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.

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,--_quite_ hated Ellis Holbrook.

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."

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!

"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?"

"Why didn't _you_ own that you threw that plaguy paper ball, and not sit there like a coward, and see me take your whipping?"

"_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--honour bright?"

"No, I didn't; and I'll throw _you_ if you say so again."

And Tip turned suddenly in the opposite direction, but Satan still walked with him.

"It's no use," said this evil spirit, speaking out boldly,--"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 _can_ 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."

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,--

"Now, you see, you've been cheated. You've tried hard for a whole month to _be_ 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. n.o.body expects you to be good, or will let you, when you want to be."

Softly there came another voice knocking at Tip's heart. At first he would not notice it, but it _would_ be heard.

"What of all that?" it said; "suppose n.o.body cares for you, or helps you here. Jesus died, you know, and He is your friend. You _know_ that is not a humbug; you _know_ 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--yes, _you_--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 _will_--G.o.d has promised. He has given you a lamp to light you.

Why have not you looked at it all this day?"

"Oh," said Tip, "I can't; I _can't_ 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."

"Go on home," said Satan. "Let the lamp and these new notions and all _go_! Christ don't care anything about _you_; such a miserable, wicked, story-telling boy as you have been, do you expect Him to notice _you_?"

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 _Mine_."

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--yes, he _would be His_! He glanced around. n.o.body 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.

CHAPTER VIII.

"Freely ye have received, freely give."

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.

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.

But Tip had astonished the family at home,--it didn't require wonderful changes to do it,--rather the change which they saw in him seemed wonderful.

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.

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.

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 Sat.u.r.day afternoon's gazing out of the window, with a wonderfully sober face, had ended in her exclaiming,--

"I say, mother, I want a needle and thread."

"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.

"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."

Now for a minute the gruel was forgotten, and Mrs. Lewis looked at Kitty in amazement.

"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."

"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."

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.

She poured the gruel into a bowl, and then went over to her workbox.

"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."

It was Kitty's turn to be astonished now. She had not expected help from her mother.

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.

Kitty clattered around, making rather more noise even than usual, as she washed up the few poor dishes.

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 G.o.d given, oh, _so_ 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 G.o.d? Surely not. Tip was certain that he had nothing to give to G.o.d; nothing but his poor, sinful heart, which he believed the Saviour had taken and made clean.

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.

"Kitty would be a pretty-looking object to go to Sabbath school,--not a decent thing to wear! Everybody would laugh at her and at you. Besides, I don't believe she would go, if you _did_ ask her; she would only make fun of you. Better not try it."

"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!"

"Yes, I will," said Tip, and he ran downstairs.