'Jesus loves me, this I know,For the Bible tells me so.'"
"Yes," Kitty said; "the hymn was pretty enough, only nobody gave me a book, and I could just hear a word now and then."
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—yes,longed—with all his heart to have her come to Christ.
"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?"
"No trouble, father; only Tip threw a paper ball, just as he alwaysisdoing, 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?"
"Ellis, did you see Edward throw paper?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you positive?"
"Yes—why—that is—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."
"But now you would not say positively that some boy near him might not have done it?"
"Why, no, sir. Alex Palmer might have thrown it; but I didn't think of such a thing."
"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."
"Boys," said Mr. Burrows, one Monday afternoon, "you may lay aside your books; I want to have a talk with you."
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.
Mr. Burrows drew out his arm-chair from behind the desk, and sat down for a chat.
"Who will tell me what an acrostic is?"
Several hands were raised.
"Well, Howard, let us hear what you think about it."
"It's a piece of poetry, sir, where the first letter of every line spells another word."
"Do you mean the first letter alone spells a word?"
The boys laughed, and Howard explained promptly. "No, sir; I mean the first letters of each line taken together form a name."
"Must an acrostic always be written in poetry?"
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,—
"How many understand now what an acrostic is?"
A few more hands were raised, but many of the boys did not understand yet; it must be made plainer.
"Howard," said Mr. Burrows, "come to the board and give us an acrostic on the word boy."
Howard sprang up. "Must it be a sensible one, sir?"
"Sense or nonsense, just as you please, so as it shows us what an acrostic is."
"I can take my parsing-book and give you one, I think, sir."
And Howard came forward and wrote rapidly,—
"B But you shall hear an odd affair, indeed,O Of which all Europe rings from side to side"—
Then he paused, turning the leaves of his parsing-book eagerly.
"I can't find anything in Y to finish this up with," he said at last.
"Can't you give us a line from your own brain?"
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,—
"Y You who can finish this may have the job;"—
then took his seat amid bursts of laughter from the boys, who all began to understand what an acrostic was.
Ellis Holbrook's hand was up, and his eyes were full of questions.
"Mr. Burrows, why is that called by such a queer name as acrostic?"
His teacher smiled.
"You must study Greek, Ellis. We get it from two words in the Greek, or from one word made up of two others, which meanextreme, orbeginningandorder. In an acrostic the beginnings of the lines are arranged in order. Do you understand how we get that word now?"
"Yes, sir."
"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."
The boys groaned, and exclaimed, "They couldn't do it, they were sure; they couldn'tbeginto do it!"
"Yes, you can," said Mr. Burrows; "I don't give my scholars any work that theycan'tdo. You may quote it, or make it original, as you please; but I want every one of you totry."
Johnny Thorpe, the smallest boy in school who could write, now seemed in trouble, and stretched up his arm to its full length.
"Well, Johnny, what will you have?" asked his teacher.
"If you please, sir, I don't know what you mean by quote."
Mr. Burrows laughed pleasantly.
"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."
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.
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.
"There is no place on the road so dark but this lamp will light you through, if you give it a chance."
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.
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,manyverses, he would be sure to find what he wanted. But then, how very queer it would be forhim, 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.
"I don't care," he said suddenly, after a few moments of troubled thought. "I guess I ain't ashamed of my Bible,—it's the only thing I've got that I needn't be ashamed of. I'lldoit. 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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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,—which was the only name the boy saw fit to own,—the schoolroom fairly shook with their laughter.
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.
The room had now grown quiet, and Mr. Burrows, after opening the paper, announced the title,—
"WHAT JESUS CHRIST SAYS."
"WHAT JESUS CHRIST SAYS."
Then read slowly and reverently, while the wondering scholars spelled out the name.
"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."
What a silent and astonished company listened to this reading, and spelled the name "Edward Lewis!"
"Edward," Mr. Burrows said at last, "who found those verses for you?"
"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.
Mr. Burrows' voice almost trembled as he answered,—
"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."
"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 reallycan'tto-night."
Tip waited in wondering silence, while the boy, whom he counted an enemy, hurried towards him.
Ellis was a bold, prompt boy: when he had anything to say, hesaidit; so he came to the point at once.
"See here, Tip, did I blunder the other day when I told Mr. Burrows you threw paper? I thought I saw you."
"Yes," said Tip, "you did. I didn't throw a bit of paper that day."
"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."
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."
Ellis eyed him curiously.
"You're a queer fellow," he said at last. "I expect you had about the best acrostic, this afternoon, that can be written."
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.
Kitty hung on the gate and watched them pass by,—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,—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.
"I wish—oh, I wish I could go!" she almost screamed at last. "I want to—Iwantto! Oh, I never wanted to go anywhere so bad in my life!"
"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."
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—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."
And Tip's face, as he walked towards the village ten minutes after that, was a study, it looked so full of trouble.
Kitty wanted to go to that circus,—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.
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?
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,—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?
No, poor Tip, they didn't; there was Mr. Bailey, a rich man,—so rich and so respectable that his son wouldn't stoop to lend Tip his spelling-book at school,—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.
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:
"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."
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.
No, it wouldn't. Mr. Dewey stood in the door of his market, looking up and down the street.
"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."
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.
But then, those two tickets! Here was a chance for Kitty. The conflict commenced again.
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.
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?
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!
"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.'"
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;—"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."
"That means them," said Tip, "and me. They're wicked men, that's certain: they were drinking and gambling,—swearing too, I guess; and this verse reads about them just as plain as day. It says, 'Don't go near them,'—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."
No sooner said than done; he turned around and fairly galloped up the hill, around the corner, and landed nearly breathless at the market.
