hopeless sadness settled on his face.
      Neither Tip nor his mother were to be seen. One or two women
      were moving through the house, with quiet steps, bringing in
      chairs and doing little thoughtful things in and about that
      wonderfully orderly room.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the table was that which told the whole story of this
      unusual stillness and preparation. It was a pine coffin, very
      small and plain; and in it, with folded hands and brown hair
      rolled smoothly back from his baby forehead, little Johnny
      lay, asleep. Somebody, with a touch of tenderness, had placed
      a just budding rose in the tiny white hand, and baby looked
      very sweet and beautiful in his narrow bed. Poor little
      Johnny! his had been a sad, neglected babyhood; many weary
      hours had he spent in his cradle, receiving only cross looks
      from Kitty, and neglected by the mother, who, though she
      loved Johnny, and even because she loved him, must leave him
      to work for her daily bread. But it was all over now:
      Johnny's cries would never disturb them again; Johnny's weary
      little body rested quietly in its coffin; Johnny's precious
      self was gathered in the Saviour's arms.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip came out of the bedroom, and softly approached the
      coffin; his hair, too, was partly combed, and some attempt
      had been made to put his ragged clothes in order. His heart
      swelled, and the tears gathered in his eyes, as they rested
      on the baby.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip loved his little brother, and though he had not had much
      to do with him, yet he had this much to comfort
      him,&mdash;Johnny had received only kindness and good-natured
      words from him, which was more than Kitty could say. As she
      stood there in the door, it seemed to her that every time she
      had ever said cross, naughty words to the poor baby, or
      turned away from his pitiful cry for comfort, or shook his
      little helpless self, came back to her now,&mdash;stood all
      around his coffin, and looked straight at her. Poor Kitty
      thought if he could <i>only</i> come back to them for a
      little while, she would hold him in her arms all night,
      without a murmur.
    </p>
    <p>
      People began to come in now from the lowly houses about them,
      and fill the empty chairs. Mrs. Lewis came out from the
      bedroom, and sat down beside the arm-chair, thankful that her
      tear-stained face and swollen eyes were hidden, by the thick
      black veil which some thoughtful neighbour had sent for her
      use.
    </p>
    <p>
      In a few minutes a dozen or more people had filled up the
      vacant spaces in the little room, and Mr. Holbrook arose from
      his seat at the coffin's head.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip turned quickly at the first sound of his voice, and
      listened eagerly while he read from the book in his hand,
      "And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God,"
      listening until the closing sentence was read, "And there
      shall be no more death; neither sorrow, nor crying, neither
      shall there be any more pain, for the former things are
      passed away."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip had never paid such close attention to anything in his
      life as he did to Mr. Holbrook's words; after that they were
      very simple and plain spoken, so that a child might
      understand them, and were about heaven, that beautiful city
      of which Tip had heard and thought more during the last three
      weeks than he ever had in his life before. His heart had been
      in a constant Struggle with Satan, ever since that morning in
      the Sabbath school. He didn't know enough to understand that
      it was Satan's evil voice which was constantly persuading him
      that he could not be anybody, that-he was only a poor,
      miserable, ragged boy, with nobody to help him, nobody to
      show him what to do; that he might as well not try to be
      anything but what he was; and he didn't know either that the
      other voice in his heart which struggled with the evil
      counsel, which said to him, "Other boys as poor and ignorant
      as you are have reformed; that Robert did about whom the
      teacher told you; and then, if you don't, you will never see
      that river nor the fountain, nor the streets of gold," was
      the dear, loving voice of his Redeemer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, as he listened to Mr. Holbrook, and heard how Johnny,
      little Johnny whom he loved, had surely gone up there to be
      with Christ for ever, and how Jesus, looking down on the
      father and mother, and the children who were left, said to
      them, "I want you, too, to give Me your hearts, so that when
      I gather My jewels I may come for you." The weak, struggling
      resolves in his heart grew strong, and he said within
      himself, while the tears fell slowly down his cheeks, "I
      will; I'll begin to-day."
    </p>
    <p>
      The coffin-lid was screwed down, and Johnny's baby-face shut
      out from them for ever. A man came forward and took the light
      burden in his arms, and bore it out to the waggon; down the
      narrow street they drove, to the burial-ground, which was not
      far away. They laid Johnny down to sleep under the shade of a
      large old tree; and the grass waved softly, and the birds
      sang low, and the angels surely sang in heaven, because
      another little form was numbered among the thousands of
      children who stand "around the Throne."
    </p>
    <p>
      The people moved slowly from the grave,&mdash;all but Tip; he
      didn't want to leave Johnny; he wanted to follow him, and he
      didn't know how. Mr. Holbrook glanced back at the boy
      standing there alone, paused a moment, then, turning back,
      laid his hand gently on Tip's shoulder.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You can go up there too, my boy, if you will," he said, in a
      low, kind tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip looked up quickly, then down again; he wanted to ask
      how&mdash;what he should do; but his voice choked, he could
      not speak a word; and with the earnest sentence, "God bless
      you, my little friend, and lead you to Himself," Mr. Holbrook
      turned and left him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip wandered away into the woods for a little. When he
      returned the earth was heaped up fresh and black over the new
      mound, and Johnny was left underneath it all alone. Tip
      walked around it slowly, trying to take in the thought that
      the baby was lying there; that they should never see him
      again; trying, a moment after, to take in the thought that he
      was not there at all, but had gone up to the beautiful world
      which the hymn told about; then he thought of the chorus, and
      almost felt it.&mdash;"I long, I long, I long to be there."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip had heard people pray; he had been to Sabbath school
      often enough to catch and remember most of the words of the
      Lord's Prayer; he knew enough of God to understand that He
      could hear prayer, and that His help must be asked if one
      wanted to get to heaven. He hesitated a moment, glanced half
      fearfully around him,&mdash;no one was there, no one but
      himself, and Johnny, lying low at his feet, and God looking
      down upon him. Presently he knelt down before the little
      grave, and began,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy
      kingdom come"&mdash;Then he stopped. Tip was in earnest now;
      he did not understand that prayer: he felt as though he was
      not saying what he meant. He commenced again,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Jesus, I want"&mdash;Then he waited a minute. What did
      he want? "I want to be different; I'm a wicked boy. I want to
      go where Johnny is when I die. Do show me how!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Did Jesus ever fail to hear such a prayer as
      that,&mdash;simple, earnest, every word of it <i>felt?
      Never</i>&mdash;and He never will.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip rose up from that spot feeling that something was
      different. Ay, and always would be different; the Saviour had
      reached down and taken hold of the young seeker's hand, and
      would for ever after lead him up toward God.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH5"><!-- CH5 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Thy word is a lamp to my feet."
    </h3>
    <p>
      The Sabbath morning sun awoke Tip from a heavy sleep. He lay
      still a few moments, thinking who he was. Things were
      different: he was not simply Tip Lewis, a ragged little
      street boy, any longer; this was the morning when he was
      going to start out under a new motto, with Jesus for his
      guide.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was going to Sabbath school. He had not been since the
      morning that Miss Perry had taught the class, and told the
      story which was to be a blessing to him through all his
      future life. His evil spirit had been strong upon him during
      the three Sabbath mornings that had passed since then, and
      persuaded him to stay away from the school, but this morning
      he was resolved to go. He had a secret hope that he should
      see Miss Perry again, for he did not know that she was
      hundreds of miles away from that village, and would probably
      never be there again; all he knew was, that a gentleman had
      brought her to the door, and introduced her to the
      superintendent as Miss Perry; that much he heard as he sat
      gazing at them.
    </p>
    <p>
      This morning he judged by the sun that it was pretty late,
      yet he didn't get on very fast with the business of dressing:
      he sat down on the foot of the bed, and looked sorrowfully at
      his jacket; he even turned it inside out to see if it
      wouldn't improve its appearance, but he shook his head, and
      speedily turned it back again.
    </p>
    <p>
      If he "only had a collar," he said to himself,&mdash;"a
      smooth white collar, to turn down over the worn-out
      edges,&mdash;it would make things look <i>so</i> much
      better." But that was something he had never had in his life,
      and he put on the old ragged brown jacket with a sigh. Then
      he put on his shoes, and took them off again: the question
      was, which looked the best,&mdash;shoes which showed every
      one of his toes peeping out on the top, or no shoes at all?
      Suddenly a bright idea struck him: if his feet were only
      white and clean, he thought they would certainly look much
      better. Down he went to the rickety pump in the back yard,
      and face, hands, and feet took such a washing as they had
      never received before; then the old comb had to do duty. Tip
      had never had such a time getting dressed; but, some way, he
      felt a great longing this morning to make himself look
      neatly; he had a feeling that it was ever so much more
      respectable to be neat and clean than it was to go looking as
      he had always done. Still, to carry a freshly-washed face and
      hands and smooth hair was the very best he could do; and, if
      he had but known it, these things made a great improvement.
    </p>
    <p>
      He made his way half shyly into the mission seat, for the
      truth was he did not know just how the boys would receive his
      attempt at respectability; but he had no trouble, for several
      of his companions had seen his face when he took his last
      look into that little coffin the day before, and they felt
      sorry for him.
    </p>
    <p>
      No Miss Perry appeared; and it seemed, at first, that the
      mission boys were to have no teacher. It was a warm morning,
      and the visitors' seat was vacant.
    </p>
    <p>
      But there was at last a great nudging of elbows, and whispers
      of "Look out now!" "We're in a scrape!" "No chance for fun
      today!" And only Tip's eyes looked glad when Holbrook halted
      before their class, with "Good morning, boys." Then, "Good
      morning Edward; I am glad to see you here to-day;" and the
      minister actually held out his hand to Tip. Mr. Holbrook
      never called him Tip; he had asked him one morning what his
      real name was, and since then had spoken it, "Edward," in
      clear, plain tones.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a restless, wearying class. It required all Mr.
      Holbrook's wits and wisdom to keep them in any sort of order,
      to gain any part of their attention. Yet it was not as bad as
      usual; partly because the minister knew how, if anybody did,
      to teach just such boys, and partly because Tip, hitherto the
      spirit of all the mischief there, never took his eyes from
      the teacher's face. Mr. Holbrook watched his close attention,
      and took courage. When the other scholars passed out, he laid
      his hand on Tip's arm, with the words, "You have been a good
      listener to-day, Edward, Did you understand the story I told,
      of the boy who started on a journey to the Holy Land?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Some of it I did: you meant that he started for heaven."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You understand it, I see. Don't you want to take that
      journey?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I mean to, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Help Thou mine unbelief,'" was Mr. Holbrook's prayer just
      then. He had hoped for, longed for, prayed for these boys,
      especially for this one since the day before; yet he was
      astonished when he received the firm, prompt answer, "I mean
      to, sir,"&mdash;astonished, as too many are, that his prayer
      was heard.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you started, my boy?" he asked, speaking with a little
      tremble in his voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir, I've tried; I told God last night that I would,
      but I don't much know how."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You want a lamp, don't you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A what, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A lamp. You remember in the story the boy found dark places
      every little way; then he took out his lamp, so he couldn't
      lose the road. Don't you need it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I want some help, but I don't know as a lamp would do me any
      good."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah yes; the one I mean will surely help you, if you give it
      a chance." Mr. Holbrook took from his pocket a small,
      red-covered book, and held it up. "Do you know what book this
      is?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a Bible, ain't it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes. Have you ever read in the Bible?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Some, at school."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know, then, that God told men just what to say, and they
      wrote it here, so you see that makes it God's words; that is
      what we call it sometimes,&mdash;the Word of God. Now, let me
      show you something." He turned the leaves rapidly, then
      pointed with his finger to a verse; and Tip read, "Thy word
      is a lamp to my feet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh," he said, with a bright look, "that is the kind of lamp
      you mean!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is it; and, my boy, I want you to take this for your
      lamp. There is no place on the whole road so dark but that it
      can light you through, if you try it. When you don't
      understand it, there is always Jesus to go to, you know."
      And, taking out his pencil, Mr. Holbrook wrote on the
      fly-leaf, in plain, round letters, "Edward Lewis." Then,
      handing the book to him, with a bow and smile, the minister
      turned away.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip walked out of the school and down the road, holding his
      treasure closely. Such a queer, new feeling possessed him.
      Things were really to be different, then. The minister had
      talked with him, had shaken hands with him, and given him a
      Bible. And here he was walking quietly away from the school,
      all alone, instead of leading a troop of noisy boys, intent
      on mischief.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Tip Lewis," he said to himself, as he hugged his book,
      "I don't know but you will be somebody, after all; you mean
      to try with all your might, don't you? and you've got a lamp
      now!"
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH6"><!-- CH6 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou
      shalt go. I will guide thee with Mine eye."
    </h3>
    <p>
      "Why," said Tip, as he sat on the foot of the bed, turning
      over the leaves of his Bible,&mdash;"why, that is the very
      thing I want. 'I will instruct thee, and teach thee in the
      way which thou shalt go.' Yes, that's exactly it. I want to
      begin to-day, and do every single thing so different from
      what I ever did before, that nobody will know me. Now, if
      He'll help me, I can do it. I'll learn that verse."
    </p>
    <p>
      The verse was repeated many times over, for Tip was not used
      to study. While he was busy thus, the Spirit of God put
      another thought into his heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must ask Christ to help me now," he said, with reverent
      face; and, kneeling down, he made known his wants in very
      simple words, and in that plain, direct way which God loves.
      Then he went down&mdash;stairs, prepared for whatever should
      befall him that day.
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty was up, and rattling the kitchen stove.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty, what's to pay?" Tip asked, as he appeared in the
      door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's to pay with you? How did you happen to get up?"
      Receiving no answer to this, she continued, "The old cat is
      to pay,&mdash;everywhere,&mdash;and always is! These nasty
      shavings are soaked through and through, and the wood is
      rotten,&mdash;and there isn't any wood anyway,&mdash;and I
      can't make this fire burn to save my life. Mother is sick in
      bed,&mdash;can't sit up at all. She told me to make a cup of
      tea for father, and things look as if it would get made some
      time next month."
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty was only twelve years old, but, like most of those
      children who have been left to bring themselves up, and pick
      up wisdom and wickedness wherever they are to be found, she
      was wonderfully old in mind; and was so used to grumbling and
      snarling, that she could do it very rapidly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh," said Tip to himself, drawing a long breath, "what a
      place for me to commence in!" Then he came bravely to Kitty's
      aid.
    </p>
    <p>
      "See here, Kitty, don't make such a rattling; you'll wake
      father. I can make this fire in a hurry. I have made one out
      of next to nothing, lots of times; you just put some water in
      the tea-kettle, and we'll have a cup of tea in a jiff."
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty stood still in her astonishment, and watched him while
      he took out the round green sticks that she had put in, laid
      in bits of dry paper and bits of sticks,&mdash;laid them in
      such a careless, uneven way, that it seemed to her they would
      never burn in the world; only he speedily proved that they
      would, by setting fire to the whole, and they crackled and
      snapped in a most determined manner, and finally roared
      outright.
    </p>
    <p>
      Certainly Kitty had never been so much astonished in her
      life. First, because that rubbish in the stove had been made
      to become such a positive fire; secondly, that Tip had
      actually set to work without being coaxed or scolded, and
      made a fire!
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a queer, new feeling about it all to Tip himself;
      for, strange as it may seem, so entirely selfish had been
      this boy's life, that this was actually the first time he had
      ever, of his own free will, done anything to help the family
      at home. His spirits rose with the effort.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come, Kitty," he said briskly, "here's your fire. Now, let's
      fly round and get father and mother some breakfast. Say, do
      you know how to make toast?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's likely I do," Kitty answered shortly. "If you had
      roasted your face and burnt your fingers as often as I have,
      making it for father, I guess you would know how."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, now, just suppose we make two slices,&mdash;one for
      mother, and one for father,&mdash;and two cups of tea. My!
      you and I will be jolly housekeepers, Kitty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Humph!" said Kitty contemptuously.
    </p>
    <p>
      You see she wasn't in the least used to being good-natured,
      and it took a great deal of coaxing to make her give other
      than short, sharp answers to all that was said. But, for all
      that, she went to work, after Tip had poured some water in
      the dingy little tea-kettle and set it over the fire, cutting
      the two slices of bread, and getting them ready to toast when
      there should be any coals.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip, meantime, hunted among the confusion, of all sorts of
      things in the cupboard, for two clean plates and cups.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You're taken with an awful clean fit, seems to me," Kitty
      said, as she stood watching him while he hunted for a cloth,
      then carefully wiped off the plates.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," answered Tip good-naturedly; "I'm going to try it for
      a spell, and find out how things look after they are washed."
    </p>
    <p>
      Altogether it was a queer morning to both of them; and each
      felt a touch of triumph when at last the toast lay brown and
      nice, a slice on each plate, and the hot tea, poured into the
      cups, smelled fresh and fragrant. The two children went
      softly to the bedroom door in time to hear their father
      say,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "What makes you try to get up, if your head is so bad?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, what makes me! What else is there for <i>me</i> to do?
      The young ones are both up, and if I find the roof left on
      the house I'll be thankful. I never knew them to stay
      together five minutes without having a battle."
    </p>
    <p>
      At almost any other time in her life these words would have
      made Kitty very angry; but this morning she was intent on not
      letting her tea spill over on the toast, and so paid very
      little attention to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip marched boldly in with his dish, Kitty following.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lie still, mother, till you get some of our tea and toast,
      and I reckon it will cure you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Lewis raised herself on one elbow, saw the beautiful
      brown slices, caught a whiff of the fragrant tea, then asked
      wonderingly,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who's here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty and me," Tip made answer, proudly and promptly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Something very like a smile gathered on Mrs. Lewis's worn,
      fretful face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, now," she said, "if I ain't beat! It's the last thing
      on earth I ever expected you to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      What spell had come over Tip? Breakfast was a great success.
      After it was over he found a great many things to do; the
      rusty old axe was hunted up, and some hard knots made to
      become very respectable-looking sticks of wood, which he
      piled in the wood-box. Kitty, under the influence of his
      strange behaviour, washed the dishes, and even got out the
      broom and swept a little.
    </p>
    <p>
      Altogether, that was a day long to be remembered by Tip, a
      day in which he began his life afresh. He made some mistakes;
      for he fancied, in his ignorance, that the struggle was
      over,&mdash;that he had only to go forward joyfully over a
      pleasant road.
    </p>
    <p>
      He found out his mistake: he discovered that Satan had not by
      any means given him up; that he must yet fight many hard,
      hard battles.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH7"><!-- CH7 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Fear not, for I have redeemed thee."
    </h3>
    <p>
      "They must have had an earthquake down at Lewis's this
      morning," Howard Minturn said to the boys who were gathered
      around the schoolroom door. "The first bell has not rung yet,
      and there comes Tip up the hill."
    </p>
    <p>
      Up the hill came Tip, sure enough, with a firm, resolute
      step. The summer vacation was over. The fall term was to
      commence this morning, and among the things which Tip had
      resolved to do was this one, to come steadily and promptly to
      school during the term, which was something that he had never
      done in his life. The public school was the best one in the
      village, so he had the best boys in town for school
      companions, as well as some of the worst.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hallo, Tip!" said Bob Turner, coming partly down the hill to
      meet him. "How are you, old fellow?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Bob had been away during most of the vacation, and knew
      nothing of the changes which there had been in his absence.
      Tip winced a little at his greeting; shivered a little at the
      thought of the temptation which Bob would be to him.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two had been linked together all their lives in every
      form of mischief and wrong; they seemed almost a part of each
      other,&mdash;at least, they <i>had</i> seemed so until within
      these few weeks. Now, Tip <i>felt</i> rather than knew how
      far separated they must be.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bell rang, and the boys jostled and tumbled against each
      other to their seats.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bob Turner, as usual, seated himself beside Tip; but then Bob
      only came to school about two forenoons in a week, so perhaps
      they might get along.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the Bible reading commenced, Tip hesitated, and his face
      flushed; he had never owned a Bible to read from before, but
      this morning his new one lay in his pocket. The question was,
      Had he courage to take it out? What would the boys think?
      What would they say? How should he answer them?
    </p>
    <p>
      He began to think he would wait until tomorrow morning; then
      he grew hot and ashamed as he saw that he was already trying
      to hide his colours. Suddenly he drew out his Bible, and
      began very hurriedly to turn the leaves.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bob heard the rustling, and, glancing around, puckered his
      lips as if he were going to whistle, and, snatching the book,
      read the name which Mr. Holbrook had written therein; then he
      whispered, "You don't say so! When did we steal a Bible, and
      turn saint?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The blood growing hotter and redder in Tip's cheeks was his
      only answer; but he felt that his temptation had begun. The
      next thing was to read; when he had finally found the place,
      even though there were more than fifty voices reading those
      same words, yet poor Tip imagined that his would be louder
      than all the rest, and he choked and coughed, and made more
      than one trial before he forced his voice to join, even in a
      whisper, at the words, "And they clothed Him with purple, and
      plaited a crown of thorns and put it about His head."
    </p>
    <p>
      It did not help him in his reading that Bob made his lips
      move with the rest, but said, loud enough for him to
      hear,&mdash;
    </p>
    <pre>
  "The man in the moon
  Came down too soon,"
</pre>
    <p>
      and continued to repeat some senseless or wicked rhymes,
      through the reading of the beautiful chapter.
    </p>
    <p>
      How thankfully Tip bowed his head that morning; his heart had
      taken in some of the sweet words. That sacred head had been
      crowned with thorns, indeed, but he knew it was crowned with
      glory now,&mdash;and he knew that Christ had suffered and
      died for him! He joined with his whole heart in Mr. Burrows's
      prayer; and, though Bob pulled his hair and tickled his foot
      and stepped on his toes, the bowed head was not lifted, and
      his spirit gathered strength.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Tip never forgot the trials of that day, nor the hard
      work which he had to endure them. Bob was, as usual,
      overflowing with mischief, and, failing in finding the
      willing helper which he had expected in his old companion,
      took revenge in aiming a great many of his pranks at him.
      Such senseless, silly things as he did to annoy! Tip spread
      his slate over with a long row of figures which he earnestly
      tried to add, and, having toiled slowly up the first two
      columns, Bob's wet finger was slyly drawn across it, and no
      trace of the answer so hardly earned appeared.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, too, he had his own heart to struggle against: he was
      so used to whispering to this and that boy seated near him,
      to eating apples when the teacher's back was turned, to
      making an ugly-looking picture on a piece of paper and
      pinning it on the back of a small boy before him. He was so
      unused to sitting still, and trying to study.
    </p>
    <p>
      What hard work it was to study, any way! It seemed to him
      that he could never get that spelling-lesson in the world;
      the harder he tried, the more bewildered he grew. A dozen
      times he spelled the two words, receive and believe, standing
      so closely together, each time sure he was right, and each
      time discovering that the i's and e's must change places; he
      grew utterly provoked and disheartened, and would have fairly
      cried, had not Bob been beside him to see the tears, and grow
      merry over them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Finally, he lost all patience with Bob, and, turning fiercely
      to him, after he had for the third time pitched the greasy
      old spelling-book upside down on the floor, said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Look here, now, if you come that thing again, I'll pitch you
      out of the window quicker than wink!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward Lewis marked for whispering," said Mr. Burrows.
      "Edward, you have commenced the term as usual, I
      see,&mdash;the first one marked for bad conduct."
    </p>
    <p>
      How Tip's ears burned! How untrue it was! He had not
      commenced this term as usual; how differently he had tried to
      commence it, only he and God knew. And now to fail thus early
      in the day! His head seemed to spin and his brain reel; he
      bowed himself on the seat again, but Bob's head went down
      promptly, and he whispered,&mdash;
    </p>
    <pre>
  "Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep!"
</pre>
    <p>
      How often Tip had thought such things as these so very funny
      that he could not possibly help laughing; how silly and
      meaningless&mdash;yes, and cruel&mdash;did they seem to him
      now! Oh, Satan was struggling for Tip to-day: he was reaping
      the fruits of long weeks spent in evil company and folly.
    </p>
    <p>
      He looked over to the back seats, where sat Howard Minturn
      and Ellis Holbrook, hard at work on their algebra lesson,
      nobody thinking of such a thing as disturbing them; and, as
      he looked, sighed heavily. If he had only gained such a place
      as they had in the school, how easily he could work to-day.
      They were very little older than he, yet here he was trying
      to do an example in addition, doing it over four times before
      it was right,&mdash;and they were at the head of the class in
      algebra. If he could only jump to where they were, and go on
      with them! And the hopelessness of this thought made his
      spelling-lesson seem harder; so it was no wonder, when the
      class formed, and he took his old place at the foot, and he
      stayed there, and spelled believe <i>ei</i> after all; nobody
      was surprised, but nobody knew how very, <i>very</i> hard he
      had tried.
    </p>
    <p>
      The long day, crowded full of trouble and temptation to poor
      Tip, wore away. At recess he wandered off by himself, trying
      hard to get back some of the strong, firm hopes of the
      morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      One more sharp trial was in store for him. Towards the close
      of the afternoon Bob's fun took the form of paper balls,
      which, at every turn of Mr. Burrows's back, spun through the
      room in all directions; two or three of the smaller scholars
      joined him, and a regular fire of balls was kept up. The boys
      complained&mdash;Mr. Burrows scolded.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last he spoke this short, prompt sentence: "The next boy I
      catch throwing paper, or anything else, in this room to-day,
      I shall punish severely; and I shall expect any scholar who
      sees anything of this kind going on to inform me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Not five minutes after that Mr. Burrows bent over his desk in
      search of something within, when&mdash;whisk! went the
      largest paper ball that had been thrown that day, and landed
      on the teacher's forehead. Some of the scholars laughed, some
      looked grave and startled, for Mr. Burrows was a man who
      always meant what he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Does any one know who threw that ball?" he asked, closing
      his desk and speaking in a calm, steady tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      No reply,&mdash;silence for a minute. Then, "Ellis Holbrook,
      do you know who threw that ball of paper?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well; I am waiting to be told."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tip Lewis threw it, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      This was a little too much for Tip. The first time in his
      life that he had ever been in school all day without throwing
      one, to be so accused! He sprang up in his seat with fire in
      his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I didn't!" he almost screamed. "He knows I didn't! It is a
      mean, wicked lie!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sit down," said Mr. Burrows. "Ellis, did you <i>see</i> him
      throw it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir, I did."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows turned to Tip. "Edward, come here."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip was still standing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say you won't," whispered Bob. "Say you won't stir a step
      for the old fellow. If he goes to make you, we'll see who'll
      beat."
    </p>
    <p>
      But the command was repeated, and Tip went forward, fixing
      his steady eyes on Mr. Burrows as he spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Burrows, as sure as I live, I <i>did</i> not throw that
      paper ball."
    </p>
    <p>
      And yet&mdash;poor Tip!&mdash;he knew he would not be
      believed; he knew his word could not be trusted; he knew he
      had often stood there and as boldly declared what was
      <i>not</i> true, and what had been proved in a few minutes to
      be false.
    </p>
    <p>
      No, nobody believed Tip. He had earned, among other things in
      the school, the name of hardly ever speaking the truth; and
      now he must suffer for it. So he stood still and received the
      swift, hard blows of the ruler on his hands; stood without a
      tear or a promise. Mr. Burrows had not a doubt of his guilt,
      for had not Ellis Holbrook, whose word was law in the school,
      said he saw the mischief done? and did not Tip always deny
      all knowledge of such matters until made to own them?
    </p>
    <p>
      Still, this time the boy resolutely refused to confess that
      he had thrown a bit of paper that day, and went back to his
      seat with smarting hands and the stern words of his teacher
      ringing in his ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      What a heavy, bitter heart the poor boy carried out from the
      schoolroom that afternoon, he felt as though he almost hated
      every scholar there,&mdash;<i>quite</i> hated Ellis Holbrook.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows, catching a glimpse of his face, said to one of
      the other teachers, "That boy grows sullen; with all the
      rest, his good-nature was the only good thing which he had
      about him, and he is losing that."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip heard him, and felt that it was true. He had been
      punished many a time before, and taken it with the most
      provoking good humour. But to-day it was different; to-day,
      for the first time in his life, he had received a punishment
      which he did not deserve; this day of all others, in which he
      had tried with all his heart to do right!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why didn't you hold on, you simpleton?" Bob asked. "Never
      saw you get up so much pluck in my life. What made you back
      out, and be whipped like a baby?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why didn't <i>you</i> own that you threw that plaguy paper
      ball, and not sit there like a coward, and see me take your
      whipping?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>I</i> own it! That's a good one! 'Pon honour, Tip, didn't
      you throw that ball? I thought you did; I was aiming one at
      Ellis Holbrook's head just then, and I didn't see what was
      going on behind me. Didn't you throw it&mdash;honour bright?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I didn't; and I'll throw <i>you</i> if you say so
      again."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Tip turned suddenly in the opposite direction, but Satan
      still walked with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's no use," said this evil spirit, speaking out
      boldly,&mdash;"it's no use; don't you see it isn't? You might
      as well give it up first as last; the boys, and the teacher,
      and every one, think you're nothing in the world but a wicked
      young scamp, and you never <i>can</i> be anything else.
      You've been humbugging yourself these four weeks, making
      believe you had a great Friend to help you: why hasn't He
      helped you to-day? You've tried your best all day long, and
      He knows you have; yet you never had such a hard day in your
      life. If He cares anything at all about you, why didn't He
      help you to-day? You asked Him to."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip sat down on a log by the side of the road, and gave
      himself up for a little to Satan's guidance, and the wicked
      voice went on,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, you see, you've been cheated. You've tried hard for a
      whole month to <i>be</i> somebody, and no one thinks any more
      of you than they did before, and never will. Your mother
      scolds just as much, and your home looks just as dismal, and
      Kitty is just as hateful, and the respectable boys in the
      village have nothing to do with you. You might just as well
      lounge around and have a good time. Nobody expects you to be
      good, or will let you, when you want to be."
    </p>
    <p>
      Softly there came another voice knocking at Tip's heart. At
      first he would not notice it, but it <i>would</i> be heard.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What of all that?" it said; "suppose nobody cares for you,
      or helps you here. Jesus died, you know, and He is your
      friend. You <i>know</i> that is not a humbug; you <i>know</i>
      He has heard you when you knelt down and prayed. He has
      helped you. Then there's heaven, where all the beauty is, and
      He has promised to take you&mdash;yes, <i>you</i>&mdash;there
      by and by! Oh, you must not complain because people won't
      believe that such a bad boy as you have been has grown good
      so soon. Christ knows about it, so it's all right. Just keep
      on trying, and one of these days folks will see that you mean
      it; they <i>will</i>&mdash;God has promised. He has given you
      a lamp to light you. Why have not you looked at it all this
      day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh," said Tip, "I can't; I <i>can't</i> be a Christian! I
      have not done right nor felt right to-day. I almost hate the
      boys, and Mr. Burrows too. I don't know what to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go on home," said Satan. "Let the lamp and these new notions
      and all <i>go</i>! Christ don't care anything about
      <i>you</i>; such a miserable, wicked, story-telling boy as
      you have been, do you expect Him to notice <i>you</i>?"
    </p>
    <p>
      But Tip's hand was in his pocket, resting on his lamp, as he
      had learned to call it; and the low, sweet voice in his heart
      was urging him to let its light shine. He drew it out, and
      turned the leaves, and the same dear Helper stopped his eyes
      at the words, "Fear not, for I have redeemed thee; I have
      called thee by thy name; thou art <i>Mine</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then came hot, thankful tears. Oh, precious words, sinking
      right into the torn, troubled heart. Christ the Redeemer had
      called him by his name! He was&mdash;yes, he <i>would be
      His</i>! He glanced around. Nobody was to be seen; he was
      sitting in the hollow at the foot of the hill, and under the
      shade of a low branching tree. And there he knelt down to
      pray; and Satan drew himself away, for the spot around that
      kneeling boy was holy ground. Tip's soul had gained the
      victory.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH8"><!-- CH8 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Freely ye have received, freely give."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Whether Tip felt it or not, there were some changes in his
      home. Mrs. Lewis, though worried and hurried and cross
      enough, still was not so much so as she had been.
    </p>
    <p>
      The house was quieter, there was no cradle to rock, there
      were no baby footsteps to follow and keep out of danger; she
      had more time for sewing. Yet this very thing, the missing of
      the clinging arms about her neck, sometimes made her heavy
      heart vent itself in short, sharp words.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Tip had astonished the family at home,&mdash;it didn't
      require wonderful changes to do it,&mdash;rather the change
      which they saw in him seemed wonderful.
    </p>
    <p>
      The fire which she found ready made in the morning, the full
      pail of fresh water, the box: filled with wood, were all so
      many drops of honey to the tired mother's heart. The awkward
      pat of his father's pillow, which Tip now and then gave as he
      lingered to ask how he was, seemed so new and delightful to
      that neglected father's heart, that he lay on his hard bed
      and thought of it much all day.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip got on better at home than anywhere else; he had not so
      many temptations. He had been such a lawless, reckless boy,
      that they had all learned to leave him very much to himself,
      and, as not a great deal of his time was spent there, his
      trials at home were not many. As for Kitty, she did not cease
      to wonder what had happened to Tip; she perhaps felt the
      difference more than any one else, for it had been the
      delight of his life to tease her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, from the time that he gathered his books, with the first
      sound of the school-bell, and hurried up the hill, until he
      returned at night, ready to split wood, hoe in the garden, or
      do any of the dozen things that he had never been known to do
      before, he was a never-failing subject of thought and
      wonderment to her. Watching him closely, the only thing she
      could finally settle on as the cause of the change which she
      found in him was, that he now went every Sabbath morning to
      the Sabbath school. The mystery must be hidden there. Having
      decided that matter, Kitty speedily resolved that she would
      go there herself, and see what they did. Many were the kind
      hearts that had tried to coax her into that same Sabbath
      school, and had failed. But this Saturday afternoon's gazing
      out of the window, with a wonderfully sober face, had ended
      in her exclaiming,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I say, mother, I want a needle and thread."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you want with a needle and thread?" asked Mrs.
      Lewis, stirring away at some gruel in a tin basin, and not
      even glancing up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I want to mend my dress; it's torn this way and that, and
      looks awful. I want some green thread, the colour of this
      wide stripe."
    </p>
    <p>
      Now for a minute the gruel was forgotten, and Mrs. Lewis
      looked at Kitty in amazement.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear me!" she said at last; "I don't know what will happen
      next. It can't be possible that you are going to work to mend
      your own dress without being scolded about it for a week, and
      then made to do it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I am, too; I ain't going to look like a rag-bag another
      hour. And I'm going to wash out my sun-bonnet and iron it;
      then I mean to go over to that Sunday school to-morrow. I
      ain't heard any singing since I was born, as I know of, and I
      mean to."
    </p>
    <p>
      The gruel began to burn, and Mrs. Lewis turned to it again,
      saying nothing, but thinking a great deal. Once she used to
      go to Sabbath school herself, when she was Kitty's age; and
      she didn't have to mend her dress first, either; she used to
      be dressed freshly and neatly, every Sabbath morning, by her
      mother's own careful hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      She poured the gruel into a bowl, and then went over to her
      workbox.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here's a needle and thread," she said at last, drawing out a
      snarl of green thread from the many snarls in her box. "Mend
      your dress if you want to, and I'll wash out your bonnet for
      you towards night, when I get that vest done."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was Kitty's turn to be astonished now. She had not
      expected help from her mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip lingered in the kitchen on Sabbath morning. He looked
      neat and clean; he had a fresh, clean shirt, thanks to the
      washing which his mother had done "towards night." He was all
      ready for school, yet he waited.
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty clattered around, making rather more noise even than
      usual, as she washed up the few poor dishes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Evidently Tip was thinking about her. The truth was, his lamp
      had shown him a lesson that morning like this: "Freely ye
      have received, freely give." He stopped at that verse,
      reading no further. What did it mean I Surely it spoke to
      him. Had not God given, oh, <i>so</i> many things to him? Had
      He not promised to give him heaven for his home? Now, here
      was the direction: "Freely give." What, and to whom? To God?
      Surely not. Tip was certain that he had nothing to give to
      God; nothing but his poor, sinful heart, which he believed
      the Saviour had taken and made clean.
    </p>
    <p>
      What could he give to any one? He leaned out of his little
      window, busy with this thought. Kitty came out to the door,
      and pumped her pan full of water. He looked down on her.
      There was Kitty; had he anything which he could give her? He
      shook his head mournfully; not a thing. But wouldn't it be
      the same if he could help her to get something? What if he
      could coax her to go to Sunday school; perhaps it would do
      for her all that it had done for him. And at this moment the
      unwearied Satan came with his wicked thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty would be a pretty-looking object to go to Sabbath
      school,&mdash;not a decent thing to wear! Everybody would
      laugh at her and at you. Besides, I don't believe she would
      go, if you <i>did</i> ask her; she would only make fun of
      you. Better not try it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Tip Lewis," said his conscience, "what a miserable
      coward you are! After all you have promised, you won't risk a
      laugh for the sake of getting Kitty into the Sabbath school!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I will," said Tip, and he ran downstairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      And this was why he lingered in the kitchen,&mdash;not
      knowing just what to say. Kitty helped him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tip," said she, "I suppose they sing over at that Sunday
      school, don't they?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I guess they do;" and Tip's eyes brightened. "Ever so many
      of them sing at once, and it sounds grand, I tell you. They
      play the melodeon, too: don't you want to go and hear it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Humph! I don't know. I don't suppose it will be any stupider
      than staying at home. I get awful sick of that. If I knew the
      way, maybe I would go."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I'll take you!" said Tip, in a quick, eager way. He
      wanted to speak before his courage failed.
    </p>
    <p>
      So Kitty, in her stiff blue sunbonnet and green calico dress,
      went to Sabbath school. There was no mission class for girls,
      so Mr. Parker sent her among the gaily-dressed little girls
      in Miss Haley's class; but Mr. Holbrook detained Tip.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward, you intend to come to Sabbath school regularly,
      don't you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then I think we must leave your place in the mission seat to
      be filled by some other boy, and you may come forward to my
      class."
    </p>
    <p>
      It is doubtful whether Tip will ever see a prouder or happier
      moment than that one in which he followed the minister down
      the long room to his <i>own</i> class. But when he saw the
      seat full of boys, his face grew crimson. At the end of the
      seat was Ellis Holbrook, the minister's son,&mdash;the boy
      who but a few days before had, he believed in his heart, told
      a wicked story about himself, and gained him a severe
      punishment. He did not feel as though he could sit beside
      that boy, even in Sabbath school. But Mr. Holbrook waited,
      and sit down he <i>must</i>. Ellis moved along to give him
      room, and disturbed him neither by word nor look during the
      lesson. But Tip's heart was full of bitterness, and he
      thought the pleasure of that morning gone. The lesson was of
      Christ and His death on the cross, and, as he listened, hard
      thoughts began to die out. The story was too new; it touched
      too near his heart not to calm the angry feelings and to
      interest him wonderfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      As soon as school was dismissed, Mr. Holbrook turned to him.
      "What disturbs you to-day, Edward?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's face grew red again. "I&mdash;I&mdash;nothing much,
      sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you and Ellis been having trouble in school?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He has been getting <i>me</i> into trouble," spoke Tip
      boldly, finding himself caught.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Holbrook sat down again. "Can you tell me about it,
      Edward?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He said I threw paper balls, and Mr. Burrows whipped me; and
      I didn't."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you sure you didn't?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you say so at the time?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Over and over again, but he said he <i>saw</i> me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward, have you always spoken the truth? Is your word to be
      believed?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's eyes fell and his lip quivered. "I've told a great many
      stories," he said at last, in a low, humble tone; "but this
      <i>truly</i> isn't one. I'm trying to tell the truth after
      this, and Jesus believes what I have said this time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So do I, Edward," answered Mr. Holbrook gently, even
      tenderly. "Ellis was mistaken. But I see you are angry with
      him; can't you get over that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip shook his head. "He got me whipped for nothing, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Suppose Christ should follow that rule, Edward, and forgive
      only those who had treated Him well; would you be forgiven
      to-day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      This was a new thought to Tip, and made him silent. Mr.
      Holbrook held out his hand for the little red Bible.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me show you what this lamp of yours says about the
      matter."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Tip's eyes presently read where the minister's finger
      pointed: "If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither
      will your Father forgive your trespasses."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Trespasses mean sins," explained Mr. Holbrook; then he
      turned away.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this time Kitty had been standing waiting,&mdash;not for
      Tip, she didn't expect his company,&mdash;but for the stylish
      little girls to get fairly started on their way to church, so
      she could go home without having any of them look at or make
      fun of her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty had not been having a very good time: she had the
      misfortune to fall into the hands of a teacher who thought if
      she asked the questions in the question-book, and if one
      scholar could not answer, passed on to the next, she had done
      her duty. So the singing was pretty nearly all Kitty had
      cared for. God was leaving most of the work for Tip to do,
      after all. He went over to her now, and walked down the road
      with her. The boys had all gone, as well as the girls, so
      there was nothing to hinder their walking on quietly
      together.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How did you like it, Kitty?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I didn't think much of it. I sat by the ugliest girl in
      town, and she made fun of my bonnet and my shoes. I
      <i>hate</i> her."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip had a faint notion in his heart that Kitty also needed
      the verse which had just been given him; but he had other
      thoughts about her. God's Spirit was at work. Having taken
      her to Sabbath school, having begun a good work, he wanted it
      to go on. It was very hard to speak to Kitty; he didn't know
      what to say; but all the way down the hill there seemed to
      ring in his ears the message, "Freely ye have received,
      freely give."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty," he said at last, "don't you want to be a Christian?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know what a Christian is."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But wouldn't you like to love Jesus?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do I know?" replied Kitty shortly. "I don't know
      anything about Jesus."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, didn't you hear, in the lesson to-day, about how He
      loves everybody, and wants everybody to love Him, and how He
      died so we could?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know a thing about the lesson. I counted the buttons
      on Miss Harley's dress most all the time; they went up and
      down the front, and up and down the sides, and everywhere."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, but, Kitty, you surely heard the hymn,&mdash;
    </p>
    <pre>
  'Jesus loves me, this I know,
  For the Bible tells me so.'"
</pre>
    <p>
      "Yes," Kitty said; "the hymn was pretty enough, only nobody
      gave me a book, and I could just hear a word now and then."
    </p>
    <p>
      Altogether, Tip didn't feel that he had done Kitty a bit of
      good. But he knew this much, that, since he had begun to
      think about and talk to her, he longed&mdash;yes,
      <i>longed</i>&mdash;with all his heart to have her come to
      Christ.
    </p>
    <hr>
    <p>
      "Ellis, come here a moment," said Mr. Holbrook, turning
      towards his study door, as the family came in from church.
      "What is it about this trouble in school with Edward Lewis?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No trouble, father; only Tip threw a paper ball, just as he
      always <i>is</i> doing, and, as Mr. Burrows asked me if I
      knew who threw it, of course I had to tell him, and that made
      Tip mad. Why? Has he been complaining to you, father?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ellis, did you see Edward throw paper?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you positive?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes&mdash;why&mdash;that is&mdash;I glanced up from my book
      just in time to see it whiz, and it came from Tip's
      direction, and his hand was raised, so I supposed of course
      he threw it. I thought a minute ago that I knew he did."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But now you would not say positively that some boy near him
      might not have done it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, no, sir. Alex Palmer might have thrown it; but I didn't
      think of such a thing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Ellis, my verdict is that you were mistaken; I don't
      think Edward told a falsehood this time. I'll tell you why:
      he is trying to take the Saviour for his pattern. I believe
      he is a Christian. Now, there is one thing which I want you
      to think of. Edward Lewis, who has never been taught anything
      good, who has never had any one to help him, has given his
      heart to Christ; and my boy, for whom I have prayed with, all
      my soul every day since he was born, has not."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH9"><!-- CH9 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Hitherto hath the Lord helped us."
    </h3>
    <p>
      "Boys," said Mr. Burrows, one Monday afternoon, "you may lay
      aside your books; I want to have a talk with you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Books were hurriedly gathered and piled in their places, and
      the boys sat up with folded arms, ready for whatever their
      teacher had to offer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows drew out his arm-chair from behind the desk, and
      sat down for a chat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who will tell me what an acrostic is?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Several hands were raised.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Howard, let us hear what you think about it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a piece of poetry, sir, where the first letter of every
      line spells another word."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you mean the first letter alone spells a word?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The boys laughed, and Howard explained promptly. "No, sir; I
      mean the first letters of each line taken together form a
      name."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Must an acrostic always be written in poetry?"
    </p>
    <p>
      This question called forth several answers, and made a good
      deal of talk; but it was finally decided that there could be
      acrostics in prose as well as in rhyme; and Mr. Burrows
      asked,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "How many understand now what an acrostic is?"
    </p>
    <p>
      A few more hands were raised, but many of the boys did not
      understand yet; it must be made plainer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Howard," said Mr. Burrows, "come to the board and give us an
      acrostic on the word boy."
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard sprang up. "Must it be a sensible one, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sense or nonsense, just as you please, so as it shows us
      what an acrostic is."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can take my parsing-book and give you one, I think, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Howard came forward and wrote rapidly,&mdash;
    </p>
    <pre>
  "B But you shall hear an odd affair, indeed,
   O Of which all Europe rings from side to side"&mdash;
</pre>
    <p>
      Then he paused, turning the leaves of his parsing-book
      eagerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can't find anything in Y to finish this up with," he said
      at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can't you give us a line from your own brain?"
    </p>
    <p>
      And at this Howard's eye brightened with fun, and, turning to
      the board after a moment of thought, he dashed off the
      closing line,&mdash;
    </p>
    <pre>
  "Y You who can finish this may have the job;"&mdash;
</pre>
    <p>
      then took his seat amid bursts of laughter from the boys, who
      all began to understand what an acrostic was.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis Holbrook's hand was up, and his eyes were full of
      questions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Burrows, why is that called by such a queer name as
      acrostic?"
    </p>
    <p>
      His teacher smiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must study Greek, Ellis. We get it from two words in the
      Greek, or from one word made up of two others, which mean
      <i>extreme</i>, or <i>beginning</i> and <i>order</i>. In an
      acrostic the beginnings of the lines are arranged in order.
      Do you understand how we get that word now?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, now, you would all like to know what this talk is for.
      I want every boy in school who can write, to bring an
      acrostic on his own name for his next composition."
    </p>
    <p>
      The boys groaned, and exclaimed, "They couldn't do it, they
      were sure; they couldn't <i>begin</i> to do it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, you can," said Mr. Burrows; "I don't give my scholars
      any work that they <i>can't</i> do. You may quote it, or make
      it original, as you please; but I want every one of you to
      <i>try</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      Johnny Thorpe, the smallest boy in school who could write,
      now seemed in trouble, and stretched up his arm to its full
      length.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Johnny, what will you have?" asked his teacher.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you please, sir, I don't know what you mean by quote."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows laughed pleasantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must remember, I see, to speak plain English; I mean you
      may borrow your essay from a book, or a dozen books, if you
      like, so that you don't try to make us believe the thoughts
      are your own. You may write in poetry or not, as you please;
      but I want each to choose a subject, and stick to it better
      than Howard did just now. I have given you something to do
      that will keep you hard at work, but you will succeed at
      last."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip went home in a tumult. What could he do? He had never
      written a composition in his life, having made it a point to
      run away from school on composition-day; but running away was
      done with now. It didn't seem possible that he could write
      anything: certainly not in such a new, queer way as Mr.
      Burrows wished them to.
    </p>
    <p>
      Supper and wood-splitting were hurried over for that evening,
      and Tip took his way very early to the seat under the
      elm-tree down by the pond. He wanted to think, to see how he
      should meet this new trouble; it was a real trouble to him,
      for he had set out to do just right, and he saw no way of
      getting out of this duty, and thought he saw no way of doing
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is no place on the road so dark but this lamp will
      light you through, if you give it a chance."
    </p>
    <p>
      This is what Mr. Holbrook had said when he gave Tip his
      Bible. And Tip had thought of his words very often, had
      already proved them true more than once; but he didn't see
      how it could help him now.
    </p>
    <p>
      He took it out, and slowly turned the leaves; it couldn't
      write his composition for him, that was certain. But oh, the
      bright thought that came to Tip just then! Why not find his
      acrostic in the Bible, and write it out? among so many,
      <i>many</i> verses, he would be sure to find what he wanted.
      But then, how very queer it would be for <i>him</i>, Tip
      Lewis, to copy anything from the Bible! What would the boys
      think? What would Bob Turner say? Still, what else could he
      do? Besides his spelling-book and a worn arithmetic, it was
      the only book that he had in the world.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't care," he said suddenly, after a few moments of
      troubled thought. "I guess I ain't ashamed of my
      Bible,&mdash;it's the only thing I've got that I needn't be
      ashamed of. I'll <i>do</i> it. The boys have got to know that
      I've turned over a new leaf. I wish they did; the sooner they
      know it the better. I say, my lamp shall help me out of this
      scrape, that's as true as can be; it helps me whenever I give
      it a chance."
    </p>
    <p>
      He fumbled in his pocket and drew out an old stump of a
      pencil. The next thing was a piece of paper; he dived his
      hand down into another pocket, producing a rusty knife,
      pieces of string, a chestnut or two, and, finally, a crumpled
      piece of paper on which Bob Turner had scrawled what he
      called a likeness of Mr. Burrows, and given to Tip for a
      keepsake. He spread it out on a flat stone which lay near
      him, and began his work.
    </p>
    <p>
      A long, slow work it was for Tip. Hours of that day, and the
      next, and the next, every day, until the fading light drove
      him home, did he sit under the elm-tree turning the leaves of
      his Bible, poring over its contents, writing words carefully
      now and then on his bit of paper. Remember it was new work to
      him.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, one evening, the sun went down in the bright red
      west, the stars shone out in all their twinkling, sparkling
      glory, the shadows began to fall thick and fast around the
      old tree, when Tip, with a little sigh of relief, folded the
      precious piece of paper, laid it carefully away in his Bible,
      and turned his steps homeward. His acrostic was finished, and
      into his heart had crept some of the beauty of those precious
      words, which he had found for the first time. Words they were
      which would go with him through all his life, and sweetly
      comfort some dark and weary hours.
    </p>
    <p>
      The school-books were all piled neatly on the desks that
      Friday afternoon; the shades were dropped to shut out the low
      afternoon sun; and forty boys were still and expectant. The
      acrostics lay in a great white heap on Mr. Burrows' desk, not
      a name written on any of them. Mr. Burrows was to read, and
      the boys were to have the pleasure of spelling out the names
      of the owners as he read.
    </p>
    <p>
      A merry time they had of it that afternoon. Some wonderful
      acrostics were read. Ellis Holbrook had a very clever one,
      arranged from his lesson in Virgil. Howard Minturn had
      borrowed from his father's library a copy of Shakespeare, and
      worked hard over his; the boys and their teacher thought it a
      success.
    </p>
    <p>
      Even Bob Turner had written; the idea had happened to strike
      him as a very funny one, and Bob always did everything that
      he thought funny. He had found three lines in rhyme which
      just suited him, and by the time the eager boys had spelled
      out B O B,&mdash;which was the only name the boy saw fit to
      own,&mdash;the schoolroom fairly shook with their laughter.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next to his lay a paper which Tip knew, and his heart beat so
      loudly when Mr. Burrows took it up, that he thought every one
      in the room must notice.
    </p>
    <p>
      The room had now grown quiet, and Mr. Burrows, after opening
      the paper, announced the title,&mdash;
    </p>
    <center>
      "WHAT JESUS CHRIST SAYS."
    </center>
    <p>
      Then read slowly and reverently, while the wondering scholars
      spelled out the name.
    </p>
    <pre>
  "E Even the night shall lie light about thee.
   D Depart from evil and do good.
   W Whosoever cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out.
   A A new heart will I give you.
   R Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.
   D Draw nigh to God, and He will draw nigh to thee.

  "L Lo, I am with you always.
   E Ever follow that which is good.
   W Whosoever abideth in Him, sinneth not.
   I I will go before thee, and make the crooked paths straight.
   S So that we may boldly say, The Lord is my helper."
</pre>
    <p>
      What a silent and astonished company listened to this
      reading, and spelled the name "Edward Lewis!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward," Mr. Burrows said at last, "who found those verses
      for you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I found them, sir, in my Bible. I've got them all marked!"
      speaking eagerly, willing this time to bring proof that he
      was telling the truth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows' voice almost trembled as he answered,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a beautiful collection of some of the most precious
      verses in the Bible. It was a fine idea; I am very much
      surprised and pleased. I wish that you, and every scholar of
      mine, could feel in your hearts the full meaning of those
      words of Jesus."
    </p>
    <hr>
    <p>
      "I can't to-night, Howard," said Ellis Holbrook, in answer to
      his friend's coaxings to accompany him home; "I've got
      something else to attend to. Hallo, Tip! Tip Lewis! Hold on a
      bit! I'm going your way. No, Howard, I'll come up in the
      morning; I really <i>can't</i> to-night."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip waited in wondering silence, while the boy, whom he
      counted an enemy, hurried towards him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis was a bold, prompt boy: when he had anything to say, he
      <i>said</i> it; so he came to the point at once.
    </p>
    <p>
      "See here, Tip, did I blunder the other day when I told Mr.
      Burrows you threw paper? I thought I saw you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said Tip, "you did. I didn't throw a bit of paper that
      day."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, father said he thought I was mistaken. I'm sure I
      supposed I was telling the truth. I'm sorry. I'll say so to
      Mr. Burrows and the boys, if you like, and let him find out
      who did it, and then was mean enough to see you whipped for
      it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip struggled a little. "No," he said at last, "let it go.
      The whipping is done, and can't be undone; I don't want to
      make any more bother about it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis eyed him curiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You're a queer fellow," he said at last. "I expect you had
      about the best acrostic, this afternoon, that can be
      written."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's heart was throbbing with pleasure as he walked on home
      after Ellis had left him. For the first time in his life he
      had earnest, warm, hearty praise from his teacher. Ellis had
      said, "Father told me he thought I was mistaken." Mr.