"Here, Mr. Dewey," he said promptly, "I've brought back your tickets; I don't want 'em this time."
"What's up now?" asked Mr. Dewey, coming out from behind his desk, and eyeing the panting boy curiously. "Won't the tickets pass?"
"Not if they wait till I pass 'em," answered Tip in his prompt, saucy way. "I ain't going to the circus, not aninch," he added, as if to assure himself that he meant it.
"But why not?"
"Oh, I've got reasons."
"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."
Tip didn't know what to say; he hesitated and thought, and finally did the best thing hecould,—spoke out boldly. "I've made up my mind that I won't go to any more circuses,ever! I don't believe in 'em as much as I did."
That wasn't it yet,—he had not owned his Master in the answer. Neither was Mr. Dewey satisfied.
"But, Tip, give us thereasons; this is such a sudden change, you know."
"Well," said Tip, "I've been reading about them just now."
"About whom?"
"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 Imeanto." And with this Tip whisked out of the house and around the corner.
Mr. Dewey shrugged his shoulders.
"The world turns around, sure enough," he said at last.
"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?"
"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?"
"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."
Tip went home to Kitty. She still swung on the gate; at least she was there when he came up.
"Oh, Tip," she said, "are you going to take me? Oh, Tip,do! I never asked you for anything before."
Tip walked slowly up the yard, with his hands in his pockets, troubled,—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"—
But Kitty twitched herself away from him, and wouldn't hear any more.
"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."
Even in his sore trouble a little flash of joy shot through Tip's heart. Hewasdifferent, then. Kitty had noticed it; she knew he was trying to be different. Theremustbe a little bit of change in him.
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.
"It won't do any harm just to listen to the music. I don't mean to go in—of course I don't! Suppose I'd dothat, 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."
"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."
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.
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."
Everybody liked Mr. Douglass. He turned around now from looking down the road, and looked down at Tip.
"Well, Tip," he said, "going to the circus?"
Tip shook his head.
"What's the matter?—no money? Pity to get so near and not go in; isn't it, pet?"
This last to the dainty little girl whose hand he held.
"Yes," she answered, with a happy smile. "Papa, why don't mamma come?"
"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."
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—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.
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 ofhimselfto God."
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.
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,—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.
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?"
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.
"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 hadfallen. 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—oh,anything—it was nothing to him now. This much was certain: he had done wrong. Such a heavy,heavyheart as Tip had to-night. "Whatshouldhe 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 couldHethink of him? This thought brought the bitter tears, but it brought him also on his knees; and he said,—
"Oh, Jesus Christ, in spite of it all, youknowI 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."
In his sore trouble, Tip's lamp had not failed him.
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, andxwas the very lowest grade a boy could reach. It had once been an everyday joke with Tip, that, beingx, he must be perfect, because it said in the spelling-book thatxwas ten.
But it had been a good many days since Tip had said "x;" the boys had ceased to be amazed when he answered "ten" in prompt, proud tone.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
But poor Tip noticed the change less,—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.
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,—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 hedidtry heartily.
His arithmetic was the hardest. He was still in the dunce class,—so the boys called it, because it was made up of the drones from several classes, and was constantly being put back to addition.
It was a sharp winter's morning. No more make-believe winter for a while,—the snow lay white and crisp on the ground, and the frosty air stung every nose and every finger it could reach.
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,—especially this morning. His father's cough had been bad all night, and this made his mother troubled and cross.
Kitty, these days, seemed trying to see just how cross and disagreeable she could be; and the kitchen—at best a dismal place—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.
"This instant!—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; Icantdo 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,—sixteen sheepstood him intwo 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 onlycouldfind 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.
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?
He started up suddenly, and went towards the bedroom door.
"Father," he said softly, "can't you tell me what 'stood him in' means?"
The sick man turned himself on his pillow, and looked wonderingly at Tip.
"What do you mean?" he asked at last.
"Why," said Tip, in a despairing tone, "it says 'stood him in' in the arithmetic,—the sheep stood him in two dollars apiece,—and I don't see any sense to it."
"Oh!" said Mr. Lewis; "I see what you mean;" then he went back to his long-ago deserted carpenter's shop.
"Why, Tip, if I had ten pounds of nails, and they were worth eight cents a pound, they would stand me just so much,—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?"
Light began to dawn on Tip's mind.
"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.
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.
"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."
Ellis Holbrook, about that time, conquered a most puzzling example in algebra; but he felt not prouder than did Tip.
"Thomas," said Mr. Burrows to the head boy in Tip's arithmetic class, "you may take the twenty-third example to the board."
"Can't do it," answered Thomas promptly.
"Henry may do it, then."
"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.
"Robert?" said Mr. Burrows, more for form's sake than because he had the slightest doubt about Robert's reply.
"My!" said Bob Turner good-naturedly; "I can't do it."
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.
"Can you do this, Edward?"
"Yes, sir," said Tip promptly and proudly, "I can."
And no nobler figures or firmer lines did chalk ever make on a blackboard than was made while that troublesome example was being done.
He was roused from his flutter of satisfaction by hearing Mr. Burrows' voice.
"Do you know anything about the lesson,anyof you?"
"I'm sureIdon't," answered Bob, still good-naturedly.
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.
"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."
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 workingsohard, to be put away back to the beginning again made him feel utterly disgraced.
"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?"
"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.
"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."
Now Tip was too much astonished to speak or move; his wildest dreams had not taken in promotion, at least not for a long,longtime.
Bob Turner leaned over and looked at him in actual sober wonder, that Tip was to be in a higher class.
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.
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.