      Holbrook, then, did believe and trust him. Besides, there was
      another thought which seemed delightful to him. Tip Lewis,
      the worthless, yes, wicked boy that everybody thought him,
      had walked down the main street side by side, and talking
      earnestly with Ellis Holbrook, the minister's son.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH10"><!-- CH10 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER X.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Enter not into the path of the wicked."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Kitty hung on the gate and watched them pass by,&mdash;the
      long train of high waggons with grated windows, out of which
      strange animals peered with their great, fierce eyes; the two
      elephants in their scarlet and gold blankets; the tiny ponies
      tossing their shaggy manes; the splendid carriage drawn by
      eight gaily blanketed, gaily plumed, dancing horses, and
      every seat filled with splendidly dressed men and women; the
      bright red band-waggon, with the sun glittering over the
      wonderful brass instruments and turning them into gold. Kitty
      watched all this,&mdash;watched, and listened to the loud,
      full bursts of music, until her heart swelled and bounded.
      She sprang from the gate, and stamped her foot on the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wish&mdash;oh, I wish I could go!" she almost screamed at
      last. "I want to&mdash;I <i>want</i> to! Oh, I never wanted
      to go anywhere so bad in my life!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I reckon you'll take it out in wanting," said her mother,
      who had also leaned on the fence and watched the show pass
      by. "Folks who have to dig as I do, from morning to night,
      just to get something to eat, don't have any money to spend
      on circuses."
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty shook her head with rage. "I don't go anywhere," she
      screamed. "Never! I never went to a circus in my life, and
      all the boys and girls around here go every year. Tip always
      goes&mdash;always; he manages to slip in. Oh, Tip'" and she
      opened the gate and went out to him on the sidewalk, a new
      thought having come to her, "can't you do something to get
      some money, and let me go to the circus with you? Can't you
      manage some way? Oh, Tip, do! I'll do anything for you, if
      you only will. I never wanted anything so bad before."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Tip's face, as he walked towards the village ten minutes
      after that, was a study, it looked so full of trouble.
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty wanted to go to that circus,&mdash;wanted to go so very
      much that she had coaxed and begged him in a way that she had
      never done before. Besides, if the truth be told, Tip wanted
      to go himself; every time the wind wafted back to him a swell
      of the distant music, it made his heart fairly jump. It was
      true, as Kitty had said, he always managed to slip in some
      way; and the oftener he went, the oftener he wanted to go.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, then, what was the matter with Tip? What he had done so
      many times before, he could surely find a way to do again. Oh
      yes! But Tip Lewis to-day was different from any Tip Lewis
      there had ever been before on circus day. Wasn't he trying to
      do right? But then, what had circuses to do with that? He
      tried to think what were his reasons for being troubled! Why
      did a small voice down in his heart keep telling him that the
      circus was no place for him now?
    </p>
    <p>
      Looking at the matter steadily, the only reason Tip knew was,
      that Ellis Holbrook and Howard Minturn never went; their
      fathers had taught them differently. Ellis, he knew, rather
      looked down on people who did go,&mdash;called them low. This
      had never troubled Tip before, because he had always known
      himself to be low; but now, wasn't he trying to climb? Didn't
      respectable people generally think that circuses were bad
      things?
    </p>
    <p>
      No, poor Tip, they didn't; there was Mr. Bailey, a rich
      man,&mdash;so rich and so respectable that his son wouldn't
      stoop to lend Tip his spelling-book at school,&mdash;yet Mr.
      Bailey went to the circus last year and took all his
      children. So did Mr. Anderson and Mr. Stone, and oh! dozens
      of others, rich, great men. Well, did good people go? and
      Tip's thoughts strayed back to Mr. Holbrook, and Mr. Parker,
      and Mr. Minturn, yea, and others, whose voices he had heard
      on the streets and in stores, condemning the circus.
    </p>
    <p>
      But then, after all, where was the harm? There was Kitty, how
      much she wanted to go; if he could manage to take her, how
      glad she would be! At this point Satan thought there was a
      chance for him to speak; so he walked along with Tip, talking
      like this:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty has never asked you to do anything for her before. You
      want to help her; you want to get her to go to Sunday school
      and to read the Bible. Now's your time: if you take her to
      the circus, very likely she will do what you want her to."
    </p>
    <p>
      This was a little too absurd, even for Tip, who wanted to
      believe it all so badly; but who ever heard of taking any one
      to a circus in order to get them to love Jesus? Tip knew
      altogether too well for his comfort, that day, that Mr.
      Holbrook's example was the safe one. At last he drew a little
      sigh of relief; he needn't think about it any more, for he
      had no money: he had never owned fifty cents at one time in
      his life; so the question, after all, would settle itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      No, it wouldn't. Mr. Dewey stood in the door of his market,
      looking up and down the street.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hallo, Tip!" he called, as Tip turned the corner; "you're
      the boy I must have been looking for, I guess. If you'll
      carry home packages for me for an hour, and not steal one of
      them, I'll give you two tickets for the circus."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's cheeks glowed at the word steal, and he came near
      telling Mr. Dewey to carry his own packages, if he were
      afraid to trust him.
    </p>
    <p>
      But then, those two tickets! Here was a chance for Kitty. The
      conflict commenced again.
    </p>
    <p>
      A whole hour in which to decide it, for Tip meant to do the
      work any way. Up and down the streets, stopping at this house
      and that with his parcels, back again to the market for more,
      all the time in a whirl of thought. The question was almost
      decided when the two green tickets were placed in his hand;
      it closed over them eagerly. He hurried towards home.
    </p>
    <p>
      Towards home led him past the brick hotel. In the bar-room
      sat some of the circus men; he knew them by their heavy
      beards, which almost covered their faces; knew them also
      because he knew every man in town, just who were strangers
      and who were not. Well, these circus men were very busy
      drinking brandy and playing cards. Tip stopped and looked in
      at them; and, ignorant boy as he was, the thought that good,
      respectable people would go to see and hear such men as
      these, seemed very strange. It couldn't be right, could it?
      How was it? A great many nice people must have blundered
      terribly if it were wrong; and, on the other hand, if it were
      not wrong, how did the minister happen to be so afraid of
      these things? Why did he himself have so many queer feelings
      about the matter?
    </p>
    <p>
      What a trouble he was in! If only he could find somebody or
      something that would decide it for him! Long before this he
      had walked away from the hotel; now he had crossed the
      bridge, gone around behind the mill, and was very near his
      seat under the elm. Down he sat when he came to it, still
      holding fast the two green tickets, but with the other hand
      diving down in his pocket for the little Bible. That was
      getting to be a habit with him, to hunt for this lamp of his
      whenever he was in darkness. He turned the leaves now with a
      perplexed face. If he only knew where to turn for help!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me see," he said. "Where was that verse that I learned
      for the Sunday school concert? I liked the sound of that; it
      was somewhere in this book full of short, queer verses. I can
      find it; yes, I see it. 'For the Lord shall be thy
      confidence, and shall keep thy foot from being taken.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      It didn't seem to help him; he shook his head slowly, still
      glancing on over the verses, until suddenly his listless look
      vanished, and he read aloud;&mdash;"Enter not into the path
      of the wicked, and go not in the way of evil men. Avoid it,
      pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That means them," said Tip, "and me. They're wicked men,
      that's certain: they were drinking and
      gambling,&mdash;swearing too, I guess; and this verse reads
      about them just as plain as day. It says, 'Don't go near
      them,'&mdash;says it over and over again; and I'll mind it, I
      will. I'll take these tickets right back to Mr. Dewey, so
      they won't be here to put me in mind of going."
    </p>
    <p>
      No sooner said than done; he turned around and fairly
      galloped up the hill, around the corner, and landed nearly
      breathless at the market.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here, Mr. Dewey," he said promptly, "I've brought back your
      tickets; I don't want 'em this time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's up now?" asked Mr. Dewey, coming out from behind his
      desk, and eyeing the panting boy curiously. "Won't the
      tickets pass?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not if they wait till I pass 'em," answered Tip in his
      prompt, saucy way. "I ain't going to the circus, not an
      <i>inch</i>," he added, as if to assure himself that he meant
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I've got reasons."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, now, Tip," said Mr. Dewey, "that's really astonishing!
      Suppose you give us a few of your reasons. We don't know what
      to make of this."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip didn't know what to say; he hesitated and thought, and
      finally did the best thing he <i>could</i>,&mdash;spoke out
      boldly. "I've made up my mind that I won't go to any more
      circuses, <i>ever</i>! I don't believe in 'em as much as I
      did."
    </p>
    <p>
      That wasn't it yet,&mdash;he had not owned his Master in the
      answer. Neither was Mr. Dewey satisfied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, Tip, give us the <i>reasons</i>; this is such a sudden
      change, you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Tip, "I've been reading about them just now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "About whom?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, them circus fellows. They're up here at the tavern;
      they're drinking and fighting, and I don't know what; and I
      guess, by the looks of things, they're pretty wicked. The
      book I was reading said, Don't go near wicked men, turn
      around and go the other way; and I <i>mean</i> to." And with
      this Tip whisked out of the house and around the corner.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Dewey shrugged his shoulders.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The world turns around, sure enough," he said at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do you know that?" and Mr. Minturn set his market basket
      on the step, and fanned himself with his hat. "I'm my own boy
      to-day, you see; give me something for my dinner. How did you
      find out that the world turned around?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Tip Lewis has taken to preaching against circuses. Will
      you have a roast to-day, Mr. Minturn? I gave him a ticket,
      and he just rushed in with it and informed us he wasn't going
      to circuses any more, because the Bible says they are wicked
      fellows. What do you think of that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Humph!" said Mr. Minturn. "The Bible says it would be better
      for a man, sometimes, if a millstone were about his neck, and
      he were in the bottom of the sea. I'd look out for that, if I
      were you. Hurry up with your meat; I ought to be at the
      store."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip went home to Kitty. She still swung on the gate; at least
      she was there when he came up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Tip," she said, "are you going to take me? Oh, Tip,
      <i>do</i>! I never asked you for anything before."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip walked slowly up the yard, with his hands in his pockets,
      troubled,&mdash;not knowing what to say, or how to say it. At
      last he stopped and wheeled about. "Kitty, I can't; I can't
      go. I could get tickets if I dared, but I don't mean to go
      any more. They're bad, wicked men, and I'm trying to
      be"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      But Kitty twitched herself away from him, and wouldn't hear
      any more.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do go off!" she said. "You're a mean, ugly, hateful boy! I'm
      sorry you got so awful good, if you can't do that little much
      for me. Go away and let me alone."
    </p>
    <p>
      Even in his sore trouble a little flash of joy shot through
      Tip's heart. He <i>was</i> different, then. Kitty had noticed
      it; she knew he was trying to be different. There <i>must</i>
      be a little bit of change in him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH11"><!-- CH11 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Over and over in his mind did Tip repeat this verse; it
      seemed to sound all around him, and mixed up with everything
      he did. And yet he went out of the house that evening, and
      turned straight down the street in the direction leading to
      the tented circus grounds, walking along slowly, talking to
      himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It won't do any harm just to listen to the music. I don't
      mean to go in&mdash;of course I don't! Suppose I'd do
      <i>that</i>, after all I said to Kitty! Besides, I couldn't
      if I would; I haven't got any ticket. I'm just going to walk
      down that way, and see if there's lots of folks going, and if
      the music sounds nice."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Avoid it, pass not by it." Oh yes, Tip knew; he heard the
      voice, yet on he went; beginning to walk swiftly, only saying
      in answer, "I ain't going in; I couldn't if I wanted to; and
      I don't want to."
    </p>
    <p>
      By and by he came within sight of the tents and within sound
      of the music, which, to his untaught ears, was wonderfully
      beautiful; came up even to the very door of the large tent,
      bewitched to go just a step nearer, though he didn't mean to
      go in, not he.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yes, the people were crowding in. Mr. Douglass stood by the
      door. Tip knew him very well; that is, he knew he lived in a
      large house and had plenty of money; and he knew, when the
      men were trying to raise any money, some one was sure to say,
      "Go to Mr. Douglass; he's always ready to give."
    </p>
    <p>
      Everybody liked Mr. Douglass. He turned around now from
      looking down the road, and looked down at Tip.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Tip," he said, "going to the circus?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip shook his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's the matter?&mdash;no money? Pity to get so near and
      not go in; isn't it, pet?"
    </p>
    <p>
      This last to the dainty little girl whose hand he held.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," she answered, with a happy smile. "Papa, why don't
      mamma come?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, she'll be along soon. Here, sir," to the doorkeeper,
      handing him twenty-five cents, "let this ragamuffin in. In
      with you, Tip, and practise standing on your head for a month
      to come."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was all done in a hurry; the doorkeeper stepped aside, the
      crowd jostled and pushed against him, the music burst forth
      in a new loud swell. A moment more, and Tip stood in the
      brightly-lighted room, staring eagerly around him. There was
      enough to see; the seats were filling rapidly with
      gaily&mdash;dressed ladies and gentlemen. He knew them, many
      of them, had seen them on the streets often and often; had
      seen some of them in Sabbath school, seated before their
      classes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip was speedily giving himself up to enjoyment, hushing the
      small voice in his heart. One of the nicest men in town had
      let him in; yes, and there he was now with his wife and
      little girl; Mrs. Douglas was not only a teacher in the
      Sabbath school, but a member of the church. If she could go
      to the circus, why couldn't he? So Tip reasoned, and nobody
      told him that his lamp said, "Every one of us shall give
      account of <i>himself</i> to God."
    </p>
    <p>
      Presently the wonderful little shaggy ponies trotted out; and
      back behind the curtains was one of the riders; he got a peep
      of her every now and then in her splendid dress; he knew she
      would be out pretty soon, and then she would ride.
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh, that music! how it rolled around the ring! Tip was too
      busy looking and listening to keep out of people's way; he
      stepped back, still jostled by the crowd who were pouring in,
      and stepped directly in front of a man who was trying to make
      his way through the crowd around the entrance. Tip knew him
      in an instant; he was one of the circus men,&mdash;the one
      with the ugly face that he had noticed in the morning; it was
      ugly still, and red with liquor. He turned a pair of fiery
      eyes on Tip, and a dreadful oath fell from his lips as he
      swung him angrily out of his way.
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh, Tip Lewis! No wonder your heart fairly stops its beating
      for an instant, then bounds on with rapid throbs. Only a few
      days ago you listened to the story of a bleeding, dying
      Saviour, bleeding and dying for you; and you promised, with
      honest tears, that for this you would love and serve and
      honour Him for ever. And yet, to-night, here you are,
      watching the tricks of men who can speak that sacred name in
      such a way that it will make even you, who are used to this,
      shudder and turn cold. "In the name of the Saviour whom you
      love, what do you here?"
    </p>
    <p>
      It was to Tip as if Christ Himself had asked that question.
      He turned suddenly, and, with both hands pressed to his ears,
      fairly fought his way through the crowd.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me out! let me go!" He fairly shrieked the words at the
      astonished doorkeeper, who stood aside to let him pass. Up
      the hill with swift, eager steps he ran, trying still to shut
      out the ring of that awful oath, the sound of that hateful
      voice, speaking the name which had so lately become to him
      the one dear and precious name in earth or heaven. On, on, up
      the hill, and then down on the other side, stopping finally
      at the great tree under the hill, just across the pond.
      Stopping and sitting down, he tried to think. What had he
      done? He had been warned, he had been tempted, and he had
      <i>fallen</i>. It didn't help him now to think that good men
      and women were there. Perhaps God had not so plainly shown
      them the wrong. Perhaps they had never found that verse:
      "Avoid it, pass not by it." Perhaps&mdash;oh,
      <i>anything</i>&mdash;it was nothing to him now. This much
      was certain: he had done wrong. Such a heavy, <i>heavy</i>
      heart as Tip had to-night. "What <i>should</i> he do? What
      would Kitty say, if she found it out? Oh, what would Mr.
      Dewey think, or Mr. Holbrook? and then, above all else, came
      the thought, What could Jesus, looking down on him now from
      heaven, what could <i>He</i> think of him? This thought
      brought the bitter tears, but it brought him also on his
      knees; and he said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Jesus Christ, in spite of it all, you <i>know</i> I love
      you. Won't you forgive me and let me try again?" Long he
      knelt there, trying to get close to Christ, and his Saviour
      did not leave him alone. It was only yesterday he had learned
      the verse, and it came to him softly now: "Thou art a God
      ready to pardon, gracious and merciful, slow to anger, of
      great kindness."
    </p>
    <p>
      In his sore trouble, Tip's lamp had not failed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH12"><!-- CH12 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "He honoureth them that fear the Lord."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Slowly, but surely, as the late autumn days came on, Tip was
      growing into a better place in the schoolroom, in the opinion
      of his teachers and his schoolmates. In Mr. Burrows' school,
      ten was the perfect mark, and <i>x</i> was the very lowest
      grade a boy could reach. It had once been an everyday joke
      with Tip, that, being <i>x</i>, he must be perfect, because
      it said in the spelling-book that <i>x</i> was ten.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it had been a good many days since Tip had said
      "<i>x</i>;" the boys had ceased to be amazed when he answered
      "ten" in prompt, proud tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      They were growing, many of them, to be surprised and sorry
      for him, when, in his days of failures, he answered, with
      drooped eyes and very red, ashamed face, "seven," or, it
      might be, "six."
    </p>
    <p>
      Though he was still anything but a good reader, no one could
      fail to see that he blundered less and less every day, and
      Mr. Burrows was growing patient with his blunders, growing
      helpful in his troubles.
    </p>
    <p>
      The boys saw him working hard over his spelling-book, and few
      of them now had the meanness to laugh when a word passed him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows' tones were not so harsh to him as they used to
      be; and now-a-days, when he was accused of breaking rules,
      instead of being called up and unhesitatingly punished, his
      teacher, who grew every day less and less sure that he was at
      the bottom of all the mischief done, always gave him a chance
      to speak for himself, and was learning to believe him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh yes! things were different, and were all the time growing
      more so. Bob Turner saw this plainly: he began to find Tip a
      very stupid companion, and stayed away from school more
      afternoons than ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      But poor Tip noticed the change less,&mdash;yes, much less
      than any of the others. You don't know how hard it was for
      him. Do you think Satan was willing to leave him, and let him
      grow quietly into a good boy? Not a bit of it. You see he had
      been born bubbling over with fun and frolic; he had never
      learned to have them come in at the right place or the right
      time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Sometimes he felt willing to give up all trying to do right,
      for the sake of having a grand frolic just when and where he
      wanted it,&mdash;no matter what might be going on just then.
      Sometimes, when he failed, he felt fierce and sullen, and
      told himself it was all humbug, this trying to be good.
      Sometimes he felt so utterly sad and discouraged, that it
      seemed to him he never could try again; yet through it all he
      <i>did</i> try heartily.
    </p>
    <p>
      His arithmetic was the hardest. He was still in the dunce
      class,&mdash;so the boys called it, because it was made up of
      the drones from several classes, and was constantly being put
      back to addition.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a sharp winter's morning. No more make-believe winter
      for a while,&mdash;the snow lay white and crisp on the
      ground, and the frosty air stung every nose and every finger
      it could reach.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's study, at the foot of the hill under the elm, had been
      quite broken up, and he found it very hard to study at
      home,&mdash;especially this morning. His father's cough had
      been bad all night, and this made his mother troubled and
      cross.
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty, these days, seemed trying to see just how cross and
      disagreeable she could be; and the kitchen&mdash;at best a
      dismal place&mdash;was just now at the worst. The wet wood in
      the stove sizzled and stewed and made a smoke; and in the
      midst of Tip's fifth trial on an example which was puzzling
      him terribly, he was called on to split some kindlings.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This instant!&mdash;I won't wait a minute!" Kitty said in a
      provokingly commanding tone; and Tip went at it sullenly,
      saying, with every spiteful drive of his axe through the pine
      board which he had picked up, "It's no use; I <i>cant</i> do
      that sum, and I ain't going to try. I don't know anything,
      and never will. I've done it over fifty times, and twisted it
      every way I can think of. There's no sense to it, any
      way,&mdash;sixteen sheep <i>stood him in</i> two dollars
      apiece. What does that mean, I'd like to know? He had forty
      sheep and twenty-five cows. I know it all by heart; but I
      can't do it, and that's the whole of it. I wish his sheep had
      choked to death, and his old cows run away, before I ever
      heard of them. I'll go over it just once more." (Tip was back
      by the kitchen window now, with his slate and book.) "Let's
      see: twenty-five cows at thirty-four dollars apiece;" and he
      worked away in nervous haste, until he came to "stood him
      in." If he only <i>could</i> find out what that meant, he
      felt sure he could do it. If he had somebody to help him; but
      he hadn't. There would be no time after he went to school
      before the class was called.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just then he thought of his father; he used to be a carpenter
      before he was sick, and he used to make a great many figures
      sometimes on smooth boards. Tip remembered it was just
      possible that he might know something about the sum. Suppose
      he should ask him?
    </p>
    <p>
      He started up suddenly, and went towards the bedroom door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Father," he said softly, "can't you tell me what 'stood him
      in' means?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The sick man turned himself on his pillow, and looked
      wonderingly at Tip.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you mean?" he asked at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why," said Tip, in a despairing tone, "it says 'stood him
      in' in the arithmetic,&mdash;the sheep stood him in two
      dollars apiece,&mdash;and I don't see any sense to it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh!" said Mr. Lewis; "I see what you mean;" then he went
      back to his long-ago deserted carpenter's shop.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Tip, if I had ten pounds of nails, and they were worth
      eight cents a pound, they would stand me just so
      much,&mdash;that is, they would be worth that to me; and if I
      should sell them I'd get so much for them. Don't you see?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Light began to dawn on Tip's mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then it means," he said, "that the man didn't sell his
      sixteen sheep; he just counted them worth two dollars apiece.
      Yes, I see; if that's it, I'll try it." And he rushed to his
      work again.
    </p>
    <p>
      And Tip will never forget the eagerness with which he
      presently turned to the answer in his arithmetic, and from
      that back to the one on the slate, nor the way in which the
      blood bounded through his veins when he found that they
      agreed perfectly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's exactly it," he called out to his father, in a hearty,
      grateful voice. "I've got it, and I've been at work on it
      this whole morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis Holbrook, about that time, conquered a most puzzling
      example in algebra; but he felt not prouder than did Tip.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thomas," said Mr. Burrows to the head boy in Tip's
      arithmetic class, "you may take the twenty-third example to
      the board."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can't do it," answered Thomas promptly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Henry may do it, then."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I couldn't get it either," was Henry's answer. So on down
      the class; Tip's heart meantime beating eagerly, for the
      twenty-third example was about his troublesome, but by this
      time very much-beloved sheep.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Robert?" said Mr. Burrows, more for form's sake than because
      he had the slightest doubt about Robert's reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My!" said Bob Turner good-naturedly; "I can't do it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip sat next, and something in his face made Mr. Burrows put
      the question to him, though he had nearly resolved to waste
      no more time in the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can you do this, Edward?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir," said Tip promptly and proudly, "I can."
    </p>
    <p>
      And no nobler figures or firmer lines did chalk ever make on
      a blackboard than was made while that troublesome example was
      being done.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was roused from his flutter of satisfaction by hearing Mr.
      Burrows' voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you know anything about the lesson, <i>any</i> of you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm sure <i>I</i> don't," answered Bob, still
      good-naturedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows was growing utterly out of patience; this same
      scene had been acted too often to be endured longer. He
      turned back to the first pages in the book.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well," he said at last; "you may take the first page in
      addition to-morrow morning, and we'll see if you can be made
      to know anything about that."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's hopes fell; his heart was as heavy as lead. Not one of
      the others cared; they were used to it; so indeed was he,
      only now he was trying, he did so long to go on; just when he
      was working <i>so</i> hard, to be put away back to the
      beginning again made him feel utterly disgraced.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wait a minute, Tip." Mr. Burrows' eye fell first on him,
      then on the neatly and correctly worked example; then he
      turned, and asked, "Charlie Wilcox, on what page is your
      arithmetic lesson for to-morrow?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We commence multiplication, sir," answered Charlie, a bright
      little boy, who belonged to a bright class, that did not idle
      over any pages in their work.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward," said Mr. Burrows, turning back to Tip, "you have
      done well to-day. You mean to study, after this, I think; I
      have been watching you for some time. The third arithmetic
      class take the first page in multiplication for their next
      lesson to-morrow; you may take your place in that class, and
      remain there as long as you can keep up with it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Now Tip was too much astonished to speak or move; his wildest
      dreams had not taken in promotion, at least not for a long,
      <i>long</i> time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bob Turner leaned over and looked at him in actual sober
      wonder, that Tip was to be in a higher class.
    </p>
    <p>
      Not a word did Tip say. He did not even raise his eyes to his
      teacher's face; and that teacher had not the least idea how
      the boy before him felt. He did not know how Tip's heart was
      throbbing, nor how he was saying over and over to himself,
      "Things are different; they're surely different." He did not
      know how those few words of his, spoken that winter morning,
      were going to help to make the boy a man.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was that very morning, standing in that room before the
      blackboard, with his toe on the third crack from the wall,
      that Tip resolved to have an education.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH13"><!-- CH13 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "The rich and poor meet together; the Lord is the Maker of
      them all."
    </h3>
    <p>
      The boys gathered around the stove before school, and talked.
      The boys,&mdash;not all of them, by any means. Only that
      small, select number who were above, and led all the rest.
      Tip wandered outside of the circle, feeling very forlorn; he
      didn't belong anywhere these days. Bob and his friends had
      very nearly deserted him; there was scarcely any of their fun
      in which he had time or desire to join, and the other cliques
      in school had never noticed him; so he stood outside, and
      wondered what he should do with himself. Howard Minturn
      wheeled suddenly away from the boys, and called to
      him,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tip, see here."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Tip went there.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you want?" he asked crossly; for some way he felt
      out of sorts with that company of finely-dressed boys around
      the stove.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Want you to come over to-night. It's my birthday, you know,
      and some of the boys are coming to take tea, and spend the
      evening. Can you come?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's wide-open eyes spoke his astonishment. "What do you
      want of me?" he asked at last, speaking boldly just what he
      thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, I want you to come and help have a nice time," returned
      Howard, with great kindness, but just a little condescension
      in his tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip heard it, and his bitterness showed itself a little.
      "It's a new streak you've got, ain't it?" he said, still
      speaking crossly. "You've had lots of birthdays, and this is
      the first one <i>I've</i> heard of."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, well!" said Howard proudly, flushing as he spoke; "if
      you don't want to come, why"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows' hand was laid on Howard's arm. "Don't spoil a
      good, noble thing, my boy. It is all new to Edward;
      <i>urge</i> him."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows spoke low, so no one else could hear him, and
      turned away.
    </p>
    <p>
      At recess Howard sought out Tip.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I honestly hope you'll come to-night, Tip, for you're a good
      fellow to play games with, and the boys would all like to
      have you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip had quarrelled with his ill-humour, and it had vanished.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll come," he said, in a cheery tone; "only I'll look like
      a big rag-bag by the side of <i>you</i> fellows."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never mind," said Howard, turning to join the boys,
      "<i>you</i> come."
    </p>
    <p>
      Why had Howard Minturn invited him to the grand birthday
      party? This was the question that puzzled Tip. Had he known
      the reason, it would have been like this: Mr. Minturn had
      never quite lost sight of Tip since the circus. He wanted to
      help him,&mdash;wanted to do it through his son; only he
      wanted the son to think that he did it himself. Knowing
      Howard pretty well, he said, when they were seated at
      breakfast that morning,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I've just been reading about a real hero."
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard longed to be a hero; he looked up eagerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who was he, father? What did he do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He was a rich young man, and he had the courage to take for
      his friend a poor fellow who hadn't two cents to his name. To
      pay him, the time came when he was proud to be noticed by the
      great man who was once so low."
    </p>
    <p>
      This thought was still in Howard's mind when he walked with
      Ellis to school. So, when Ellis said, "There goes Tip Lewis;
      father thinks we boys ought to notice him; he is trying real
      hard now-a-days to behave himself, you know," it was easy for
      Howard to mingle Tip in with his thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ellis," he said, after a moment's silence, "suppose I invite
      him to come to our house to-night? He's a splendid good
      fellow to have a game; never gets mad, you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "S'pose he'd come?" asked Ellis.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, of course; jump at the chance. <i>I'll do it</i>. Our
      boys will think it odd, I suppose; but I guess I have courage
      enough to do as I please."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Howard drew himself up proudly, and thought of his
      father's hero.
    </p>
    <p>
      So this was why Tip was invited to the birthday gathering at
      the grand house on the hill.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Lewis sewed, that afternoon, on his jacket, mending it
      up more neatly than ever before. She had said very little
      about this invitation, but she couldn't help feeling proud
      and gratified over it. It was certainly a wonderful jump for
      Tip, from mingling with the worst and lowest boys in town, to
      find himself taking a long stride, and reaching the very top.
      So Mrs. Lewis sewed, and Kitty, as she sat watching the
      needle fly back and forth, spoke her thoughts:
    </p>
    <p>
      "All of the boys down to Mr. Burrows' school wear white
      collars on their jackets."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," answered her mother snappishly, "what's that to me?
      S'posing they wear white <i>cats</i> on their jackets, I
      could get him one just as easy as t'other."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a sore subject with Mrs. Lewis. From her very heart
      she wished she could dress Tip in broadcloth to-day, just as
      fine as that which Howard Minturn himself wore, and a collar
      so white and shiny that it would fairly dazzle the eyes of
      the others to look upon it; but, since she was so powerless
      to do what she would, it made her cross.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bedroom door was open, and Tip's father heard. By and by,
      when his cough was quieter, he called, "Kitty!" and the
      little girl went in to him. "Is the jacket fixed, Kitty?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Does it look nice?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Some."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Would you like to find a collar for Tip to wear?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well enough," said Kitty wonderingly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, now, I've got two or three that I don't wear any more,
      and never shall, I guess" (this last spoken sadly); "s'pose
      you take one of 'em&mdash;they're in that square box under
      the table&mdash;and see if you can't sew it on the jacket,
      and make it look like what the other boys wear? Now, you try
      what you can do, just to see what Tip will say."
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty went slowly over to the box. This was new work for her,
      but her father was very pale to-day, and those sadly-spoken
      words, "and never shall, I guess," had quieted her; so she
      made no answer, but drew out one of the collars. It looked
      nice and white, and shone, too. Mrs. Lewis had done it up
      late one night, with tears in her eyes, because she could not
      hope that it would be worn again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What are you doing with that?" she asked sharply, as Kitty
      appeared from the bedroom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Father wants Tip to wear it," answered Kitty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll lend it to him," spoke the sick man; "we want him to
      look as decent as we can to-day, you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Lewis said no more, but it seemed to her like giving up
      one more hope of her husband's life.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip came down from the garret, with neatly-brushed hair, and
      dressed in his clean shirt, nicely mended jacket, and the
      shiny collar. It was wonderful what a difference that collar
      made; he didn't look like the same boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty," he said, his face all aglow with pleasure, "where
      <i>did</i> I get a collar?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's father's; he said wear it," answered Kitty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how did it get on my jacket?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Jumped on, likely."
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty spoke in a short, half provoked tone; she was so unused
      to doing a kind thing, that she really felt half ashamed of
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Tip, smiling all over his face, "if that's so,
      it's the best jump it ever took, and I thank it from the
      bottom of my heart." Then he carried his bright, good-natured
      face out of the little house in the hollow, and went towards
      the great house on the hill.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH14"><!-- CH14 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give
      account thereof in the day of judgment."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Howard Minturn was a king among the schoolboys; so, though
      some of them nudged each other and laughed a little when Tip
      swung open the iron gate and appeared in Mr. Minturn's
      grounds, the most of them, seeing how quickly Howard sprang
      forward, and how heartily he greeted the newcomer, did the
      same. Howard was his father over again; if he did a thing at
      all, he did it well. Every moment of that afternoon was
      enjoyed as only boys know how to enjoy holidays: the whole
      round of winter fun was gone through with,&mdash;coasting,
      snowballing, building forts, rolling in the snow, each had
      their turn.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip was not one whit behind the rest in all these matters,
      and if ever boy enjoyed an afternoon, he did that one. The
      sun had set in its clear, cold beauty, and the sharp winter
      night was coming down; the boys stood at the foot of the hill
      waiting for Ellis and his sled, which were at the top; they
      came at last, shooting down the glassy surface.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hurry up," called out Howard, as he spun along. "What the
      mischief became of you? We thought you had gone to hunt up
      Sir John Franklin and crew."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hurry down, I should say you meant," answered Ellis, guiding
      his sled skilfully around the curve, and springing to his
      feet. "I waited for the rest of you; thought you were coming
      back."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Howard, "we just <i>ain't</i>. We appointed a
      committee to find out how many were frozen up altogether
      entirely, and found that every single one of us were; so
      we're going in to the library fire to get thawed out by
      tea-time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All right," said Ellis, shouldering his sled; "Howard,
      where's your skates?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, bother! they're at the top of that awful hill. Never
      mind; you walk on slowly, and I'll run back and get them."
    </p>
    <p>
      The boys obeyed, and Ellis Holbrook was just swinging open
      the little gate that led to Mr. Minturn's grounds, when
      Howard called, as he ran down the hill, "Hold on! Don't go
      that way, it will lead you right through the deepest snow
      there is; take the big gate." And by the time he reached
      them, panting and breathless, they were at the big gate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is jolly," said Will Bailey, throwing himself into a
      great arm-chair before the glowing fire. "My! I believe I'm a
      snowball."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You'd have been an icicle if you had gone the way Ellis was
      leading you; why, the snow is so high," said Howard, raising
      his hand almost on a level with his head.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis laughed. "I'm sure I thought I was going right," he
      said. "I must have been thinking of yesterday's lesson in
      Sunday school,&mdash;'Enter ye in at the strait gate.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ho!" said Will Bailey; "for that matter, one gate is as
      straight as the other."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You don't understand the Bible, my boy," said Howard, laying
      his hand on Will's shoulder with a provoking little pat, "or
      you'd know that strait means narrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll bet a dollar that you were no wiser yourself until
      father explained the verse yesterday," said Ellis, laughing.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip, meantime, stood apart flushed and silent; he knew about
      the Sunday lesson, and remembered the solemn talk which Mr.
      Holbrook gave them; and remembered how he urged them, while
      they were young, to enter into that strait gate; he felt
      shocked and troubled at the sound of Ellis's careless words.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know one thing," he said abruptly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you?" said Will Bailey in a mocking tone. "That's very
      strange!" Will felt above Tip, and took care to let him know
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis turned a quick, indignant glance on him; then spoke to
      Tip in a kind and interested tone: "What were you going to
      say, Tip."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That, if I were the minister's son, I wouldn't make fun of
      the Bible."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis's face was crimson in an instant. "What do you mean by
      that?" he asked haughtily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Just what I say," was Tip's cool reply.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you pretend to say that <i>I</i> make fun of the Bible?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Humph! Didn't I hear you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Ellis, in a heat, "you <i>didn't</i>! and I'd
      thank you not to say so neither."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, now," said Tip, "I'll leave it to any boy here if you
      didn't. When a fellow takes a thing in the Bible and twists
      it around, and makes believe it means some little silly thing
      that it don't mean at all, I call that making fun."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poh!" said Howard, coming to the rescue of his friend. "What
      a fuss you're making about nothing. You're getting wise,
      aren't you, Tip? Ellis was only saying that verse in fun,
      just as lots of people do. I've heard good men quote the
      Bible and laugh over it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can't help that," said Tip boldly; "I say it's wicked, and
      Ellis Holbrook's father says so too. I heard him tell Will
      Bailey once that folks ought to be very careful how they said
      things that were in the Bible.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did he tell you to go around preaching for him through the
      week? How much does he pay you for your services? Come, let's
      hear."
    </p>
    <p>
      This was said in Will Bailey's most disagreeable tone. Before
      Tip had time to answer, Ellis spoke again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I don't pretend to be as good as some people are, but
      I really can't see any awful wickedness in anything that I've
      said to-night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Neither can anybody else, except Tip," said Will, "and he's
      good, you know; he never does anything wrong, except to tell
      lies and swear, or some little matters."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis was an honest boy. "No," he said gravely, "there is no
      use in saying what isn't true, for the sake of helping my
      side along. Tip don't do either of those things now-a-days, I
      believe; but I'm sure I don't thank him for his good opinion
      of me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard was glad at this moment to hear the tea-bell peal
      through the house, for the boys were growing cross. Most of
      them had been so astonished at the bold stand which Tip had
      taken, that they said nothing, only gathered round, and
      waited to see what would come next.
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard sprang up. "There's something I, for one, am ready
      for. Come, boys;" and he led the way to the dining-room. Oh,
      that dining-room, with its bright lights and splendid table,
      was such a wonderful sight to Tip! It was a very nice
      birthday supper,&mdash;plates of warm biscuit, platters of
      cold chicken, dishes of beautiful honey, silver cake-baskets,
      filled with heavily-frosted cake. Tip, for one, had never
      seen such a sight in his life before, and he was so
      bewildered with the dazzle and glitter that he didn't know
      which way to turn.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Howard," said Mrs. Minturn, turning to her son, after she
      had welcomed his friends, "do you want your father to take
      the head of the table, or would you and the boys prefer
      having the room to yourselves?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, ma'am," answered Howard, with energy; "we want you and
      father <i>both</i>. I guess I want <i>you</i> to my party,
      whoever else I have."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip watched the bright light on Howard's face with surprise.
      How much he seemed to love his mother, and how much she loved
      him! how queer it was! The supper was a great success; the
      boys forgot their excitement and ill-humour, and enjoyed
      everything.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was almost nine o'clock, the hour when it was generally
      understood that the party was to break up. The boys had been
      very merry all the evening; the discussion which had taken
      place just before tea seemed to have been forgotten, save by
      Ellis, who, genial and hearty enough with the others, was
      cold and haughty to Tip. Still, they kept apart, and the fun
      had gone on famously. There was a sudden lull in the uproar
      when Mr. Minturn opened the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are the walls left?" he asked, coming forward.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The <i>walls</i>?" said Ellis inquiringly; "why, sir, did
      you expect to miss them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I had some such fears, but I see they're all right.
      What are you up to?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ellis was telling a story, that's what we were laughing at
      when you came in," said Howard. "Go on, El&mdash;never mind
      father, he likes to hear stories."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Ellis, blushing crimson; "I think I'll be
      excused."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go ahead," said Mr. Minturn; "I'm very fond of stories."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was only telling, sir, how Joe Barnes talked to his father
      when I was down there this morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, and, father, you'd be perfectly astonished to hear
      him," chimed in Howard. "I never heard a fellow go on so in
      my life; he makes fun of every single thing his father says."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you think there is anything very surprising in that?"
      asked Mr. Minturn coolly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surprising! I guess you'd think so. Why, when his father is
      talking to him real soberly, he mimics him, and laughs right
      in his face."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I shouldn't suppose you would think there was anything
      strange about that."
    </p>
    <p>
      The boys looked puzzled. "Why, Mr. Minturn!" said Ellis;
      "wouldn't you think it strange if Howard should do so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, no; I don't know that I should have any reason to be
      astonished."
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard looked not only surprised, but very much hurt. "I'm
      sure, father," he said, in a voice which trembled a little,
      "I didn't know I was so rude to you as all that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Mr. Minturn, "you never have been, but I rather
      expect you to commence. I shall have no reason to be
      surprised if you and Ellis and Will Bailey, and a host of
      others, all go to making fun of what your fathers say to you
      after this."
    </p>
    <p>
      The boys seemed perfectly astonished. "<i>I</i>, for one,"
      said Ellis Holbrook proudly, "think too much of <i>my</i>
      father, to be in any such danger."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You <i>do</i>?" said Mr. Minturn; "well, now, I <i>am</i>
      amazed. I supposed you would be the very worst one."
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard left the table and came over to where his father had
      seated himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Father, what <i>do</i> you mean?" he asked, in an earnest,
      anxious tone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, I mean," said his father, "that I was in that room over
      there just before tea, and I heard the discussion which came
      up between you boys, and I came to the conclusion that boys
      who thought it such a little matter to make fun of solemn
      words which God has said to them, need not be expected to
      show much respect for what their father or anybody else
      said."
    </p>
    <p>
      A perfect stillness settled over the boys at these words, and
      not only Ellis Holbrook's cheeks, but his whole face glowed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard came to the rescue at last, very stammeringly: "But,
      father&mdash;I don't think&mdash;do you think&mdash;I
      mean&mdash;well, sir, you know Ellis and the rest of us
      didn't mean to make fun of what God said. Don't you think
      that makes a difference?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know, I'm sure. How do you know that Joe Barnes
      means to make fun of what his father says?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He acts like it," Howard said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Exactly; and so do you, every one of you, except Tip. I
      don't say, boys, that you are all going to be disrespectful
      to your elders after this; I only say I don't see why your
      earthly friends should expect more reverence from you than
      you give to God."
    </p>
    <p>
      Boys and man were all silent for a little after that, until
      Mr. Minturn broke the stillness by repeating reverently,
      "'Enter ye in at the strait gate.' I guess you all know what
      that means. I would like to know whether there is a boy here
      who thinks he has entered in at that gate."
    </p>
    <p>
      How still the room was while he waited for his answer! Tip
      could feel his heart throb&mdash;throb&mdash;with loud,
      distinct beats; twice he tried to break the silence, and
      couldn't. At last he found voice: "I do, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Minturn turned quickly. "What makes you think so, Tip?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because I love Jesus, and I'm trying to do what He says."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Minturn's voice trembled a little: "God bless you, my
      boy; try to get all the rest to go through the same gate."
    </p>
    <p>
      The town clock struck the hour, nine o'clock. The boys made a
      move to separate. Tip took his cap and walked out alone in
      the cold, clear starlight. He felt quiet and strong. It was
      done at last: he had taken his stand before the
      boys&mdash;had "shown his colours."
    </p>
    <p>
      They all knew now that he was trying hard, and who was
      helping him. Things must surely be different after this, for
      ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH15"><!-- CH15 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "And all things, whatsoever ye shall ask in player,
      believing, ye shall receive."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Meantime, was Kitty forgotten? Not a bit of it. If ever boy
      prayed for any one, Tip prayed for her. His very soul was in
      it; yet thus far his prayers seemed to have been in vain. The
      lesson, one Sabbath morning, was on "God's answers to
      prayer." Tip listened closely, yet with an unsatisfied
      longing in his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Holbrook," he said, waiting after the rest had gone, "is
      there time for just one question?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, for two, if you like," said Mr. Holbrook, sitting down
      again; "what is it, Edward?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I want to know why God don't answer folks' prayers right
      away?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Holbrook smiled. "If your questions are all as hard as
      that, Edward, I don't think there will be time for another
      to-day. But there may be several reasons: we will try to find
      them. Sometimes God doesn't answer our prayers at once,
      simply to try our faith, to see whether we are willing to
      take Him at His word, and keep on asking, until He is ready
      to give; or whether we will grow tired in a little while, and
      give it up. And sometimes we spend all our strength in
      praying, and don't work; then, often, we don't believe we
      shall get what we are praying for. Do you understand me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir," answered Tip promptly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, let me see if I can make it plainer. For whom are you
      praying, Edward, that you are troubled this morning, because
      you have not been heard?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "For Kitty; I have been, this long time. Kitty's my sister,
      and I want her to love Jesus; but it don't seem to do any
      good for me to pray for her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is <i>possible</i> that God may be trying your patience,
      but not probable; I think we can find a better reason. Do you
      work while you pray? I mean, do you talk with
      Kitty,&mdash;tell her what you are praying for,&mdash;urge
      her to come to Christ,&mdash;try to show her how?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip looked grave. "I did talk a little to her once, but it
      didn't seem to do her any good, and I haven't said a word
      since."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you ever read in the Bible what is said about such
      praying, about saying, 'Depart in peace, be ye warmed and
      filled,' and not <i>doing</i> anything?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip shook his head, and Mr. Holbrook held out his hand for
      the little Bible.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me find it for you, and when you go home you may read
      it, and see if you, in praying for Kitty and never saying a
      word to her, are not a little like that man. Then there's
      another thing. Do you really believe that God will do what
      you ask Him? You say every day in your prayer, 'O God, make
      Kitty a Christian;' and yet, wouldn't you be very much
      astonished if Kitty should come to you to-day, and say, 'I
      want to be a Christian!' Are you looking out for any such
      thing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip generally spoke his honest thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," he said gravely, "I ain't."
    </p>
    <p>
      The church bell began to ring, and Mr. Holbrook arose. "I
      think, if you begin to work and pray together, and then ask
      God to help you to believe, that He will surely do as He has
      promised; that you will soon find your prayers answered."
    </p>
    <p>
      This he said while gathering up his books and papers ready to
      start, and then,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward, why don't you come to our Thursday evening
      prayer-meetings?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's eyes were full of astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I never once thought of it," he said. "Why, Mr. Holbrook,
      boys don't go, do they?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said the minister sadly, "they don't; because I don't
      know of another boy of your age in this whole town who loves
      the Saviour. Only think what a work there is for you to do!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip went home with his brain full of new thoughts. No, he
      didn't go home; he only went as far as the elm-tree, and
      there he sat down and read what Mr. Holbrook had marked in
      his Bible. Yes, that was just the way in which he had been
      praying for Kitty; and it was certainly true, as Mr. Holbrook
      had said, nothing could surprise him more than that Kitty
      should really and truly come to Jesus.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before he went from under the tree that day, he prayed this
      prayer: "O God, teach me to believe that you will make Kitty
      love Jesus, and show me how to help her."
    </p>
    <p>
      After this, of course he looked out for his chances in which
      to work, and of course he found them,&mdash;found one that
      very day. After dinner Kitty wandered off by herself. Tip
      watched her, and she took the road leading to the cemetery.
      God put it into his heart to hurry after her; so, when he
      came up to her, where she sat, on a large stone which she had
      rolled very near to Johnny's grave, his heart was beating at
      the thought of the great work which he had to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What did <i>you</i> come for?" said Kitty, looking up.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip hesitated a minute, then told the plain truth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I came after you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I suppose I know that: you didn't come before me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I mean I came to <i>see</i> you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, look at me, then, and go off; I don't want you here."
    </p>
    <p>
      Clearly, whatever was to be said must be said quickly, and
      Tip's heart was very full of its message, so his voice was
      tender:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Kitty, I came to ask you if you <i>wouldn't</i> be a
      Christian. I <i>do</i> want it so, it seems as if I couldn't
      wait."
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty looked steadily and gravely at her brother. "What do
      you mean by 'be a Christian?'" she asked at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I mean love Jesus, and do as He says."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What'll I love Him for?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Cause you can't help it, when you find out how much He
      loves you, and all the things He does for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What does He say do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He says be good; try to do right things all the time."
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty's eyes flashed. "Now, ain't you mean," she said
      angrily, "to come and tell me such things, when you know I
      ain't good, and <i>can't</i> be good? Isn't mother ugly and
      cross and scolding to me all the time? and don't I have to
      work and work, <i>always</i>, and never have anything? And
      I'm cross and get mad, and I <i>will</i>, too. I can't help
      it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, but, Kitty," Tip interrupted eagerly, "you don't know
      about it! He helps you, Jesus does. When anything is the
      matter, when you feel cross and bad, you just go and kneel
      down and tell Him all about it, and He helps you every time.
      And up in heaven, where you can go when you die, nobody ever
      gets cross and scolds. And it's beautiful there: they sing,
      and have fountains, and wear gold crowns; and&mdash;and
      Johnny is there, you know; and I'm going, and I <i>do</i>
      want you to come along."
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty's face had been growing graver and graver with every
      word her brother spoke, and when at last he stopped, with his
      eyes turned towards Johnny's little grave, Kitty's shawl was
      crumpled up in her two hands and held tightly to her face;
      and she was crying, not softly and quietly, but rocking
      herself back and forth, and giving way to great sobs which
      shook her little form.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip looked distressed; he didn't know what to say next; he
      stooped down to her at last, and spoke softly: "Oh, Kitty,
      I'm sorry for you! if you only <i>would</i> love Jesus, it
      would make you happy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I want to&mdash;I want to!" sobbed Kitty; "I would if I knew
      how."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's heart gave a bound of joy&mdash;a surprised bound, too;
      he had not expected it so soon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's easy, Kitty, it is, truly, if you only just ask God to
      do it. You see He can hear every word you say; He hears you
      now, but He wants you to ask Him about it. Say, Kitty, I'll
      go off and leave you,&mdash;I'll go where I can't see nor
      hear you,&mdash;then you kneel down and tell Jesus about it,
      and He'll help you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stop!" said Kitty, as Tip was turning away; "wait! I don't
      know what to say."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, just <i>tell</i> Him, just as you did me, and ask Him
      to help you. You see, Kitty, you can't do a thing without
      that; He's got to look after you every single minute, or it's
      nothing at all."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip went away, and Kitty was left alone,&mdash;alone in the
      spot where her brother had first found the Saviour. She felt
      very strangely; she had been left there alone to offer her
      first prayer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty had never been taught to kneel down by her bedside
      every evening, and repeat "Our Father;" it was all new and
      strange to her. She sat still a long time, with the sober
      look deepening on her face. At last she got down on her knees
      and rested her little hard hands on the hard snow which
      covered Johnny's bed, and she said, "Jesus, I want to be what
      Tip says. I want to love you if you'll let me. Nobody loves
      me, I guess. Tip says you'll help me all the time. If you
      will, I'll try."
    </p>
    <p>
      After she had said this, slowly and thoughtfully, stopping
      long between each sentence, she didn't feel like rising up;
      she wanted to say more, so she repeated it, adding, "Tip says
      I must be good. I can't be good, but I'll try."
    </p>
    <p>
      Over and over was the simple, earnest prayer repeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip did not go back to Johnny's grave; he took a side road
      down through the edge of the grove, and so went home; and
      when he reached home, he went up to his attic room, and knelt
      down and prayed for Kitty as only those <i>can</i> pray who
      have been working as well as asking for what they want.
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty was stirring the pudding for supper when he saw her
      again,&mdash;stirring away hard at the heavy mass, which grew
      thicker and harder to stir every moment. He went over to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty, let me do this;" and she gave up the pudding-stick.
      Tip stirred away.
    </p>
    <p>
      By and by she leaned over the kettle to put in some salt, and
      as she sprinkled it around she caught his eager, longing
      look. She nodded her head. "I guess He heard," she said
      softly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I <i>know</i> He did," Tip answered, his eyes very blight;
      in his heart he sang "<i>Glory!</i>" And the angels in heaven
      sang for joy; for that night there had been laid aside a
      white robe and a crown of gold for Kitty Lewis.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH16"><!-- CH16 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Whosoever therefore shall confess Me before men, him will I
      confess also before My Father which is in heaven."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Tip was very undecided what to do. He went out on the steps
      and looked about him in the moonlight; then he came in and
      took a long look out of the window. At last the question,
      whatever it was, seemed to be settled. He turned with a
      resolute air to Kitty who was washing the tea-dishes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty, don't you want to go to prayer-meeting up at the
      church?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty dropped her cup back into the dish-pan and stood
      looking at him, a good deal surprised. At last she
      said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'd like to, Tip, but I don't look decent to go anywhere.
      I've only this dress and my old hood."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wouldn't mind that," said Tip. "I've only this awful old
      jacket either, but I mean to go. Hurry up the dishes, and
      let's go."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Kitty at last, "I <i>will</i>; but what will
      mother say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll fix that." And Tip stepped softly into the bedroom.
      "Are you better to-night, father?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not much better, I guess. How's arithmetic to-day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "First-rate; Mr. Burrows said I was getting ahead fast.
      Mother, may Kitty go out with me to-night? I'm going up to
      the church to prayer-meeting."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Lewis turned from the basket where she had been hunting
      long, and as yet in vain, for a piece of flannel, and bent a
      searching bewildered look on her son.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't care," she said at last; "she can go if she likes;
      but I doubt if she will."
    </p>
    <p>
      She <i>did</i>, however; in ten minutes more the two were
      walking along the snowy path. Kitty was sober. "Tip," she
      said presently, "don't you never get real awful <i>mad</i>,
      so mad that you feel as if you'd choke if you couldn't speak
      right out at somebody?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, no," said Tip, "not often. Yes, I do too; I get mad at
      Bob Turner sometimes, mad enough to pitch him into a
      snow-bank; but it don't last long."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, mine does," said Kitty. "I begin in the morning;
      something makes me cross, and I keep on getting crosser and
      crosser every minute, till it seems as if I should fly. Do
      you suppose I'll always do just so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," answered Tip positively, "I <i>don't</i>. You keep on
      trying a little bit harder every day, and by and by you'll
      find that you don't get cross more than half as easy as you
      used to. I know it will be so, because I've tried it in other
      things: when I first began to behave myself in school, it was
      the <i>hardest</i> work&mdash;my! You can think how I wanted
      to whisper, and things kept happening all the time to make me
      laugh, but I just kept trying, and now I hardly ever think of
      whispering. Kitty, does mother know?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Kitty, "she don't."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If I were you, I'd tell her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Tip, I can't! She never looks at me without scolding me;
      I can't talk to her about this."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, you can; I'd surely do it if I were you. It will be a
      great deal easier to try hard if mother knows you are
      trying."
    </p>
    <p>
      They were almost at the church door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty," said Tip suddenly, "let's pray for father to-night.
      I've been praying for him this long time; you help me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Step by step, God was leading Tip Lewis in the narrow way. No
      sooner was he seated in the bright, warm little room, and had
      listened to Mr. Holbrook's earnest prayer, that every
      Christian there might do something for Christ that night,
      than the struggle began: what ought he to do for Christ?
      People all around him were, one after another, offering
      prayer or saying a few words. Ought he to? Could he? Oh, he
      couldn't! Who would want to listen to him? It wouldn't do any
      good. There was Mr. Burrows right in front of him; he would
      be ashamed of him, perhaps. Yes, but then, ought he not to
      own his Saviour? Mr. Holbrook had spoken of the verse,
      "Whosoever will deny me before men," and had made the meaning
      very plain. Mr. Minturn had just prayed that no one there
      might be ashamed of Christ. The end of it all was, that Tip
      slipped off his seat down on his knees, and said, "Our Father
      which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Show me how to
      pray. I don't want to deny Christ. I want to love Him. I want
      the boys in our school, and my father, and everybody to love
      Him. I'll try to work for Jesus. I'll try to work for Him.
      Help me every day, and forgive my sins for Jesus' sake.
      Amen."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip had never felt so near to God as he did when he arose
      from his knees. Mr. Holbrook's voice trembled with feeling,
      when, soon after, he prayed for the young disciple who had
      early taken up his cross.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the close of the meeting, the minister pressed his way
      through the little company of people who were waiting to
      speak with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good evening, all," he said hurriedly. "Excuse me to-night,
      brother," to Mr. Minturn, who would have stopped him any way;
      "I want to speak to some people before they get away from
      me;" and those who watched, saw him hurry on until he
      overtook Tip Lewis and his sister.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good evening, Edward. This is Kitty, I think. How do you do,
      my little girl? Edward, do you know such a Bible verse as
      this: 'I love the Lord, because He has heard my voice and my
      supplication'?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir," answered Tip eagerly; "<i>is</i> there such a
      verse?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, somewhere in the Psalms you will find it. I don't
      remember just where. Can you feel the truth of it when you
      think of your sister?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir, I <i>can</i>. God <i>did</i> hear me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you think you love Jesus to-night, Kitty?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty felt a great awe for the minister, and her "Yes, sir,"
      was low, and spoken in a timid voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What makes you think so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I&mdash;I don't know; only I pray, and He hears me, and I
      like to."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, now, Kitty, almost the first thing which people think
      of after they have found Jesus, is something to do for Him;
      they begin to look around to see what they can find. What are
      you going to do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know, sir; I haven't got anything I can do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, that's a mistake! you can find plenty of work if you
      look for it; only don't look too far, because it is the
      little bits of things which come right in your way that Jesus
      wants you to do. When you brush up the room, and set the
      table neatly, and brighten the fire, and do little thoughtful
      things that help your mother, then you are pleasing Jesus,
      doing work for Him. Isn't it pleasant to think that in all
      those little things He is watching over you, and that you
      make Him glad when you do them well? Do you know that one of
      God's commands is, 'Honour thy father and thy mother'?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Kitty softly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is; those are the very words; Edward can find them for
      you in the Bible; and honour means more than obey; it means,
      try to please them in the very smallest things."
    </p>
    <p>
      They were very near the corner where Mr. Holbrook must leave
      them. He laid his hand gently on Tip's shoulder, as he said,
      "Speaking of Bible verses, Edward, I have one for you this
      evening, in the Saviour's own words: 'Whosoever shall confess
      Me before men, him will I also confess before My Father which
      is in heaven.' Good-night."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip understood him, and there was a bright look in his eyes.
      The two walked on in silence for a little. Presently Kitty
      said, "I guess Mr. Holbrook don't know just how mother is, or
      he wouldn't talk so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, but," said Tip quickly, "God knew all about it always,
      you know; and yet He said that verse."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So He did," answered Kitty gravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH17"><!-- CH17 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVII.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth."
    </h3>
    <p>
      "Bah," said Will Bailey, "you're fooling, Howard Minturn!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "As true as I live, I'm not," answered Howard earnestly; "you
      can ask Mr. Burrows."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's up?" inquired Ellis Holbrook, joining the two.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Howard is telling the biggest yarn you ever heard: he
      says Tip Lewis went to prayer-meeting last night and made a
      prayer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tip Lewis!" and Ellis Holbrook's voice was full, not only of
      surprise, but scorn; "I should like to hear him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, it's true," repeated Howard. "My father told us about
      it this morning, and he said it was a good prayer too; he
      said, Ellis, that your father couldn't keep the tears out of
      his eyes when he heard him; and Mr. Burrows walked up town
      with father, and told him that Tip had changed wonderfully,
      that he was one of the best boys in school."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Will Bailey, "if Tip Lewis has turned saint,
      I'll give up. Why, he's the meanest scamp in town; my father
      says he's had enough for anything."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, well now," answered Ellis, "there's no use in being
      stupid enough not to see that what Mr. Burrows says is true.
      I never saw any one change as he has in my life, but I'll be
      hanged if I like him as well as I did before he was so awful
      good; he's too nice for anything now-a-days."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Especially when he trips <i>you</i>, the minister's son, up,
      about twisting the Bible."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis's face glowed, but he was an honest boy. "He was right
      enough about that," he said promptly; "my father says it's
      wrong. But, if it will do you any good to know it, I haven't
      liked Tip so well since."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say, Tip," said Will Bailey, hailing him at recess, "come
      here and give an account of yourself. They say you turned
      parson last night; did you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Tip, with the greatest good humour, "I didn't."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Didn't you speak in meeting?"
    </p>
    <p>
      A quiet gravity spread itself over Tip's face. "I prayed in
      meeting," he answered soberly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, well, what did you pray for? Come, let's know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I prayed for <i>you</i>." Tip spoke with quiet dignity.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Humph! Now, that's clever, certainly. Much obliged."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Will said no more.
    </p>
    <p>
      Certainly the boys had never talked so much about any
      prayer-meeting in their lives as they did about this one. So
      that was the way it commenced; such a little fire kindled it.
      Tip didn't know it; he never found it out; probably he never
      will, until he takes his crown in heaven. From the humble
      little prayer which Tip had offered sprang the first buddings
      of the great revival which God sent down to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say," said Howard Minturn to Ellis on the next Thursday
      evening, "let's go over to prayer-meeting to-night. I really
      am dreadfully anxious to hear Tip speak."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," answered Ellis, speaking hastily, more hastily than he
      often did to Howard. "I'm sure I don't care in the least to
      hear him, and I have enough to do without going there."
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard was <i>determined</i> to go, and to find company.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will, let's go to meeting to-night," he said, the next time
      he came across Will Bailey.
    </p>
    <p>
      Will looked at him in amazement. "What for?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To hear Tip."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh!" said Will; "good! I'll go. Let's get a lot of the boys
      and go over; just to encourage him, you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      And they went. Tip and Kitty were there again; and again,
      with Tip, the struggle had to be gone through; his coward
      spirit whispered to him that the boys would only make fun of
      him if he said a word, and it would do more harm than good.
      His conscience answered, "Whosoever will deny Me on earth,
      him will I also deny before My Father which is in heaven."
      The solemn words conquered, and again Tip knelt down and
      prayed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My!" said Mr. Minturn, talking with his wife after they
      reached home; "when I thought of the bringing up which that
      boy has had,&mdash;no bringing up about it, he has just
      <i>come</i> up, the easiest way he could,&mdash;but when I
      heard him pray to-night, and then thought of our boy, who has
      been prayed for and watched over every day since he was born,
      I declare I felt as though I would give all I'm worth to have
      Howard stand where Tip Lewis does now."
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard heard this, as he waited in the sitting-room for his
      father and mother; heard it in great amazement, and at first
      it made him indignant. The idea of comparing <i>him</i> with
      Tip Lewis! Then it made him sorrowful: his father's tones
      were <i>so</i> sad; after all that had been done for him, it
      <i>was</i> hard that he should disappoint his parents.
    </p>
    <p>
      He listened to his father's prayer that night very closely,
      and its earnestness brought the tears to his eyes.
      Altogether, Howard went to school the next morning with a
      somewhat sober face, and took no part whatever in the boys'
      fun over the meeting.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows' heart had been warmed by the voice of prayer
      from one of his scholars, and he began to pray and long for
      others of them to work also; and the great God, who knows the
      beginning and the end, led his first words of anxiety to
      Howard Minturn. They stood at the desk, teacher and scholar,
      Howard bending over his slate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Can't you get it?" Mr. Burrows asked,
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Howard, are you working with all your thoughts to-day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir." And a bright flush mounted to his forehead.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is it, Howard?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know, sir; not much of anything, I guess."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you not quite satisfied with yourself to-day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Satisfied! I&mdash;why&mdash;I don't know what you mean,
      sir; I have tried to do the best I could, I believe."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you really think so, Howard?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you think so last evening, in the prayer-meeting? Can a
      boy, who is as well taught as you have been, feel that he is
      doing as well as he can, when he knows that he is every day
      cheating God?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard's face fairly burned.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't understand you, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't you?" and Mr. Burrows' voice was very kind. "I wish
      that God's own Spirit might help you to understand it. Didn't
      your father and mother promise God, when you were born, to
      try to train you up for Him, because you belonged to Him, and
      they knew it? Now, haven't they done their duty? is it their
      fault that you are not a Christian?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then it comes back to you. You belong to God, body and soul:
      He made you; He has kept you; He would save you, only you
      will not let Him. You can't help the fact that you belong to
      Him; all you can do is to refuse to give Him your love, and
      let Him lead you to heaven, and this you are doing. Is it
      right?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard was growing haughty.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't feel the need of any such things, Mr. Burrows," he
      answered coldly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Suppose you don't, does that help the matter any? Does it
      change the fact that you belong to God; that you are cheating
      Him out of His own property? The question I ask is, Are you
      doing right?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard stood, with eyes fixed on his slate, saying nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Won't you answer me, Howard?" Mr. Burrows asked gently; "is
      it right?"
    </p>
    <p>
      And, after a long, long silence, the boy's honest, earnest
      eyes were raised to his teacher's face, and he spoke
      steadily:
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you willing to go on doing wrong?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you turn <i>now</i>, Howard, and start right?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Now came another long silence. Howard Minturn, the honest,
      faithful boy, always getting a little nearer right than any
      of the others, had been condemned by his own words, and knew
      not what to say. At last he spoke:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can't promise, Mr. Burrows."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Howard! such an answer from <i>you</i>, to whom I have only
      needed to point out what was right, in order to have it
      done!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I can't trust myself, sir; I shall not feel to-morrow as
      I do now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is, you feel like doing your duty today, but you
      expect, if you wait until to-morrow, that you will feel less
      like it; so you mean to wait. Is that right?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The silence was much longer this time,&mdash;so long, that
      the boys began to look curiously at the two figures over by
      the desk, and wonder why the bell was not rung. But at last
      he raised those clear, truthful eyes once more:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Burrows, I'll try."
    </p>
    <p>
      And the next Thursday evening, when in the house of prayer it
      was very still, because Mr. Holbrook had just said, "Is there
      not <i>one</i> here to-night who wants us to pray for him,
      and if there is, will he not let us know it <i>now</i>?"
      suddenly there was a row of astonished faces in the seat
      where the schoolboys were sitting, because from among them
      arose Howard Minturn, and his face was pale and grave, and
      his voice was steady; they all heard his words:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I want to be a Christian: will you pray for me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh, wouldn't they! Was there ever such another prayer as that
      which Mr. Minturn offered for his son? Did any one who heard
      it wonder that such prayer was answered, and that in the next
      meeting, Howard, speaking with a little ring of joy in his
      voice, said, "I love Jesus to-night. I want every one to love
      Him. I am very happy"?
    </p>
    <p>
      From this the work went on. The little lecture-room grew full
      and overflowed, and the crowd now filled the church; and
      every night Some new voice was heard, asking for prayer.
    </p>
    <p>
      Will Bailey seemed filled with the spirit of torment; teased
      the boys unmercifully; went to the meeting every evening, and
      made fun of it all day: but the boys were praying for him,
      and God's pitying eye was on him.
    </p>
    <p>
      One evening there were two who arose to ask the prayers of
      Christians: one was Will Bailey, the most hopeless, so the
      boys thought, of all the boys in town; the other was Will
      Bailey's grey-haired father, the most hopeless, so the good
      men feared, of all the strong, self-satisfied men in town.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet there were two for whom daily earnest prayer was offered,
      who, in this blessed time, held themselves aloof,&mdash;two
      boys so far separated, that it seems strange and sad that
      their names should be coupled just here. Bob Turner and Ellis
      Holbrook, the lowest and the highest; the worst boy in school
      and the best! Yet they were united in this one thing, that
      they would have nothing to do with Christ. Tip had prayed for
      both, worked for both; but this was his success one
      afternoon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say, Bob, won't you go to meeting to-night, just to please
      me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Couldn't, Tip, no way in the world. I'd do most anything to
      please you, too, for the sake of old times when we used to
      steal apples together; but I've promised to go with Nick Hunt
      tonight, and tie old Barlow's cat fast to his frontdoor knob,
      and that's got to be done while the old man is at meeting,
      you know. 'Tain't no matter, either, about my going; you just
      do the praying for you and me too; then it will be all
      right."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip turned away with a sigh and a shudder. Could it be
      possible that <i>that</i> boy had ever been his only
      companion? Ellis was round by the ball-ground, and he went
      thither.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ellis, won't you go down to-night with the boys? it's almost
      the last meeting, you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis wheeled around, and spoke in his coldest tone:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tip Lewis, you seem to take a wonderful interest in me, and
      I'm sure I'm much obliged to you; but I'll be a great deal
      more so if you'll attend to your own affairs after this, and
      let mine alone."
    </p>
    <p>
      Poor Tip! how discouraged he felt! Yet that very evening,
      going home from school, he met Mr. Holbrook; the minister
      turned and walked up town with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward," he said, "are you praying for my boy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you never stop praying for him while you live, until he
      comes to Christ?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I never <i>will</i>, sir," answered Tip, with energy.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH18"><!-- CH18 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVIII.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Thy father and thy mother shall be glad, and she that bore
      thee shall rejoice."
    </h3>
    <p>
      How did Mr. Holbrook know so well what Kitty needed to help
      her? His words had given her such new thoughts; some way it
      was all new to her, the idea that she had any duty to perform
      towards her mother. She stood thinking of it that bright
      winter day,&mdash;stood before the little fire, and wondered
      how it was that she ought to commence. She was to be alone
      all day. Mrs. Stebbens, their next neighbour, had fallen down
      and sprained her ankle, and sent to know if Mrs. Lewis could
      do her promised day's work in the village. Kitty was left in
      charge of the house and her sick father. She looked around
      the room: what an ugly, dreary little room it
      was!&mdash;dust, dirt, and cobwebs everywhere; her hood and
      shawl lying in one corner; her mother's apron on the floor in
      the middle of the room; the breakfast dishes not yet washed;
      the stove all spattered with grease from the pork gravy; the
      hearth thickly covered with ashes; the paper window-curtain
      hanging by one tack; and on the mantelpiece, behind the
      stove, such an array of half-eaten apples, matches, forks,
      sticky spoons, broken teacups, and dirty candlesticks, as
      would have frightened any one less used to it than was Kitty.
      As she looked around her, a forlorn smile came over her face,
      for she thought of Mr. Holbrook's words: "When you brush up
      the floor, or brighten the fire to please your mother"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "He don't know," she said to herself, "that mother don't care
      for sweeping and such things; he don't know how we live. I
      wonder if mother <i>would</i> notice now if things were
      different. What if we did live like other folks,&mdash;had
      nice tilings, and kept them put up, and the room swept.
      Suppose I try it. What could I do? I might sweep and wash off
      the stove, and&mdash;and clean off the mantelpiece. I'll just
      do it, and see if anybody in this house will care."
    </p>
    <p>
      No sooner thought than commenced. Kitty went to work. The
      dishes were washed until they shone; those clean dishes
      shouldn't go in such a disorderly cupboard. There was no help
      for it, the shelves must be washed; down came the bottles and
      bundles, papers of this and boxes of that, which had been
      gathering, Kitty didn't know how long, and the astonished
      shelves felt soap and water once more. How they were
      scrubbed!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty," called her father from his bedroom, hearing the
      racket, "what are you doing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm cleaning house," answered Kitty promptly.
    </p>
    <p>
      And her father, because he did not know what else to do, let
      her work. From the cupboard she went to the mantelpiece,
      bundled the things all off in a heap, washed it thoroughly,
      and put everything in order. What a day it was to Kitty! One
      improvement led to another, and as things began to grow clean
      in her hands, she grew wonderfully interested, and only
      stopped at noon to warm her father's gruel.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was Saturday, and Tip had gone to pile wood for Mr.
      Bailey. He was to get his dinner and a grammar for his pay.
      He had wanted a grammar all winter, so he worked with a will;
      and Kitty saw neither him nor her mother through all the busy
      day. The early sun had set long before. Kitty thought he
      certainly would not know that room the next morning, it was
      all so changed. The paper curtain was mended and tacked up in
      its place; the old lounge cover was mended and fastened on
      smoothly; the mantelpiece shone and glowed in the firelight;
      the two shiny candlesticks, and beside them the little box of
      matches, were all that remained there of the rubbish of the
      morning; the floor was just as smooth and clean as soap and
      ashes, with plenty of hot water and an old broom, could make
      it; hoods and shawls and aprons and old shoes had all
      disappeared,&mdash;nothing was lying around: the table was
      drawn out, the clean, smooth plates arranged so as to hide
      the soiled spots on the tablecloth, the pudding was bubbling
      away in the astonished kettle, and Kitty's joy had been
      complete, when, only a few minutes before, after a great deal
      of stamping and pounding, she had opened the door to Howard
      Minturn, who said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mother sent you some milk for your supper.&mdash;Where's
      Tip?&mdash;<i>Isn't</i> it cold, though?&mdash;There'll be
      prime skating to-night.&mdash;Give me the pitcher right away,
      please." All this in one breath.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now they would have beautiful fresh milk for supper; and if
      there was anything which Tip liked, it was pudding and milk.
    </p>
    <p>
      So Kitty set the old arm-chair in the warmest corner for her
      mother, fastened her father's door wide open, so that he
      could see the new room, then stirred her pudding, and watched
      and waited. Her mother came first. Kitty's heart had never
      beat more anxiously than when she heard the slow, tired step
      on the hard snow. Would she notice anything different? In she
      came, tired, cross, and cold, expecting to find disorder,
      discomfort, and cold inside. Could anybody, having eyes, fail
      to notice the changes which had been wrought in that little
      room since she went out from it in the early morning? She
      shut the door with a little slam, and then the flush of the
      firelight seemed to blind her a little; she brushed her hand
      over her face, and looked around her with a bewildered air.
      Kitty went over to her; some way she felt a great kindness in
      her heart for her mother, a great longing to do something for
      her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it cold, mother?" she asked brightly. "Take that chair,"
      pointing to the seat in the warm corner. "Supper's all ready,
      and I've made a cup of tea for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Lewis took off her hood and shawl in silence, untied her
      wet shoes, and placed her cold feet on the clean, warm
      stove-hearth; took in the brightness of the room, the shiny
      candlesticks, the neatly-spread tea-table; took whiffs of the
      steaming tea,&mdash;all in utter silence; only, when Kitty's
      father, looking out, said, "There's been business done here
      since you went away," something in her mother's voice, as she
      answered, "I should think there had," made the blood rush
      warmly into Kitty's cheeks, and made her whisper to herself,
      as she stooped to place the wet shoes under the stove to dry,
      "Mr. Holbrook told me true, I do believe. I guess I have
      pleased Jesus to-day; I feel so."
    </p>
    <p>
      While she was taking up the pudding, there was a merry
      whistle outside, a brisk, crushing step on the snow, and Tip
      whizzed into the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh, there was no mistaking the look of delight on his face,
      nor the glad ring in his voice, as he said, "Oh, Kitty! why,
      Kitty Lewis! what <i>have</i> you been doing? Why, it looks
      almost as nice here as it does at Howard Minturn's."
    </p>
    <p>
      All that evening there seemed a spell upon the Lewis family.
      Mrs. Lewis didn't say one cross or fretful word; indeed, she
      had no cause, for in Kitty's heart there was a strange, new
      feeling of love for her mother, of longing to please and give
      her comfort; and never was mother waited on with a more quiet
      care than Mrs. Lewis received that night.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was the first coming of home-comfort to the family. Tip
      had apples in his pocket, which Howard Minturn had given him;
      he roasted them before the fire, and his father ate very
      little pieces of them; and his mother darned stockings by the
      light of the candle in the clean little candlestick set on
      the clean little stand; and they were happy.
    </p>
    <p>
      By and by Tip brought out his grammar, and, finding Kitty
      very much interested in examining it, said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "What if you should begin and study grammar with me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What if I should?" answered Kitty. So that evening she
      commenced her education, and, though grammar was a queer
      study to <i>begin</i> with, still it was a beginning.
    </p>
    <p>
      The pleasant evening wore away; the town clock had struck
      nine; Kitty's father had gone quietly to sleep, and the
      bedroom door was shut to keep all sounds from disturbing him.
      Tip had taken his candle and gone. Mrs. Lewis sat toasting
      her feet before the dying fire. Yet still Kitty lingered. She
      wanted to take Tip's advice, and tell her mother about her
      dear, new Friend, and this evening, of such wonderful peace,
      seemed the good time for doing so; but she didn't know how.
      If her mother would only say something to help her! and
      presently she did.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty, what fit came over you, to go to work and clear up at
      such rate?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wanted to please <i>you</i>, I guess."
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty knew that this answer would surprise her mother, and it
      did, into utter silence; but, after what seemed to Kitty a
      long, <i>long</i> time, she spoke again:
    </p>
    <p>
      "What did you want to do that for?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Now for it! This was the best chance she could ever hope to
      have, and her voice trembled a little:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wanted to please Jesus too, mother, and Mr. Holbrook said
      if I did things to help you, and that you would like,
      <i>He</i> would be glad&mdash;-Jesus would, you know." A
      little silence, and then: "I want to please Jesus all the
      time now, because I love Him, and I'm going to try to do
      right."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was all out now, and her heart was beating so that it
      almost stopped her voice. Her mother shaded her face with her
      hand, and neither spoke nor moved. Kitty waited a little,
      then moved slowly towards the door of her bit of a bedroom;
      it was moonlight, so she needed no candle.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-night, mother," she found courage to say at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-night;" and her mother's voice sounded strangely,
      coming from behind the closely-held hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was something like a great sob in Kitty's throat as she
      went to her room that night; in her heart was a great longing
      for mother-love. She would have liked to kiss her mother
      good-night, but she felt how queerly that would look; even to
      <i>say</i> good-night was something very unusual. So she
      knelt down beside her bed, and prayed for her mother.
    </p>
    <p>
      I don't think Mr. Holbrook knew that the few kind words which
      he spoke to Kitty Lewis, on her way home from prayer-meeting,
      were seeds which were going to spring up and bear fruit unto
      everlasting life.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH19"><!-- CH19 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIX.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord."
    </h3>
    <p>
      "Father," said Tip, as, after having carefully measured out
      and given him some cough-drops, he sat down for a chat with
      him before school,&mdash;"father, didn't you and Mr. Bailey
      go to school together when you were boys?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said Mr. Lewis. "Our fathers lived side by side, and
      we used to walk more than a mile to school together every
      morning; we were in the same class, too, and the best
      scholars in school. My! times are changed since that day. My
      father was considerably better off than his was, and now he's
      a rich man, and I'm nobody."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Was he such a boy as Will Bailey is&mdash;or, I mean, as
      Will used to be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know much about Will; but I know his father was a
      sorry scamp, and many's the scrape he got me into. He took a
      notion to me. We lived near by, and were always together, and
      then I was as full of pranks as he was, I suppose. But he was
      a regular tyrant over the rest of the boys; they were more
      than half afraid of him; I don't know but what I was myself.
      Anyhow, I know I've thought I'd have been different, maybe,
      if I hadn't followed him so close in all his scrapes."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Father, did you know Mr. Bailey was different now?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Different&mdash;how? What do you mean?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, he comes to prayer-meeting, and speaks and prays, and
      seems to love to."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The mischief he does!" said Mr. Lewis, surprised out of his
      usual quiet tone. "I should think he <i>was</i> different.
      Why, he used to make great fun of all such things."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, that's what he says; but I tell you he don't make fun
      now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "When did all that happen?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A few weeks ago, when the revival was, you know. He got up
      one night and asked them to pray for him, and now he almost
      always speaks or prays in the meetings."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Mr. Lewis, after a pause, and with a little
      sigh, "I'm sure I ain't sorry. I only hope it will last; he
      needed it as bad as any one I know of."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It will last," Tip said, speaking positively. "God will look
      out for that."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he waited a little before he spoke again&mdash;but he
      had been praying for his father long enough and earnestly
      enough to feel bold:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought, last night, that you must have been pretty good
      friends once," he said presently, "for he most broke down
      when he was praying for you, and the tears just blinded him."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Lewis turned himself on his pillow, and looked steadily
      at his son. "Did Mr. Bailey pray for <i>me</i>?" he asked at
      last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, he did; and he prayed as if he meant it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How came he to?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, I asked 'em to&mdash;all the folks in meeting, you
      know. I wanted you to be a Christian, and prayed for you, and
      then I asked them if they'd pray, and Mr. Bailey got right
      up. You don't mind that, do you, father? All the folks down
      there ask us to pray for their friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>No</i>," answered Mr. Lewis at last, speaking slowly, "I
      don't know that I do. I need praying for, I suppose, if
      anybody does. I'm going where I can't be prayed for, pretty
      fast, I guess."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip had no answer to make to that.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So you prayed for me too, did you?" his father asked
      presently.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, and I do every day, father; I <i>do</i> want you to
      know Jesus."
    </p>
    <p>
      A long silence followed, and then the sick man spoke again:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Tip, I'm glad that you've got right, gladder than I
      can tell you. My father was a good man, and tried to make me
      do what was right; but I went all wrong, wasted my whole
      life, and brought up my children to do so too; but you're
      getting on without my help, and I'm glad you'll grow up to be
      a good man, and be a comfort to your mother when I'm gone.
      But I don't know that you need ask folks to pray for me; it's
      too late,&mdash;I've gone too far to get back."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's bold, prompt manner did not forsake him now; he
      answered quickly,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Father, I don't believe any such thing. God doesn't say
      anything about it's being too late; and He says if we want
      anything very much, and pray for it, and it's good to have,
      He'll give it to us; and I'm bound to believe Him. Once I
      prayed for Kitty, and prayed and prayed, and it didn't do a
      bit of good, until at last Mr. Holbrook told me that maybe it
      was because I didn't really believe any of the time that God
      was going to do what I wanted Him to; and I found out that
      was it. Just as soon as I began to think He would hear me, it
      all came out straight; and now I'm bound to believe Him every
      time. I've asked Him to make you a Christian, and I'm going
      to keep on asking, and <i>He'll do it</i>.
      Father,"&mdash;Tip's voice took a softer tone, for he knew
      there was one very tender spot in his father's
      heart,&mdash;"don't you want to see little Johnny up in
      heaven?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The muscles around Mr. Lewis's mouth began to twitch
      nervously, and a tear rolled down his cheek.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm pretty near it," he said at last; "and I think sometimes
      I'd give the world, if I had it, to be ready to go; but it's
      all too late. I've known the right way all my life, and I've
      gone the other way; now I must just take my pay."
    </p>
    <p>
      The very Spirit of Christ must have shown Tip what to say
      next. He spoke the words earnestly and solemnly; he meant no
      disrespect:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Father, do you know more about it than God? Because, you
      see, it don't say any such thing anywhere in the Bible; I
      know it don't, for we talked about it in Sunday school once,
      and Mr. Holbrook said, 'No matter how old a man was, nor what
      he had done, he could be a Christian.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I always thought it looked mean and sneaking in a man to
      have nothing to do with such things all his life, and then
      turn around just because he was going to die, and pretend to
      be very good. God can't be pleased with any such thing as
      <i>that</i>. I've always said that I'd never do it."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip couldn't answer this: it didn't sound true; he felt sure
      it was not true; but he had no wisdom with which to meet it.
      He went to school with those last words of his father's
      ringing in his heart, and his thoughts took shape, and spoke
      in the very first sentence that he addressed to Mr. Holbrook,
      whom he overtook as he came out of the post office:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Holbrook, can I ask you a question?"
    </p>
    <p>
      And the minister, always ready to help any one out of
      trouble, smiled and bowed, and walked on by the side of the
      troubled boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If a man should tell you he thought it would be mean in him
      to turn around and go to serving God, after he had found out
      he had but a little while to live, when he had cheated Him
      out of all the rest of his life, what would you say?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think," said Mr. Holbrook, "I would be very likely to ask
      him whether he supposed he would feel any less mean for
      cheating God out of the last year of his life, simply because
      he had been doing so all the other years. Because a man has
      been doing wrong for forty years, I don't know why he should
      add another year of wrong; I should think he might much
      better turn around, and make all the amends he could."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh!" said Tip, drawing a long breath; "why couldn't I have
      thought of that? I knew it was wrong,&mdash;I saw it plain
      enough; but I couldn't think of a word to say."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Holbrook looked earnestly at the eager boy. "Edward," he
      said at last, "do you think your father would see me this
      morning?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said Tip decidedly, "I know he would. If you would
      only go and see him, Mr. Holbrook, and explain that to him, I
      would be <i>so</i> glad."
    </p>
    <p>
      And, looking back soon after, he had the satisfaction of
      seeing Mr. Holbrook walk quickly down town in the direction
      of his home. And now Tip felt hopeful for his father: he had
      prayed for him, he had worked for him, and now Mr. Holbrook
      had gone to him; surely he could leave the rest in God's
      hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH20"><!-- CH20 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XX.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Let him that thinketh he standeth, take heed lest he fall."
    </h3>
    <p>
      "Here Tip!" said Howard Minturn; "hold this frame steady
      while I try that nail. Will, don't put that one up so high,
      it ain't even with the others. Hold on, Ellis,&mdash;catch
      hold of this stool, it's tipping. There, now, it's all nice
      and in order,&mdash;isn't it, Mr. Burrows?" And he sprang
      from his stool, as their teacher entered the schoolroom door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very likely," answered Mr. Burrows, smiling; "only I didn't
      hear what you said."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I say we're ready for examination, room and all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The room is, certainly; and I hope your brains are. Ellis,
      I'd move that chair a little to the left; it will be in the
      way of the classes as it stands now. Do you feel brave
      to-day, Edward?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir," answered Tip promptly; "pretty brave."
    </p>
    <p>
      And he did, besides feeling eager and excited. The long
      winter term was over; to-day and tomorrow were to be days of
      examination. The boys had been working hard for
      it,&mdash;none harder than had Tip. It was the first
      examination which had ever come to him in this exciting way.
      Always before he had been among the few inevitable dunces,
      running away from examination altogether, or else laughing
      good-naturedly over his own blundering ignorance. But to-day
      it was different: he stood there on the stage among the
      workers, proudly answering his teacher's questions, and
      looking proudly over at the group of idlers,&mdash;Bob Turner
      at their head,&mdash;who loitered near the windows, wondering
      that he could ever have been of their number. This was going
      to be a great day for Tip; it is true he was far behind some
      others of his age, so far that not a single class of Howard
      Minturn's and Ellis Holbrook's were to be examined that
      day,&mdash;the advance classes being put for the next
      day,&mdash;while all of his came that morning; but then Tip
      knew there was change enough in him to call the attention of
      every one present. He felt the change in himself; his mother
      felt it, when she that morning brushed his hair for him, and
      fastened a clean collar on his jacket; the boys in school
      felt it. He had taken his place among the workers.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bell rang at last, and the scholars filed in and took
      their places. There were visitors, even in the early morning;
      the people liked to attend Mr. Burrows' examinations. Tip's
      class in reading came first on the list, and never had his
      eyes been so bright or his face so eager. Tip had learned to
      read. Patiently, earnestly, he had plodded on through the
      long winter; now his sad blunderings in that line were over
      for ever; not a boy in school read more slowly, distinctly,
      and correctly than Tip Lewis. The selections were to be made
      by the committee, immediately after class, of those who were
      considered ready to enter the history class on the following
      term. This was the highest reading class in the school: and
      Tip's eyes fairly danced when Mr. Holbrook, who was chairman
      of the committee, out of a class of thirteen read but two
      names,&mdash;"Thomas Jones" and "Edward Lewis."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hallo, Tip!" Howard Minturn had said to him at recess;
      "let's shake hands. Welcome to history; it's awfully hard and
      interesting."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Tip did shake hands, and laughed; and looked over at the
      other clique&mdash;the dunces&mdash;with a half-patronizing
      nod to Bob Turner; and wondered how he <i>could</i>, have
      borne it to have been numbered with them that day; then he
      felt that he was climbing into the first set, and climbing
      <i>fast</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      In spelling, too, he came off conqueror; spelled down the
      class, spelled until Mr. Burrows closed his book with the
      words, "I presume you are tired of this, gentlemen, and, as
      our examinations are confined to the lessons, I think it will
      hardly pay to go further, for Edward has not missed since the
      second week in the term."
    </p>
    <p>
      So again, flushed and excited, Tip went to his seat
      victorious. Only arithmetic now, and he would be through with
      the working part of the day. It was the last recitation in
      the morning, and he was so eager and anxious to do well, that
      he began to grow nervous.
    </p>
    <p>
      The class was called at last. They had gone slowly and
      carefully through long division, and would be ready for
      fractions next term. The recitation passed off finely. Tip
      had not studied day and night during the winter for nothing.
      He was at the board, working an example in long division; it
      was almost finished. The hand of the clock pointed to ten
      minutes of twelve. In ten minutes he would be through, and
      his name would stand on that honoured list, among those who
      had not missed one word or made one mistake during the
      examination. His hand began to tremble. What was the matter
      with that example? Oh, what <i>was</i> the matter? The
      remainder was too large; no&mdash;it was too small;
      no&mdash;it was&mdash;he didn't know what! Everybody was
      watching him; he heard a boy laugh softly. He had made a
      mistake, then; what was it? where was it? Mr. Burrows' voice
      came to him, calm and kind:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward, don't get excited. Look at your remainder closely;
      take the first figures of divisor and remainder&mdash;nine in
      thirty-one, how many times? That will help you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis Holbrook stood but a step from the blackboard, just
      behind him. Tip heard his low whisper, "Seven," and, without
      waiting to think,&mdash;indeed, he was too nervous to
      think,&mdash;he caught at the number.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Seven times!" he said hurriedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he heard bursts of laughter from the boys, and dashed
      down his chalk in an agony of shame and pain. And the clock
      struck twelve!
    </p>
    <p>
      The honour was lost.
    </p>
    <p>
      The boys gathered around him after school was closed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was too bad, Tip," Howard Minturn said, in a tone of
      honest sympathy. "You'd have had it in a minute more."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'd have had it if it had not been for Ellis Holbrook, and
      he's a mean scamp!" Tip answered, in a rage.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whew!" said Will Bailey; "what did Ellis do?" and Ellis
      turned, and proudly confronted the angry boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He told me wrong just on purpose; that's what he did, and he
      knows it."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Tip broke away from them, and dashed out of the room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard Minturn stood aghast! That Ellis Holbrook, his best
      friend, and the very pink of honour among the boys, should do
      so mean a thing, he could not think, and yet it was hard to
      think that Tip had not told the truth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What does he mean, Ellis?" he asked at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You'll have to ask him if you want to find out," said Ellis
      haughtily. "He knows better than anybody else what he means,
      I guess."
    </p>
    <p>
      The boys started homeward presently in a body. Bob Turner and
      his friends surrounded Tip, and Bob, who never lost a good
      opportunity for teasing, commenced at once:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor little fellow, missed his lesson, so he did. Don't him
      cry; him shall have a penny to buy a multiplication-table
      with."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hold your tongue!" answered Tip, too angry to see how
      foolish it was to let such words, coming from a boy who
      didn't know a single line of the multiplication-table,
      provoke him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Such</i> a pity!" began Bob again; "when it had spelled
      its lesson all so nice, and had its face washed and its hair
      combed so pretty. Mustn't cry now, to spoil its face. Poor
      little fellow!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip turned to his tormentor a face perfectly white with rage,
      and the boys hardly knew his voice:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bob Turner, if you say another word, I'll knock you down and
      thrash you within an inch of your life. I will"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh, Tip Lewis! God forgive you for the way in which you in
      your blind rage have finished that sentence,&mdash;for the
      use which you have made of that great Name, which above all
      others you profess to reverence and fear! The awful word,
      once spoken, recalled him to himself: he clapped both hands
      over his face and ran wildly up the hill, then down out of
      sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      The boys had all heard it. Howard, Ellis, Will Bailey, and a
      half-dozen others, were just behind him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis Holbrook's pride rose high.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's your wonderful boy," he said, "who was so changed,
      and has taken it upon himself to preach so many sermons to
      <i>me</i>. I'm sure I never finished any of my angry speeches
      with an oath, if I <i>am</i> so far below him."
    </p>
    <p>
      What an afternoon that was to Tip! he will <i>never</i>
      forget it. He went no farther than the great tree, which was
      budding out in spring green. Down he sat on a stone, and once
      more covered his face with his hands, and such a storm of
      rage and pain swept over him as he had never known before.
    </p>
    <p>
      How could he, how <i>could</i> he have said that word?
    </p>
    <p>
      Ever since he had learned to pray, he had been afraid of that
      sin,&mdash;afraid he might forget, and go back to his old
      habits, and he had watched and guarded his lips with such
      care and prayer. But lately he had given up all fear; it had
      been such a long time, and he had never once fallen, he felt
      sure that he never would again.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had felt so sure and proud and strong, that he had asked
      no help from God that day; he had been so eager to spend
      every moment on his arithmetic, that he had found no time to
      go to his Bible for strength. No wonder&mdash;oh, no wonder
      that he fell! He had been standing too firmly, feeling no
      need of help. Now, what should he do? How low he felt, how
      mean! Could God forgive him? Yes, He <i>could</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip felt in his soul that there was nothing which God could
      <i>not</i> do, and yet he felt too mean and fallen to dare to
      ask Him for anything more; he forgot for the moment that
      Jesus Christ died to save <i>sinners</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sun went on over his head, and commenced his afternoon
      work; then there came up the hill the sound of the
      school-bell, but Tip took no notice of that; he didn't want
      to <i>think</i> of school, much less even <i>go</i>. He began
      to fumble presently for his Bible,&mdash;he <i>must</i> have
      some help. It opened of itself at the Psalms, and he read the
      first line which he saw: "Unto Thee, O God, do we give thanks
      "&mdash;No, not that, and he turned back a couple of leaves.
      "Make a joyful noise "&mdash;No, no! he didn't want to hear
      anything about joy; his heart was as heavy as lead. So he
      turned over several leaves at once: he <i>must</i> find
      something that would read as if it meant him. "O Lord, rebuke
      me not in Thy wrath, neither chasten me in Thy sore
      displeasure." Oh, that was it! God was very angry with
      him,&mdash;-had a right to be,&mdash;this was just what he
      ought to say. He read on through the psalm; almost every
      verse seemed for him, and when he read the one next to the
      last,&mdash;"Forsake me not, O Lord; O my God, be not far
      from me,"&mdash;he said it over and over, and finally, in a
      great burst of tears, got down and said it on his knees.
    </p>
    <p>
      The short spring day was over, and the chilly night was
      setting in. Tip had reached home finally, had split the wood
      for the next day, done whatever he could find to do about the
      house, and then carried the vests which his mother had just
      finished to the clothing-store,&mdash;going away around
      behind the mill so as to avoid passing the schoolhouse, lest
      he might chance to see some of the boys. Then he came home,
      ate his supper in silence, and went up to his attic. He felt
      better than he had at noon, but his heart was still heavy,
      and he dreaded the next day, not knowing what he ought to do,
      or how to do it. This was Thursday evening, but he didn't
      mean to go to prayer-meeting. Kitty had asked him, had even
      coaxed a little, but he said, "No, not to-night." He felt
      stiff and sore from his long sitting under the great tree in
      the early spring dampness. He told himself that this was the
      reason why he was not going to prayer-meeting; but the real
      one was, he felt as if he could not possibly face Mr. Burrows
      that evening, and <i>certainly</i> not Mr. Holbrook,&mdash;of
      course, Ellis had told him all about it. He felt very tired,
      and his head and limbs ached; he was going to read a chapter
      in his Bible and go to bed. He chose the same psalm which had
      come to him with so much power that afternoon, read it slowly
      and carefully, then knelt down to pray, and as he did so a
      new trouble loomed up before him. What should he do? He had
      prayed for Ellis Holbrook and Bob Turner ever since he began
      to pray for himself, but he felt as though he could not
      possibly pray for either of them to-night. Both had tried to
      injure him; both had succeeded. He wished them no harm: he
      didn't want to choke or drown them, as he had felt like doing
      at noon, but clearly he didn't want to pray for them. He had
      arisen from his knees, and was sitting on the edge of the box
      which was his table and chair, with a very troubled face. The
      more he thought about it, the more he felt that he could not
      pray for those boys just then. At last he thought he had
      found a way out of the difficulty. He said to himself that he
      was very tired, almost sick; he would just repeat the Lord's
      Prayer and go to bed. In the morning, very likely, he should
      feel differently; he almost knew he should. So he knelt down
      once more.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our Father which art in heaven," slowly reverently, through
      the sweet petition, until he came to "forgive us our debts as
      we"&mdash;There he stopped. He understood that prayer; they
      had been taking it up in Sunday school, a sentence at a time,
      and talking about it, and only the Sunday before last that
      sentence had been explained. To-night Tip could not finish
      it; there was no getting around the fact that he had not
      forgiven either Ellis or Bob. Once more he got up, and took a
      seat on the edge of his bed to think. He was never so
      perplexed in his life. What ought he to do? Couldn't he pray
      at all? Mr. Holbrook had said he must never mock God by
      asking for what he did not mean, and to say those words, "as
      we forgive our debtors," feeling as he did to-night, would be
      mocking God. He ought not to feel so, but how could he help
      it? Suddenly, with a little sigh of relief, he went down on
      his knees again: he had thought of something which he could
      say. "Oh, Jesus, make me feel like praying for Bob and Ellis;
      make me want them to be Christians as hard as I did last
      night; make me feel like forgiving them." Then there was
      silence in the lonely attic, while Tip, still on his knees,
      struggled with the evil spirit within him, and came off
      conqueror, for presently he added, "Oh, dear Jesus, I'll
      forgive them both!" and then he finished the
      prayer&mdash;"forgive us our debts, as we forgive our
      debtors." While he went around after that, making ready for
      rest and sleep, the "peace of God which passeth
      understanding" came down and settled in his heart. Presently
      he seemed to come to another difficulty, for he sat down with
      one boot in his hand and one still on his foot. This
      question, however, was settled promptly: he pulled the boot
      on again in a hurry, then picked up his jacket and put that
      on, seized his hat, and ran down-stairs.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty," he said, putting his head in at the kitchen door,
      "I'm going, after all; come on."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Kitty joyfully ran for her hood and shawl.
    </p>
    <p>
      But Tip did not open his lips in prayer-meeting that evening;
      he felt bowed down to the very ground with shame; he did not
      once raise his eyes to the seat where Howard Minturn, Will
      Bailey, and others of the schoolboys were sitting; and, when
      the short hour was gone, he made haste to get out from Mr.
      Holbrook's sight and the sound of his voice. But he had much
      reason, after that, to thank God that he did not succeed. He
      had just got from under the gaze of the hall-lamp, and stood
      a minute in the darkness waiting for Kitty, when he felt Mr.
      Holbrook's hand on his arm, and heard his kind, quiet voice:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward, Mrs. Holbrook has some little business to transact'
      with Kitty to-night; shall I walk with you?" And, as Tip saw
      there was no help for it, and walked by his side, he said, "I
      didn't see you at school this afternoon: how was that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Holbrook, didn't Ellis tell you about it this noon?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ellis has told me nothing. I heard, from one of the smaller
      boys, a very sad story. Have you anything to tell me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir, I have not; it's all true. I got awful mad, and I
      said mad things. I&mdash;I did worse than that."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's voice sank to a solemn whisper. Mr. Holbrook, too, was
      silent and sad; at last he said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, Edward! do you mean to give up, and go back to the old
      life?"
    </p>
    <p>
      And he remembered, years after, just how painfully his heart
      throbbed while he waited for Tip's answer; it was prompt and
      plain: "No, sir; God wouldn't even let me do that."
    </p>
    <p>
      And then for a minute Mr. Holbrook did not speak for very
      thankfulness, that, through all this maze of sin, God was
      leading Tip into the light again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you feel that you have God's forgiveness?" he asked,
      speaking gently.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir." Tip could not give very long answers that
      evening.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why were you so quiet to-night in prayer-meeting?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because," said Tip, speaking low, "I was ashamed to say
      anything before you or Mr. Burrows or the boys, after what
      happened today."
    </p>
    <p>
      "More ashamed with us than you were with God?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir, I was; because God knows all about it,&mdash;just
      how sorry I am, and how He has forgiven me, and is going to
      help me; and you didn't know that."
    </p>
    <p>
      Again Mr. Holbrook was thankful.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How about to-morrow, Edward?" he asked at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      And this time Tip's answer was very low: I don't know; I
      don't know what to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you knew what was right to do, would you <i>do</i> it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm pretty sure I'd <i>try</i> to, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, did you honour or dishonour Christ to-day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip's answer was in a more timid tone than he often spoke:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I dishonoured Him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do the boys know that you are very sorry, and have asked God
      to forgive you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir; they don't know anything about it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't you think, for the honour of Christ, they ought to?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I suppose so."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who ought to tell them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      No immediate answer came to this; then, after a
      little,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Holbrook, how could I tell them&mdash;to each
      one&mdash;about it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "See if you cannot answer your own question. Will not all the
      boys be likely to hear about it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir; they'll be sure to."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And would they all be likely to hear what you have to say,
      unless you spoke to all at once?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, Mr. Holbrook, if I did that, it would have to be in
      school."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But to-morrow is the last day, and it's examination."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well?"
    </p>
    <p>
      That short word seemed to have a good deal of power over Tip,
      for he only answered it by saying, after a long
      silence,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Holbrook, I wonder if you can think how very hard that
      would be?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward, I wonder if you can think how very hard it was for
      your Saviour to listen to your words this noon?"
    </p>
    <p>
      And Mr. Holbrook heard no more from Tip, save, when they
      reached the corner, a very low, very grave "Good-night."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH21"><!-- CH21 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXI.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him; I will be with
      him in trouble: I will deliver him, and honour him."
    </h3>
    <p>
      There were not many visitors in the next morning; it was too
      early, as yet, for any but the examining committee, and a few
      very fond, very anxious mothers. Mr. Burrows' hand was on the
      bell; in a few moments the algebra class would be in full
      tide of recitation. Ellis and Howard had their slates in
      their hands, ready to start at the first sound, when Tip
      Lewis left his seat and made his way towards the stage. Mr.
      Burrows looked surprised; this was entirely out of order; but
      a look at Tip's face made him change his mind about sending
      him back to his seat, and bend his head to listen to the few
      words that were hurriedly whispered in his ear. Then he
      looked more surprised, hesitated a minute, then asked,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hadn't you better wait until noon, and I can detain the
      scholars a few moments?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Tip, shaking his head, and speaking earnestly;
      "I'm afraid, if I wait till noon, I shan't do it at all."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very well," Mr. Burrows answered finally. "Scholars, one of
      your number tells me that he has something of importance to
      say to you; we will wait and hear him."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was well for Tip that he was a bold boy, that every day of
      his life had been such as to teach him a lesson of boldness,
      else his courage would surely have failed him, when he felt
      the many curious eyes resting on him. As it was, his face was
      scarlet, when he turned it away from the desk and towards the
      boys. Yet he spoke promptly, as he always did when he spoke
      at all:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I want to tell the boys that I am sorry for yesterday. I
      suppose they all know what I did. I got awful mad, and
      I&mdash;I said a dreadful word. I didn't think I would ever
      be so wicked again; I feel awful about it. But I don't want
      the boys to think that I don't love Jesus any more, because I
      do; and He is going to help me try Such a silence as was in
      that schoolroom then, the boys had never felt before! Mr.
      Burrows' face was shaded with his hand; he let the silence
      rest upon them for a moment, after Tip had taken his seat;
      then he spoke, low and solemnly,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Boys, what God has forgiven, I feel sure that no scholar of
      mine will be mean enough ever to mention again."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the bell sounded, and the business of the day went on.
      Tip had laid his head down on the desk the minute he took his
      seat, and he kept it there throughout the recitation. He had
      been through a fearful struggle; it was hard work for a boy
      like him to stand up before the school and tell them how he
      had fallen. But it was over now, and from his very soul he
      felt that he had done right.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bob Turner, sitting beside him, was quiet and sober; and when
      Tip raised his arm with such a sudden jerk that he knocked
      his arithmetic to the floor, Bob leaned over and quietly
      picked it up and laid it back in its place; which was a
      wonderful thing for Bob Turner to do.
    </p>
    <p>
      At noon the boys gathered around Tip, quiet and kind; no one
      spoke of what had been <i>the</i> important event of the
      morning; all were on good behaviour.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis Holbrook came into their midst.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tip," he said, speaking gravely, yet very coldly, "perhaps
      it would be as well for you to know that you made quite a
      blunder yesterday, when you said I told you wrong; I hadn't
      the slightest notion of telling you, right or wrong. But I
      know how you came to think so. I was looking out a word in
      Mr. Burrows' dictionary, and stood just behind you, when Mr.
      Bailey leaned over and asked me how many there were in your
      class when all were present, and I answered him, seven."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip looked perfectly astonished.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why didn't you say so yesterday?" he asked at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because you didn't give me a chance," Ellis answered coolly.
      "I'm not in the habit of cheating, nor of being told that I
      do, so I was not prepared with an answer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's true," said Tip, after a minute, answering the first
      part of Ellis's sentence; "that's true, I didn't. I was mad,
      and I just banged off before anybody could say anything. I
      might have known you didn't do any such thing; it ain't like
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Tip walked away, leaving Ellis to think that the boy who
      was so far below him had shown much the better spirit of the
      two.
    </p>
    <p>
      The busy day was drawing to a close; the last recitation was
      over, and the boys were in a state of grand excitement,
      waiting to hear the report of the committee; waiting to know
      whose names were to stand on the Roll of Honour, having
      passed through the entire examination without a mistake. Poor
      Tip was sad; yesterday morning he had felt so sure that his
      name would have an honourable place, and to him it was so
      much more exciting, because it would be for the first time.
      How hard he had worked; and now it was all lost! Stupidly
      lost, too, he said to himself, over an example that he had
      done a dozen times; and he drew a heavy sigh, and roused
      himself to listen to the report. Mr. Burrows had already
      called for it, and Mr. Holbrook, as chairman of the
      committee, had arisen; but, instead of reading the report,
      said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Burrows, if there is time, I should like to say a few
      words to the scholars. Boys, you were all listeners to Edward
      Lewis's examination yesterday, and I presume you know better
      than I do how hard he has worked. Now, I think any one who
      watched him yesterday could not have failed to see that, had
      he not grown excited and nervous, he could have worked that
      example. Mr. Burrows, may I put a question to vote?"
    </p>
    <p>
      And Mr. Burrows giving a hearty consent, he continued, "Very
      well. Now I want every boy here, who is willing to allow
      Edward Lewis to go to the board <i>now</i> and try that
      example, and, if he succeeds, give him the place which would
      have been his yesterday, to stand up."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ellis Holbrook was the first to spring to his feet, and every
      single boy in the room followed his example; Tip alone
      sitting still, with burning cheeks.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well done," said Mr. Holbrook "Now it only remains to get
      your teacher's consent to our plan."
    </p>
    <p>
      Which Mr. Burrows gave by wheeling his table from before the
      blackboard and picking up an arithmetic. "You may come
      forward, Edward. I will dictate the example; which one is
      it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The thirty-ninth, sir; fifty-first page."
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time Tip was at the board. How they watched him! how
      fearful his teacher was for him! how he longed to have him
      succeed! Tip worked fast and boldly; his hand did not
      tremble; chalk and fingers and brain did their duty; the
      terrible "nine in thirty-one, how many times," as a test for
      the larger number, was reached, and an unusually large and
      bold figure <i>three</i> was placed in the quotient; a few
      more rapid dashes, and, with a grand flourish after the
      "seventeen remainder," Tip threw down the chalk, pushed back
      the hair from his hot temples, and walked to his seat. The
      boys could not keep quiet any longer: a very soft tapping was
      heard at first, then, finding they were not silenced, it rose
      to a loud, decided stamping of many feet. But Mr. Holbrook
      was on <i>his</i> feet again, and they were quiet directly,
      for the report was finally to be read.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My son," said Mr. Holbrook, not long after, laying his hand
      kindly on Ellis's shoulder, as he was hurrying from the room,
      "what do you think of Edward's religion to-night?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think it is honest, sir," Ellis answered quickly. "Excuse
      me, father, if you please; I must see Howard a minute before
      he goes;" and so he ran away from his father's longing look.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for Tip, he borrowed from Howard Minturn a copy of the
      village paper, which came out a few days after, and read the
      report of the examination; read this sentence: "And, among
      all the pupils, perhaps no one of them has made more rapid or
      astonishing progress than has Edward Lewis."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, while the twilight deepened, he turned eagerly to the
      next column, which read in this way:&mdash;
    </p>
    <pre>
  "ROLL OF HONOUR;

  "Being an alphabetically arranged List of those
  who passed the entire Examination without
  making an error:

  WILLARD BAILEY.
  ELLIS HOLBROOK.
  HARVEY JENNINGS.
  EDWARD LEWIS."
</pre>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH22"><!-- CH22 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXII.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "I will lead them in paths that they have not known."
    </h3>
    <p>
      "See here, Tip," called Mr. Minturn, appearing in his store
      door one morning not long after the examination; "I want to
      talk to you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip swung his basket off his shoulder, and went into the
      store. He was at work for Mr. Dewey, and every piece of meat
      which he carried home took the form, in his eyes, of a Latin
      grammar and a dictionary; for these two books were what he
      was at present aiming after.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm in a great hurry, Mr. Minturn," he said; "I've got a
      piece of meat for your folks in my basket, and I expect they
      want it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They'll have to wait till they get it," answered Mr.
      Minturn; "but I never hinder folks long. What are you going
      to do with yourself, now school's out?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, work; anything I can find to do while vacation lasts."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So you're going to keep on at school, are you? I thought
      likely, since your father was laid up, you'd he hunting for
      steady work, so you could help the family along. There's a
      hard winter coming, you know."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no mistaking Mr. Minturn's tone. It said, as
      plainly as words could have done, "That's what I think you
      ought to do, anyhow."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip looked troubled. "There's nothing for me to do," he said
      at last; "I don't know of a place in this town where I could
      get steady work that I could do; and besides, if there was,
      I'm after an education now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My brother is here from Albany," Mr. Minturn made answer to
      this. "He is a merchant, has a large store there, and keeps a
      great many clerks. He's been plagued to death lately with one
      of his boys,&mdash;when he sent him home with bundles, he'd
      open them and help himself; and my brother told me last
      night, if I could warrant him a boy who was perfectly honest,
      he'd take him home with him, pay his fare down, and do well
      by him. I thought of you right away, and I told my brother
      that you were just the boy for him,&mdash;you'd be as true as
      steel; but then, if you're going to keep on at school, it's
      all up."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Minium did not add, that he had kept his brother until
      eleven o'clock the night before, telling him Tip's
      history,&mdash;what a boy he had been, how he had changed,
      how he was struggling upward; and, finally, the whole story
      of the examination,&mdash;the failure, the downfall, the
      public confession; nor how his brother had listened eagerly,
      and had said, with energy, after the story was
      finished,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Such a boy as that ought to be helped; and I'm ready to help
      him."
    </p>
    <p>
      None of this did Tip hear, but he stooped down for his basket
      when Mr. Minturn had finished speaking, with a bright blush
      on his cheek. It was something for a boy like him to be
      called "as true as steel."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," he said decidedly; "I'm going to keep on at school,
      that's certain. Thank you all the same."
    </p>
    <p>
      And out he went; yet all the way up and down the streets his
      thoughts were busy over what he had just heard. It was
      <i>time</i>, certainly, as poor as they were, that he began
      to work; his mother's sewing supported the family now, and
      hard and late into the nights she had to work to keep them
      from hunger. Tip had thought of this question before, but had
      always comforted himself with the thought that work was not
      by any means an easy thing to get in the village; the odd
      jobs which he could find, out of school hours, being really
      the only things he could get to do. But no such comfort came
      to him to-day: here was a chance, and a splendid one, for
      getting steady work, and by and by good wages probably; why
      wasn't he glad?
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh, ever since he gave himself to Christ, there had been in
      his heart a longing to get an education, and not only that,
      but to become a minister. Very small, faint hopes he had, and
      even those were frightened sometimes at their own boldness;
      but every day the desire grew stronger, and it did not seem
      as though he could possibly give up school now. It was out of
      the question, he told himself, just as he was beginning to
      enjoy his books so much, and was doing well. Mr. Burrows
      would be disappointed in him; he had encouraged him to study.
      No, it couldn't be done. He would consider the matter
      settled. And yet there was his mother, working day and night,
      and he, her only son, not helping. There was his father,
      growing weaker every day, coughing harder every night; long
      ago they had given up the hope that the cough would ever
      leave him. There was Kitty, who ought to be in school, but
      could not because her mother <i>must</i> have the little help
      which she could give. Tip was half distracted with thinking
      about it; he felt provoked at Mr. Minturn, and Mr. Minturn's
      brother, and the store in Albany, and the boy who helped
      himself out of other people's bundles; they were all trying
      to cheat him out of his education. A dozen times he said it
      was settled, and as many times began at the beginning to
      think it all over again. He went home finally, after the meat
      was carried around; but this didn't help him any. Home hadn't
      gone back to its old state of dirt and disorder: Kitty's
      first attempt had been too successful, and she had liked the
      looks of things too well to give up; so there was a great
      change for the better in the housekeeping, which both Kitty
      and her mother enjoyed. Still, there was no denying that,
      though a clean, it was a very forlorn little room, with very
      few things for comfort or convenience. Tip had never seen
      this with such wide-open eyes as he did today; so coming home
      did not quiet the vexing thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      He split wood and pumped water without whistling a note,
      growing more sober every minute. At last, after supper, when
      the work was all done that he could do, he drew a sigh of
      relief; it was so nice to have time for thought. He could go
      up to his attic, and he would not come down, no, not if it
      wasn't in three days, until this thing was decided finally
      and for ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty sewed steadily on the seam which her mother had fixed
      for her, and wondered why Tip didn't come down and hear her
      lesson, which had been ready for him this hour. It was
      another hour before he came; then his mother said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tip, if you've a cent in the world, do take it, and go and
      get your father some of that cough-candy. I do believe he
      hasn't stopped coughing since supper."
    </p>
    <p>
      Tip took his hat and started for the store; as he went he
      whistled a little. The cough-candy was found at a store away
      up town, and, getting a paper of it, Tip dashed on around the
      corner and opened Mr. Minturn's store door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When is your brother going home?" he asked, without
      ceremony, seeing Mr. Minturn behind the counter.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Next Monday."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I'm going to talk to father, and I think likely I'll
      want to go along with him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All right."
    </p>
    <p>
      So Tip slammed to the door and ran away and Mr. Minturn never
      knew what a downfall that decision had been to the boy's dear
      hopes and plans.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was all settled in the course of a day or two. Mr. Minturn
      from Albany was very kind. Tip was to have wages that seemed
      a small fortune to him, and enough had been advanced to get
      him a new suit of clothes, which his mother made.
    </p>
    <p>
      One would have supposed that the future would look bright to
      him; yet it was with a very sad heart that he took his seat
      in prayer-meeting that Thursday evening, the last time he
      expected to be in that room for&mdash;he didn't know how
      long. He had a feeling that he ought to be very glad and
      thankful, and wasn't at all.
    </p>
    <p>
      Through the opening hymns and prayers his heart kept growing
      heavier every moment, and it was not until Mr. Holbrook
      arose, and repeated the text which he had chosen for the
      evening, that Tip could arouse himself to listen. It was a
      queer text, so he thought,&mdash;"Who shall roll away the
      stone?" What could Mr. Holbrook be going to say on that? He
      found out, and had reason to remember it for ever after. As
      he went out from that meeting, his thoughts, had he spoken
      them, would have been like these:
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's true,&mdash;I don't believe any man but Mr. Holbrook
      would ever have thought of it: they worried at a great rate
      about that stone, how they would get it rolled away, and when
      they got there it was gone. I'll remember that. I'll do just
      as he said: when I see a stone ahead of me, I won't stop and
      fret about it; I'll walk straight up to it, and when I get
      there maybe it will roll out of my way."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH23"><!-- CH23 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIII.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of
      silver."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Behold Tip, now in Albany, far away from home and friends,
      from every one that he had ever seen before, save Mr. Howard
      Minturn, young Howard's uncle. But he had been there some
      time, and was growing into a settled-at-home feeling. It had
      been a wonderful change to him. Mr. Minturn did not board his
      clerks; but for some reason, best known to himself, he had
      taken Tip home with him. For a few days the boy felt as
      though the roses on the carpets were made of glass, and would
      smash if he stepped on them. But he was getting used to it
      all; he could sit squarely on his chair at the table instead
      of on the edge, spread his napkin over his lap as the others
      did, and eat his pie with a silver fork under the light of
      the sparkling gas.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mother," said little Alice Minturn, "why does father have
      Edward board here, and sit at the table with us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because, Alice, your father wants to help him in every way;
      your uncle Minturn thinks he is an unusually good, smart
      boy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think so too," said Alice, and was satisfied.
    </p>
    <p>
      And Tip Lewis was Tip no longer; no one knew him by that
      name; every one there said "Edward," save the store clerks,
      and they called him "Ed."
    </p>
    <p>
      He had a queer feeling sometimes that he was somebody else,
      and that Tip Lewis, whom he used to know so well, would be
      very much astonished if he could see him now.
    </p>
    <p>
      He went into Sabbath school, and became a member of Mr.
      Minturn's Bible class; but teachers were scarce, and before
      he had been there three weeks Mr. Minturn sent him to take
      charge of a class of very little boys, who called him "Mr.
      Lewis," and made him feel strange and tall. He began to
      realize that he was almost sixteen years old, and growing
      very fast.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was leading a very busy life now-a-days; at work all day,
      in and for the store, and in the evening doing all he could
      with his books. Those books and his love for them were a
      great safeguard to him, kept him away from many a temptation
      to go astray; and yet it was hard work to accomplish much in
      the little time he had, and with no helper. Sometimes he
      sighed wearily, and felt as though the road was full of
      stones.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I pity you, old fellow," one of the younger clerks said to
      him one evening, as they were leaving the store.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know for what," was the good-natured answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Mr. Minturn's pink of a perfect and wonderful and
      altogether amazing son Ray has just got home from the
      University; saw him pass the store not an hour ago, leaning
      back in the carriage like a prince."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's he?" asked Edward.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He's a prig; that's what he is."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's a prig?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ho! you're a greeney, if you don't know what a prig is. Wait
      till he snubs you and lords it over you awhile; then I guess
      you'll know. He'll have a good chance, seeing you're right
      there at the house all the while. I wouldn't be in your shoes
      for a penny."
    </p>
    <p>
      Spite of its making him a great greeney, Edward did not know
      what a prig was; but, judging from his companion's tone, he
      decided that it must be something very disagreeable. He went
      home feeling cross and uncomfortable, wishing that Ray were
      anybody in the world rather than Mr. Minturn's son, or
      anywhere else rather than at home. He was beginning to have
      such a nice time there; they were all so kind to him, and
      really seemed to like him. It was too bad to have it all
      spoiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know what kind of a fellow he is," he muttered to himself;
      "he's like that Mr. Symonds who comes to the store twice a
      week or so after kid gloves, and acts as if he thought he was
      a great deal too good to ask me a decent question. My! I wish
      he was in Texas."
    </p>
    <p>
      The dining-room was a blaze of light when he peeped in, soon
      after the family were gathered waiting for Mr. Minturn. The
      newcomer sat on the sofa, one arm a-round little Alice, and
      the other resting gently on his mother's lap. Edward guessed,
      by his mother's face, that she did <i>not</i> wish he was in
      Texas. Mr. Minturn came in presently, and Edward stole into
      the room just behind him; but Alice called him eagerly:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward, Ray has come! Come over here and see him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go ahead," said Mr. Minturn, as Edward stood still, with
      very red cheeks; and Ray sat up and held out his hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do you do, Edward? Alice has been making me acquainted
      with you this afternoon, so you're not a stranger."
    </p>
    <p>
      How very clear and kind his tones were! Edward was
      astonished. That same evening he was more astonished. He was
      in the library, at work over his books; Mr. Minturn had to go
      to a committee meeting, expecting to be detained late; as he
      arose from the dinner-table, he said,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "How am I to get in to-night? Here's my night-key in two
      pieces."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll be night-key, sir," said Edward promptly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, you may; you can take your books to the library, and
      have a long evening to pore over them."
    </p>
    <p>
      So he was there, poring over them with all his might, when
      the door opened gently, and Ray Minturn came in.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you hard at work?" he asked kindly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir," said Edward, wishing he would go out again. But
      he didn't seem in a hurry to do so; he took a book from the
      case, and glanced over it a moment, then came towards Edward.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What are you studying?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fractions," answered Edward briefly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you have any trouble?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, lots," speaking a little crossly, for he wanted to go
      on with his work; "I can't get this one I'm at, to save my
      head."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Suppose I see what is the matter." And Bay drew a chair to
      the table and sat down, glancing his eye over the slate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rather, suppose you see for yourself," he said in a few
      moments. "Just run over that multiplication at the top of the
      slate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, bother!" Edward said, after he had obeyed orders; "that
      figure three has made me all this trouble."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Smaller things than figure threes make trouble. Have you
      been to school lately?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Always, till I came here; but I might just as well have been
      out until last winter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What happened last winter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lots of things," answered Edward, with brightening eyes. But
      he didn't seem disposed to state any of them; so, after
      waiting a little, Ray asked,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wouldn't you get on faster with your books if you had a
      teacher?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Think likely I should; but I haven't got any, so I'll have
      to get on as fast as I can."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How would it do if I should play teacher while I am at home,
      and give you the hour from nine till ten?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward laid down his pencil, turned his eyes for the first
      time full upon Kay, and looked at him in silent astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you mean it?" he asked at last.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Certainly I do; I shouldn't say so if I didn't. Don't you
      think you would like it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Like it! I guess I would. But I don't know&mdash;What do you
      do it for?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because I am glad to help a boy who seems to be trying to
      help himself. We will consider it settled, then. It is ten
      o'clock; will you come out to prayers now?"
    </p>
    <p>
      And at this the astonished look on Edward's face deepened.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is Mr. Minturn here?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No; but his son is. Are you so surprised that I should have
      prayers in my father's absence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said Edward; "I didn't know&mdash;I mean I didn't
      think"&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "You didn't think I had learned to pray, perhaps. Thank God,
      I have." Then he laid his hand kindly on Edward's shoulder.
      "Have <i>you</i> learned that precious lesson yet, my
      friend?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said Edward softly; "a good while ago."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am very glad; you will never learn anything else that is
      quite so important. What is all the study for, by the way?
      Have you any plans.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said Edward, astonished at what he was about to tell
      to a stranger; "I want to get an education, and then, if I
      possibly <i>can</i> do that, I want to be a minister."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ray's hand fell from his shoulder, and when he answered this,
      his voice was low and a little sad:
    </p>
    <p>
      "God bless you, and help you. I hope you will never have to
      give it up."
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward made up his mind that night that a prig meant the best
      and kindest,&mdash;yes, and the wisest young man in the
      world.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH24"><!-- CH24 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXIV.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so
      to them."
    </h3>
    <p>
      The long, bright summer days and the glowing autumn days were
      gone; mid-winter was upon them. During all this time Edward
      was hard at work; there was plenty of business to be done at
      the store. He had been promoted; very rarely, now-a-days, was
      he called on to carry home purchases, or to do errands. He
      had his counter and his favourite customers. There had been
      another change, too, which Edward felt sure Ray had had a
      hand in; Ray had a hand in everything that was good and
      thoughtful. He had long evenings for study now; he came up to
      dinner with Mr. Minturn at six o'clock, and had no further
      work to do until the next day. Oh, those long evenings! What
      rapid progress he made! what a teacher Ray was! Could a boy
      help getting on who was so carefully and kindly led?
    </p>
    <p>
      What was <i>not</i> Ray to him?&mdash;teacher, friend,
      brother; constant, unfailing, loving guide. Edward was
      learning to love him with an almost worship.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meantime, every one saw better than did Edward himself how he
      had changed. He had not been in constant intercourse with a
      Christian family, who lived their religion every day and
      every hour, for nothing; his improvement had been constant
      and rapid.
    </p>
    <p>
      He came home from the post office one evening with his hands
      full of letters, among them a very queer-looking one for
      himself. He carried the others to the library, and his own to
      his room. Such an odd letter as it was! He was glad it was
      his business to get the mail, and that none of the other
      clerks had seen this, with his name written at the very top
      of the envelope, and written "Tip" at that. How oddly it
      looked, and how queerly it sounded when he said it over! It
      was so long since he heard that name, he never wanted to
      again. He was glad that Ray Minturn had never called him Tip,
      nor heard him called so.
    </p>
    <p>
      Who could it be from? Nobody wrote to him except Kitty, and
      once in a long while his mother; but this was no home-letter.
      At last he broke the seal, and read:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "DEER TIP,&mdash;Mother's dead, I feel bad, you kno that, so
      what's the use? I've got to go to work. I like you better
      than any of the other felows, always did. Can't I com out
      there to your store and work, I'll behave myself reel wel; I
      <i>will</i>, honour bright, if you'll git me a place. I've
      got money enuff to get there. I dug potatoes for old Williams
      and earned it. Rite to me rite off that's a good fellow. I
      want to com awful. BOB TURNER."
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward was thunderstruck! he dropped the letter on the floor
      in disgust. What was to be done now? The idea of having Bob
      Turner there was perfectly dreadful; besides, thank fortune!
      it was impossible. They wanted more help, to be sure, had
      been looking out for a boy that very day, but not such a one
      as Bob,&mdash;that was out of the question; and
      yet&mdash;Bob's mother was dead! In his rude, careless way,
      Bob had loved his mother rather better than he had any one
      else, and Edward did not doubt that he felt badly. He was
      without friends now; surely he needed one if he ever did. But
      it was <i>so</i> disagreeable to think of having him
      there,&mdash;he was so different from any of the others, and
      he would call <i>him</i> Tip, and be always around in his
      way; would seem to lead him back to the old life from which
      he thought he had escaped altogether. It was not to be
      thought of for a moment. But then&mdash;and now came a
      startling thought. How long he had been praying for Bob!
      Perhaps this was the way in which God meant to answer, by
      giving him a chance to work as well as pray. Perhaps he ought
      to be <i>willing</i> to have him come. No matter how much the
      clerks might make fun of him for having such a friend; no
      matter how much pain and annoyance it might cause him; if
      this was God speaking to him to help his brother, how
      dreadful it would be to make no answer!
    </p>
    <p>
      He sat down to think about it; his algebra lay open before
      him; he was not quite ready for Kay, but he could not attend
      to algebra now.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me see," he said; "if there <i>should</i> be such a
      thing as that Bob could come, what would I do for him? One of
      two things is certain, either he'll lead me or I shall him;
      we always did when we were together much. Which will it be?
      If he leads me, he'll lead me into mischief, just as sure as
      the world; if I lead <i>him</i>, I'll try to keep him out of
      mischief. It's clear that I ought to be the leader. Now, how
      would I do it, I wonder? Bob ought to be a Christian; he
      won't be safe two minutes at a time until he is. If God says
      anything, He says He'll hear prayer. If I believe that, why
      don't I pray for Bob, so that he'll be converted? I <i>do</i>
      pray for him always, but it's kind of half-way
      praying&mdash;kind of as if I thought it was a pretty hard
      thing for God to do after all. That's wrong. God wants him
      safe, and He knows he isn't safe now, and He's willing to
      help him; it must be my fault that He don't. My business and
      lessons, and all that sort of thing, are putting Bob and
      Ellis, and even father, pretty much out of my thoughts.
      That's wrong too, and must be stopped. Mr. Minturn says a
      thing is never half done that hasn't a corner in the day
      belonging to itself. I'll try that rule. After this, every
      evening at half-past eight, I'll come up here to my room and
      lock the door, and I'll pray for Bob; I'll pray as though I
      expected an answer, and was going to be on the look-out for
      it. I won't let anything hinder me from coming at just that
      time, unless it's something that I can't help. Meantime, I'll
      get him a place if I can."
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward was as straightforward as Tip had been; this point
      decided, he went down-stairs to the library door, and
      knocked.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Minturn was alone, and busy; but he looked up as Edward
      entered in answer to his "Come in."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, sir, what is it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you time for a little piece of business?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Always time for business; sit down. What is it about?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you found a boy yet?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No. Have you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir; there's a boy out home who wants to come; I've
      just had a letter from him. His name is Turner&mdash;Bob
      Turner."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is he a good boy?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, that's plain! What are you talking about, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I want you to make him a good boy, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Humph! that's an idea. I can't make boys over new. Is he
      honest?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, sir, I don't think he is very,&mdash;not what you mean
      by honest; but his mother is dead, and he hasn't any friends;
      he goes with a miserable set of fellows, and he'll get worse
      than he is in no time if he stays there."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the whole of it is, you think it's my duty to let him
      come, and try to save, him! Suppose I should, what would you
      do for your share?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'd try, too."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, I'd try to get him to do right."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Suppose he should try to get you to do wrong?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He couldn't!" said Edward positively.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How did you find that out?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because I should pray for myself every day, and for Bob too;
      and God hears prayer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, but God's people sometimes get very far away from Him;
      if this Bob should lead <i>you</i> astray, I'd be sorry I
      ever heard of him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't feel much afraid," Edward said, speaking this time
      in a more quiet, less positive tone, "for I never go wrong
      when I pray often; pray about everything that comes up, you
      know, and mean what I pray for."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Humph!" said Mr. Minturn; "that's a good idea; I guess
      you're pretty safe under <i>that</i> rule."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Besides," said Edward, reserving one of his best arguments
      till the last, "I know somebody who would help Bob ever so
      much,&mdash;Mr. Ray would find him out."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Minturn's eyes grew bright, and he smiled a half sad
      smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," he said, "that's true enough; Ray can't come near
      anybody without helping him. Well, write to the boy to come
      on; we'll try him. Has he anything to come with?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir, he says he has money enough to get here." And
      Edward went away glad, for he had begun to be very willing to
      have Bob there.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH25"><!-- CH25 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXV.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "If ye abide in Me, and My word abide in you, ye shall ask
      what ye will, and it shall be done unto you."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Edward got up one morning feeling years older than he had
      only the morning before,&mdash;older and graver, feeling a
      great responsibility resting on his shoulders; for he was The
      weary frame, racked with so many pains, was at last at rest.
      Kitty had written just a line, telling the sad story, but it
      did not reach him until nearly a week after; and with it came
      Mr. Holbrook's,&mdash;a long letter, full of tender sympathy,
      telling all about how, in the afternoon of an early spring
      day, they had laid his father by Johnny's side.
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward read on eagerly, until he came to this sentence: "My
      dear boy, I have a most precious message for you. I was with
      him only an hour before he died, and at that time he said to
      me, 'I want you to tell Tip that God has heard his prayer,
      and saved his father; and that I shall watch for him to come
      to heaven, and bring all the rest.' And, Edward, I haven't a
      shade of doubt but that your father is with his Redeemer; you
      must let me quote again a verse which I once gave you: 'I
      love the Lord, because He has heard my voice and my
      supplications.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      And at this point the letter dropped from his hand, and
      Edward shed his first tears for his father.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was curious, the different ways that Mr. Minturn and his
      son had of expressing sympathy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh," Mr. Minturn said, when he was told, "why in the world
      didn't they send for you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because, sir, my father died very suddenly, and my mother
      thought I could not afford to come so far for the funeral."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Afford! as if that would have made any difference. Did they
      think I would let it cost <i>you</i> anything?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward showed Mr. Holbrook's letter to Ray after that; and
      when it had been read, expressed the feeling which had been
      much in his heart ever since the news came, and which had
      been strengthened by Mr. Monturn's words:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I shall always be sorry that I could not have gone to the
      funeral."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Bay answered, resting his arm, as he spoke, lightly on
      Edward's shoulder, to express the tenderness which he felt,
      "No you won't, my dear fellow; when you get up there, in the
      glory of the Redeemer's presence, and meet your father face
      to face, you will not remember to be sorry that you did not
      see him <i>buried</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      Meantime Bob had come, and been set at work. He did not board
      at Mr. Minturn's. Edward had heard that matter arranged with
      a little sigh of relief; his precious hour with Ray, then,
      would be undisturbed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bob was doing very much better than anybody who knew him
      would have imagined he <i>could</i> do; he seemed to have
      made up his mind to behave himself, sure enough. Yet his
      being there was a trial to Edward in several ways: he had a
      great horror of being called "Tip;" that name belonged to the
      miserable, ragged, friendless, hopeless boy who used to
      wander around the streets in search of mischief, not to the
      young man who was a faithful clerk in one of the finest
      stores in Albany, besides being a teacher in Sabbath school,
      and a very fair scholar in Latin and algebra. But Bob Turner
      could not be made to understand all this; and though he
      stared at the neat black suit which Edward wore, and opened
      his eyes wide when Mr. Minturn went and came in company with
      his old companion, and honoured him in many ways, he still
      called him "Tip," in clear, round tones, that rang through
      the store a dozen times a day. But there was nothing which
      Ray could not smooth over, so Edward thought, when one
      evening he flounced into the library with a very much
      disturbed face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wish that fellow knew anything," he said angrily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is the matter now?" Bay asked, meeting the bright,
      angry eyes with a quiet smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward laughed a little. "Well, I can't help feeling vexed;
      Bob screeches that hateful little name after me wherever I
      go. I despise that name, and I wish he could be made to
      understand it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How did you happen to be called Tip at first?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why," said Edward, turning over the leaves of his
      dictionary, "my little sister Kitty made it up before she
      could talk plain. How she ever got that name out of Edward, I
      don't know; I'm sure I wish she had been asleep when she did
      it; but that's what she called me, and that's what I've been
      ever since."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And did Johnny, the little boy that died, ever call you so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward's eyes began to grow soft.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Often," he said gently; "and it was about the only name he
      could speak; he was a little fellow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Edward, I should not think it would be such a very
      disagreeable name to you, when your father, who is gone,
      always used it, and always in kindness, you told me; and it
      is the only name by which little Johnny can remember you.
      There are two things to be thought of in this matter," Ray
      continued, after a moment, finding Edward not disposed to
      speak: "one is, if you hope to do anything with this old
      companion of yours, you must be ready to take worse things
      from him than a quiet, inoffensive little name like that; he
      will learn your right name, perhaps, in time. And the other
      is&mdash;What is Bob Turner's right name, my friend?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward's face flushed, his lips quivered into a little smile,
      then he laughed outright.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It would be ridiculous to call <i>him</i> Robert!" he said,
      still laughing. "Ray, here's my exercise, if you want it
      now."
    </p>
    <p>
      And Ray heard no more complaints about the offending little
      name.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Say, Tip, just go home with me to-night," Bob coaxed one
      evening, as Edward, having been detained late at the store,
      was leaving just as Bob was closing the shutters. "Mr. Ray's
      head is so bad you won't have any plaguy lessons to-night to
      hinder you. Every single fellow in the store but me is going
      to the theatre, and I am awful lonesome up there alone."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is a wonder you are not going too," said Edward.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, it ain't. I can keep a promise once in a while, I
      reckon. That Ray Minturn can do anything with a fellow, and I
      was fool enough to promise him that I wouldn't go. Come, go
      up home with me; do, that's a good fellow!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Edward decidedly, "I can't."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, Tip Lewis, I think you're real mean; you don't never
      come to see me no more than if I was in Guinea. You act as if
      you were ashamed of me, and I keep my word and behave myself,
      too; and you're a mean, chicken-hearted fellow, if you're
      ashamed to notice me now-a-days, just because you board in a
      big house and dress like a dandy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poh!" said Edward; "what nonsense that is! I'd look well
      being ashamed of any one that Minturn talked with. But, Bob,
      I can't go to-night, nor any other night just about this
      time; because I made a promise that I'd do something else, at
      exactly half-past eight, and that nothing in the world should
      hinder me if I could help it; and it can't be far from
      half-past eight now."
    </p>
    <p>
      Bob eyed him curiously. "Tip, you're the oddest fellow born,
      I do believe," he said at last "Is it lessons?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, it's nothing about lessons."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Couldn't I <i>help</i> you to do it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said Edward, after a thoughtful silence; "you
      <i>could</i> help me better than any one else, only you
      won't."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, now," Bob answered earnestly, "as sure as I'm alive, I
      will, if you'll tell me what it is; I'll help you this very
      night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you promise?" asked Edward.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I do, out and out; and when I promise a thing through
      and through, why, <i>you</i> know, Tip Lewis, that I do it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," said Edward, as he tried the door to see that all was
      safe before leaving, "then I'll tell you. Every night, at
      exactly half-past eight, I go to my room and ask God over and
      over again to make you want to be a Christian."
    </p>
    <p>
      Not a single word did Bob answer to this; he took long
      strides up the street by the side of Edward in the direction
      of Mr. Mintern's, never once speaking until they had reached
      the door, and stood waiting to be let in; then he said, "Tip,
      that's mean."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To get a fellow to promise what he can't do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have not. Don't you want to be a Christian?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No; I can't say that I'm particular about it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But that's too silly to believe. You need a friend to help
      you about as badly as any one I know of, and when you can
      have one for the asking, why shouldn't you want Him? Besides,
      I didn't say <i>make</i> you a Christian, anyhow; I said make
      you <i>want</i> to be one. You can pray, that <i>I'm</i>
      sure; any way, you promised, and I trusted you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Bob followed him through the hall, up the stairs, to his neat
      little room, and whistled "Hail, Columbia," while he lighted
      a match and turned on the gas.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My! you have things in style here, don't you?" he said,
      looking around, while the bright light gleamed over the
      pretty carpet and shining furniture.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," said Edward; "everything in this house is in style.
      Bob, it's half-past eight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," Bob said good-naturedly, "I'd like to know what I'm
      to do; this is new business to me, you see."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm going to kneel down here and pray for you, and you
      promised to do the same."
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward knelt at his bedside, and Bob, half laughing, followed
      his example. But Christ must have been praying too, and
      putting words into Edward's heart to say. By and by, in spite
      of himself, Bob had to put up his hand and dash away a tear
      or two. He had never heard himself prayed for before.
    </p>
    <p>
      That evening was one to be remembered by Bob Turner, for more
      than one reason. Bay sent for both of the boys to come to his
      room; he was sick, but not too sick to see and talk with Bob
      whenever he could get a chance. He made the half-hour spent
      with him so pleasant, that Bob gave an eager assent to the
      request that he would come often. More than that, he kept his
      word; and as often as he passed Edward's door, towards nine
      o'clock, he stepped lightly, for he knew that he was being
      prayed for, and there began to come into his heart a strange
      longing to pray for himself. One evening he discovered that
      Ray, too, prayed every night for him, and the vague notion
      grew into a certainty, that what they two were so anxious
      about for him, he ought to desire for himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward had taken this promise into his heart; he was trying
      to live up to the condition to abide in Christ, and in due
      season God made His promise sure.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I wish," Bob said to Ray one evening when the weary head was
      full of pain,&mdash;"I <i>do</i> wish I could do something
      for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You can," Ray answered quickly,&mdash;"something that I
      would like better than almost anything else in the world."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is it?" Bob's question was sincere and eager.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Give yourself to Christ."
    </p>
    <p>
      Bob heard this in grave, earnest silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I would," he said after a minute, "if I knew how."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you mean that?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I do; I'm sick of waiting, and I'm sick of myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If I should tell you how, would you do it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I would," spoken evidently with honest meaning.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kneel down, then, here beside me, and say to God that you
      want to be a Christian; that you are willing to give yourself
      up to Him now and for ever, to do just as He tells you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Bob hesitated, struggling a little, and at last knelt down.
      There was silence in the room, while three sincere hearts
      were lifted up in prayer; and surely Christ bent low to
      listen. When Bob would have risen, Bay laid one hand on his
      arm, and, steadying his throbbing head with the other, said
      solemnly,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Blessed Redeemer, here is a soul given up to Thee. Do Thou
      take it, and wash it in Thy precious blood, and make it fit
      for heaven. We ask boldly, because Thou hast promised, and we
      know that Thy promises are sure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Edward," Ray said the next evening, as they sat alone, and
      were silent for a little, after Bob had left them, and gone
      home rejoicing in the hope of sins washed away, "what was
      that verse that your minister at home quoted for you in his
      letter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I love the Lord, because He has heard my voice and my
      supplication," Edward repeated it with brightening eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH26"><!-- CH26 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVI.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled
      away."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Onward sped the busy days, until at last there came an
      evening which made it exactly three years since Edward had
      first set foot in Albany. They had been years of wonderful
      progress to him. He had gone on steadily with his evening
      studies; he had been an eager pupil, and Ray had been a
      faithful teacher. This evening he sat in the library waiting
      for Ray, but he had a very troubled face. Once more he took
      Kitty's long letter out of his pocket. Kitty wrote long
      letters once in two weeks, but it was a rare thing to have a
      postscript added by his mother. He turned to this and read it
      again; it was a very kind one. They were doing well now, so
      she wrote. Her health was very good, now that she slept
      quietly at night; and just here Edward knew there had come in
      a heavy sigh, because there was no constant coughing to
      disturb her rest. She had steady work, and could support
      Kitty and herself nicely without his help; he must keep what
      he earned for himself after this. "Kitty says you want to go
      to school," so the letter ran; "if you do, save up your money
      for that. Your poor father had a notion that you would make a
      scholar; I think it would please him if you did."
    </p>
    <p>
      Surely he could not wish for a kinder, more thoughtful letter
      than this; coming from his <i>mother</i>, too! she must have
      changed much, as well as himself. But this very letter had
      greatly unsettled his quiet life; the old longing to give
      himself up to study, to prepare for the ministry, had broken
      loose, and well-nigh overwhelmed him with its power. He
      wanted it, oh, so much! it had grown strong, instead of weak,
      during these three years. But what to do, and how to do it?
      That was the question. Certainly he was not prepared to
      answer it. If he stayed where he was, led his busy life all
      day in the store, how was he ever to go through with the
      necessary course of study, which it was high time he
      commenced in earnest? If he left them, these dear friends,
      who had taken him into their home and hearts, and made him
      feel like one of thorn, how was he to live while he studied?
      How, indeed, could he study at all? The truth was, Edward,
      calling to mind Mr. Holbrook's lecture that last evening in
      the home prayer-meeting, and his resolution taken then,
      thought that the stone was ahead of him no longer, but that
      he had walked <i>close</i> up to it, and could not take
      another step because of it, and very large and impossible to
      move did it look to his shortsighted eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just as he was growing hopelessly moody, Lay came in, and
      settled himself among the cushions, rather wearily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ray," said Edward anxiously, "you are not well enough for
      lessons to-night."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," answered Ray, smiling, however, as he spoke; "I think I
      am not, because I want to talk instead. I am full of a scheme
      which needs your help; for once we'll let the lessons go. It
      is an age since I have heard anything concerning your plans;
      you have not given up your desire for the ministry, I hope?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, Ray; I shall never give that up."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought not; it would not be like you. That being the
      case, isn't it time to do something definite?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Time, certainly," Edward answered gloomily; "but what's to
      do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That brings me to the unfolding of my scheme. Edward, do you
      know that it was my lifelong desire to reach the point
      towards which you are looking?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>No</i>," said Edward, with pitying interest; "I never
      thought of it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," and Ray smiled sadly, "it is so; and I hope you may
      never know how hard it is to have to give up such a wish. I
      cannot say that I did actually give it up entirely until very
      lately. I gave up all study three years ago, and came home to
      regain strength! <i>you</i> know how well I have succeeded in
      that." And Ray pressed his thin, wasting hand across his damp
      forehead. "It is all over now, <i>utterly</i>." The hand did
      duty now for a moment, shading his eyes from the light.
      Presently he spoke more cheerily. "All over for myself, but
      not for you; so, Edward, what I want to say to-night, in
      brief, is this: You have talents, perseverance, and health; I
      have money,&mdash;the four combined cannot fail to speed you
      in your work. What say you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I&mdash;I don't understand you," Edward spoke, in complete
      bewilderment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me speak more plainly. I want you to go now,
      <i>immediately</i>, to some good preparatory school, thence
      to college, thence to the seminary, and the means wherewith
      to do these three important things shall be at your disposal.
      Isn't that plain?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why," said Edward, "I don't know what to say; I am too much
      astonished, and&mdash;and thankful."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you will do it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Only,&mdash;Ray?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Isn't there a right kind of pride, about being helped in
      these things?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is a great deal of wrong kind of pride. Let me show
      you;" and he sat up and spoke eagerly. "It is right and
      honourable for people to help themselves in this world, but
      very vain and foolish to refuse help which would greatly aid
      the cause that they profess to have at heart. You see how it
      is: God has given me money; I am ready and waiting to give it
      back to Him. I would gladly give myself to Him in the
      ministry; I have longed and prayed for this; but He has seen
      fit not to answer as I wished. I have no strength to give;
      you have, and are ready to give it. Do you think God would be
      less pleased with the offering if we united it, thus giving
      me a chance to do something?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Edward, speaking very slowly; "only, I had hoped
      to accomplish my plans without help from any one but God."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ray leaned back again among the cushions, and spoke
      wearily,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is, you prefer to be a great many years longer in
      preparation than you need be, and have about half as much
      strength finally as you would have, had you not overworked,
      rather than give me a chance to do what I could, since I
      cannot do what I would."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, Ray, there are plenty of people to help, even if you do
      no more for me. The world is full of poor young men,
      struggling to get an education."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, that is so; and I suppose you would enjoy helping some
      young man out in Oregon, of whom you had never heard, quite
      as well as you would me."
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward came quickly to the sofa where Ray was lying, and laid
      his hand tenderly over the closed eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ray, there is nothing in the world I would not do for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you let me help you into the ministry, as rapidly as
      money <i>can</i> help?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will be glad to; it is a great, noble offer, and I thank
      you from my heart. You mustn't think that I don't; only I
      thought&mdash;perhaps"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know," said Ray, for Edward had stopped doubtfully; "I
      understand just how you feel; but I <i>do</i> think the
      feeling, in this case at least, is wrong; and, my dear
      brother, you will be glad when you know how thankful you have
      made me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; and after all you will not be doing any more for
      me&mdash;you <i>can't</i>&mdash;than you have done. I think
      money is very little, compared with that. Ray," and Edward
      sank down among the cushions in front of him, "I do believe
      you are more to me than any other human being ever will be."
    </p>
    <p>
      Ray smiled, quite as if he did not think so, but would not
      unsay it for anything.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is all right," he said gently, after a little silence. "I
      think you will do so much more than I ever <i>could</i> have
      done. God bless you, my dear brother!"
    </p>
    <p>
      After that Edward went up to his room, got out his little red
      Bible, his precious lamp, and, opening at the history of the
      rock-bound grave, read on until he came to the verse, "And
      when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away."
      Around this he made heavy marks with his pencil, thinking,
      meantime, that the angel of the Lord was still at work on
      earth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bob," said Edward, stopping before Bob's counter, two days
      after this matter was settled, "I am going to start for home
      in the morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are you, though?" Bob answered eagerly, stopping his work to
      take the sentence in fully. "My! I wish I was going along,
      just to see what folks would say."
    </p>
    <p>
      "About <i>you</i>, do you mean?" said Edward, laughing, and
      thinking wonderingly, as well as joyfully, of the change
      which there had been in Bob Turner.
    </p>
    <p>
      Bob had a counter too, and was no longer an errand-boy; there
      had very rarely been known such a rapid promotion in that
      store; but the truth was, Mr. Minturn had early learned that
      Bob Turner was destined to be, not a minister, nor a lawyer,
      not even a scholar, but a thorough, energetic, successful
      merchant. He had no sooner made this discovery than he
      determined to give the boy a chance.
    </p>
    <p>
      So Bob had earned a name and a place in the store, and was a
      general favourite with the other clerks, and was beginning to
      have customers who sought him out, and liked to make
      purchases of him. More than all, Bob was an earnest
      Christian; his loving tenderness for, and almost worship of,
      Ray Minturn, kept him from being much led into temptation,
      and his influence over the younger clerks was growing to be
      for good. He was destined to be more popular than Edward had
      been; for Edward had risen too rapidly, and was too much at
      home with the entire Minturn family, not to be looked upon
      with some degree of envy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Tip,"&mdash;Bob had never learned not to say Tip, and
      probably never would, but Edward had long since forgotten to
      care,&mdash;"tell every one at home that I'm well and happy,
      and never want to see one of them again. I don't believe I
      have a friend there: anyhow, I know I don't deserve to have."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH27"><!-- CH27 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVII.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? By taking
      heed thereto, according to Thy word."
    </h3>
    <p>
      Kitty Lewis shook out the folds of her new bright pink calico
      dress, walked to the little looking-glass, for about the
      tenth time, to see if the dainty white ruffle around her neck
      was in order; then took a survey of the room, lest there
      might possibly be something else to do which would improve
      its appearance.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the same little room in which Kitty had spent her
      childhood, from which Johnny first, and then long afterwards
      the husband and father, had been carried out to return no
      more. And yet it was not the same,&mdash;there was a neat rag
      carpet on the floor, a Christmas gift from Mrs. Minturn; the
      round table in the corner was covered with a bright red
      cloth, and strewn with a few books and papers; the full white
      curtain was looped away from the window, and the light of a
      clear sunset glimmered in the room; everything was neat and
      bright and cheery. The table was set for tea, the white cloth
      showing just the folds in which it was ironed; there were
      three plates and three cups and saucers, instead of two,
      while Kitty, in her restless wanderings around the room, and
      Mrs. Lewis, in her frequent glances out of the window, both
      showed that somebody was being watched and waited for.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The eastern train is in," Kitty said finally "Now, if he
      comes to-night, he'll be here in three minutes." And it could
      not have been much more than that when a quick, crushing step
      was heard on the gravel outside, then on the plank before the
      door, then the door swung open, and Edward Lewis walked into
      the little room out of which he had gone three years before.
    </p>
    <p>
      Kitty was all ready to spring forward, say, "Oh, Tip!" and
      throw her arms right around his neck. Instead, she stood
      still. Some way, in spite of the long letters which had
      passed between them during these years, Kitty had fully
      expected to see a stout, tanned boy, in a strong, coarse suit
      of grey, with thick boots and a new straw hat. Of, at
      least,&mdash;why, of course, she knew he must have changed
      some; hadn't she? But then she did <i>not</i> think he would
      be so tall, and have a face and hands without tan or freckle,
      or that his clothes would be so <i>very</i> black and fine,
      and fit as though they had grown on him, or that his collar
      would be so white and glossy, or his boots so small and
      shiny. So Kitty stood still in embarrassed silence. But the
      mother,&mdash;oh, she saw in him the picture of the dear,
      dead father, as he used to come to her long, long ago; the
      husband who, through all change and poverty and pain, she had
      <i>always</i> loved! And all the tenderness that had ever
      been in her heart took form, and spoke in those words with
      which she came forward to greet her son,&mdash;"Oh, my
      <i>dear</i> boy!"
    </p>
    <p>
      There was happiness in the little home that night; only the
      bedroom door was closed, and Edward knew that his father's
      bed was vacant.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such a queer feeling as possessed him all the next day, while
      he went around the village! He went <i>every</i>where. He
      felt like walking through every street, and stepping on every
      stone on which his feet had trod in the old life, now utterly
      gone from him. He wandered down to the river-bank, where he
      had lain that summer morning and envied the fishes; and,
      standing there, thanked God for the mission class in Mr.
      Holbrook's Sabbath school. Thence to the cemetery, where by
      the side of little Johnny's grave the new life had been
      commenced. There was a long grave beside the short one now;
      and, standing there, he thanked God for the hope which he had
      of meeting the father and the baby in heaven. Thence to the
      great elm-tree at the foot of the hill; and, standing there,
      he took out once more the little red Bible, and turned the
      leaves lovingly; lingered over the name written by Mr.
      Holbrook's hand, turned again to the first verse which he had
      ever read from its pages: "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet,
      and a light unto my path." Time and again had he proved the
      truth of that verse. There, under that very tree, it had
      helped him to fight battles with Satan and come off
      conqueror. And he thanked God for the Bible. After that he
      went directly to the village; just looked in at the meat
      market for the sake of the old days.
    </p>
    <p>
      Somebody told Mr. Dewey who was coming, and he was just ready
      to say, "Hallo, Tip!" but instead, he came around from behind
      the counter, and, holding out his hand, said, "How do you do,
      Lewis? Glad to see you." Something, either in the city-made
      clothes or the quiet air of dignity with which they were
      worn, made him dislike to say "Hallo, Tip!" to the tall young
      man before him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Minturn shook him heartily by the hand. "Never rejoiced
      over any one's luck more in my life!" he said; then, in the
      same breath, "How's Ray? Oh yes, I see how it is, poor
      fellow! And you love him too; of course, every one does."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was still the schoolroom to visit, and as Edward went
      up the familiar walk he wished Bob Turner could have been
      with him to make this call. But Bob was probably rushing like
      a top through the city store, without a thought of the old
      schoolhouse or the miserable days which he had spent there.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows himself answered the knock, and gave him a hearty
      greeting. Three years had made changes there. Edward found
      himself looking eagerly towards the back row of seats fur the
      old faces,&mdash;Will, Howard, Ellis, and half a dozen
      others,&mdash;before he remembered that they had long since
      entered higher schools. The boys whom he hid left plodding
      through long division were filling those back seats now, and
      leading their classes in algebra and Latin. He sat down near
      the blackboard to watch the progress of Joe Bartlett through
      an example in division. And behold, he was doing that old
      never-to-be-forgotten example about the cows and sheep! He
      picked up an arithmetic eagerly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Burrows, do you remember that example?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "I remember that it has puzzled some forty or more of my boys
      in the course of time," said Mr. Burrows, laughing; "but
      nothing very special about it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do; it was the cause of my first promotion."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Was it, indeed! I'm afraid it will never be the cause of
      poor Joseph's; it seems to be mastering him."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows was engaged with a grammar class, and Edward
      offered to assist the bewildered Joseph.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I remember those sheep of old," he said kindly, as he turned
      to the board. "Isn't it the 'stood him in' that troubles
      you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, it is," Joe answered grumbly. "I don't see no sense to
      it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me show you. Suppose"&mdash;And he went through with the
      well&mdash;remembered explanation. It was successful, Joe
      understood it, and went on briskly with the figures.
    </p>
    <p>
      Edward turned towards Mr. Burrows. "It was the way my father
      explained it to me," he said, with eyes that glistened a
      little.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some one brought Mr. Burrows a note, and, as he read and laid
      it down, he said, "Now, Edward, if you had continued at
      school instead of running away from us, I should get you to
      hear this recitation in algebra, and take leave of absence
      for a few minutes. There is a friend in town whom I would
      give much to see before the next train leaves."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Suppose you set me at it as it is."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Burrows looked surprised.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you been studying algebra, Edward?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Somewhat."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How far have you been?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Through."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you feel <i>positive</i> that you could do examples over
      here?" turning to "Evolution."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Entirely,"</i> Edward answered, smiling at Mr. Burrows'
      doubts. Ray had been a thorough teacher.
    </p>
    <p>
      So Mr. Burrows went away, and Edward took his seat on the
      stage and commenced the recitation. At first the boys were
      disposed to be wise, and display their knowledge; when they
      had known him last, he was in division. But he was in algebra
      now, or rather through it, and they speedily discovered that
      he seemed to have every example in the lesson committed to
      memory.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meantime, Mr. Burrows returned, and listened with
      astonishment and delight.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you heartily," he said afterwards. "You ought to fit
      yourself for teaching. But, Edward, you did not get through
      algebra alone?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said Edward, flushing at the thought of Ray; "I had the
      best and wisest teacher on earth."
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, he sat down in what had been his seat, and tried to
      imagine that it was his seat still; that Bob would be in
      pretty soon, and plague him while he studied his
      spelling-lesson. But he could not do it. "Things were
      different,"&mdash;very different. First and foremost, there
      was Ray: he had not known <i>him</i> in those days; if he
      had, he said to himself, things would have been different
      long before they were.
    </p>
    <p>
      Going back up town he met Mr. Holbrook, who turned and walked
      with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And so," he said, after the long talk was concluded, "you go
      next week, do you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Next Tuesday, sir."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, God bless you, my friend, as He has, and will." Then,
      after a minute, "Edward, my son is a wanderer yet: do you
      still remember him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Always, sir," Edward answered, in firm, steady tones; "and,
      Mr. Holbrook, God <i>never</i> forgets!"
    </p>
    <p>
      As he went on past Mr. Minturn's store, could he have heard
      the remarks that were made there, very likely he might have
      remembered a certain statement which he made to the little
      fishes that summer morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Minturn, looking out after him, said to Mr. Dewey,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "There goes one of the finest and most promising young men in
      this town."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," answered Mr. Dewey, laughing a little; "I used to
      notice that he improved every day after he brought back those
      circus tickets."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH28"><!-- CH28 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XXVIII.
    </h2>
    <h3>
      "For them shalt find it after many days."
    </h3>
    <p>
      "Come in;" and the Rev. Edward Lewis laid down his book,
      pushed back his study chair, and was ready to receive whoever
      was knocking at his study door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. Lewis," said the little girl who came in in answer to
      his invitation, "father has just come from the post office,
      and he brought you some letters, and here they are."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Lewis thanked his little next-door neighbour, took his
      letters, and, when the room was quiet again, settled back in
      his chair to enjoy them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first one was from a brother minister, begging an
      exchange. The next brought a look of surprise and delight to
      his face, for he recognised Ellis Holbrook's handwriting. And
      the delight spread and deepened as he read; especially when
      he came to one sentence: "I asked father what message he had
      for you, and he replied, Send him this verse, and tell him
      that again it is peculiarly his, 'I love the Lord, because He
      has heard my voice and my supplication.'" That, you see,
      would have told me the whole story, without this long letter.
      "I thank God that He put it into your heart to pray for me,
      as also that He has heard your prayers. God bless you. By the
      way, father wants you to assist him on the first Sabbath in
      July. I earnestly hope you can do so; he thinks you will be
      coming east about that time."
    </p>
    <p>
      Was there ever a more thankful heart than was that minister's
      as he laid down his old schoolfellow's letter? How
      constantly, how sometimes almost hopelessly, had he prayed
      for Ellis Holbrook! How many times had he been obliged to
      reassure himself with the promise, "In due season we shall
      reap, if we faint not." And now again had God's word been
      verified to him. He took the letter up once more, to look
      lovingly at that closing, never before written by
      Ellis,&mdash;"Your brother in Christ."
    </p>
    <p>
      There was still another letter to read. That writing, too,
      was familiar; he had received many reminders of it during the
      past years. He laughed as he read, it sounded so like the
      writer:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      ALBANY, <i>June</i>&mdash;, 18&mdash;.
    </p>
    <p>
      "DEAR TIP,&mdash;Do you have Fourth of July out your way this
      year? We do here in Albany; rather, I'm going to have one in
      my yard. Perhaps you remember a Fourth of July which you took
      me to once, when we were ragged little wretches at home? I
      do, anyhow, and this is to be twin-brother to that time. All
      the ugly, dingy little urchins that I know have been invited.
      We're to have fine fireworks and fine singing and fine
      <i>eating</i>. My wife added that last item,&mdash;thought it
      a great improvement. I'm not sure but it is; most things are
      that she has a hand in. Now, to come to the point of this
      letter,&mdash;you're to make the speech on that occasion. No
      getting out of it now! I planned this thing one day in the
      old schoolhouse. Oh, did you know Mr. Burrows had given up
      teaching? Grown too old. Queer, isn't it? Don't seem as if
      anybody was growing old except me. At first I wasn't going to
      have my feast on the Fourth, because, you remember, it was on
      <i>that</i> day that our blessed Ray left us; but, talking
      with Mr. Minturn about it, he said Ray would have been
      delighted with it all,&mdash;and so he would, you know. Don't
      think we are going to gather in all Albany; it's only the
      younger scholars of the mission school, in which my wife and
      I are interested.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell Howard and Kitty to be sure and come; they can put
      their visit a few weeks earlier as well as not.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, by the way, if you have heard from Ellis Holbrook
      lately, you are singing 'Glory Hallelujah' by this time!
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am writing this in the counting-room, and am in a great
      hurry, though you wouldn't think it. Shall expect you by the
      third, <i>certainly</i>.&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yours, etc.,
    </p>
    <center>
      "BOB TURNER."
    </center>
    <p>
      These letters came on Saturday evening. The next morning, in
      Sabbath school, when the superintendent's bell rang, the
      minister left his class of mission scholars, and went up the
      aisle towards the altar, pausing first to speak with a
      bright-eyed little lady, who sat before her class of
      bright-eyed little girls.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Kitty, where is Howard?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "At home, coaxing a fit of sick headache."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, here are letters that will interest you
      both,&mdash;came last evening; one contains an invitation.
      Tell Howard I think we must try to go. Mother bade me tell
      you she wanted to see you at the parsonage in the morning;
      she is not out to-day."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he went on. The scholars began to sit up straight, and
      fold their arms; they knew they must listen if they wanted
      Mr. Lewis to talk to them. When every eye was fixed on him,
      he began,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Children, I have a very short story to tell you to-day about
      myself. Years ago, when I was a little boy, my Sabbath school
      teacher told us a story, one morning, which was the means of
      bringing me to Jesus. I have to thank that lady, next to God,
      that I am standing here to-day a minister of Christ. She was
      not our regular teacher, but was a stranger; I never saw her
      after that Sabbath. Perhaps you can imagine how I have
      longed, since I became a man and a minister, to find that
      lady, and tell her what one hour of faithful teaching did for
      me. I thought it would help her, encourage her. I thought she
      would be likely to tell it to other teachers, and it would
      help them. But though I had it always in mind, and made very
      earnest efforts to find her, I never succeeded until last
      week. You know, children, it is ten years since I came here
      to be your pastor, and last week I learned that during all
      this time I have been living within twenty miles of the lady
      whom I have so long been seeking. And what else do you think
      I heard of her? Why, that two weeks ago she died. Scholars,
      my first thought was a sad one, that I never could thank her
      now. But you know I can; I expect to one of these days. Why,
      when I get to heaven, one of the first things I shall do will
      be to seek her out and tell her about it. So, you see, she
      will know it, even if some of the watching angels up there
      have not told her already.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Just here, I want to say one word to the teachers. This
      incident should come with wonderful encouragement to your
      hearts, reminding you that you may often speak words which
      spring up and bear fruit that reaches up to God, though you
      do not know it, and <i>will</i> not, until in heaven you take
      your crowns, and question why there are so many stars.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Children, next Sabbath I will tell you the story which led
      me to Christ; and all this week I am going to pray that it
      may have the same effect on some of my scholars.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is time now for your verse. If any of you can find out
      why what I have been telling you to-day made me think of this
      verse, you may tell me next Sabbath. Now repeat,&mdash;'Cast
      thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many
      days.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>







<pre>
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by Pansy (aka Isabella Alden)

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