"Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye did
it unto Me."
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 _longed_ for a nearer view of that
same fountain; for the truth was, though he was such a rough,
mischief-making,--yes, a _wicked_ boy, down in his heart he had a great
love for beautiful things.
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.
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.
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.
To Tip's surprise, the gentleman halted suddenly before him, and, eyeing
him closely, asked, "Whose boy are you?"
"John Lewis's."
"Where do you live?"
"T'other side of the pond, by the mill."
"Oh, your father is the carpenter, I suppose,--I know him. What's
your name?"
"Tip."
"Tip! What kind of a name is that? is it all the one you own?"
"Well," said Tip, "I suppose my name was Edward when I was a little
shaver; but nobody knows it now; I don't myself."
"Well, Tip, then, I'll call you that, for I want you to know yourself
to-night. What are you going to do?"
"When? to-night? Oh, hang around, I s'pose,--have some fun, if I can
find any."
"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."
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 _him_, Tip Lewis, to come to
the white house!--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.
"I--I don't--know. I haven't got any clothes."
"Clothes!" repeated Mr. Minturn; "what do you call those things which
you have on?"
"I call 'em _rags_, sir," answered Tip, his embarrassment gone, and the
mischief twinkling back into his face again.
Mr. Minturn laughed, and looked down on the torn jacket and pants.
"Not a bad name," he said at last. "But you've got water at your house,
haven't you?"
"Lots of it."
"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."
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,--bring
every boy and girl you meet who haven't anywhere else to go."
"Ho!" said Tip, as soon as the gentleman was at safe distance; "if this
isn't rich, then I don't know,--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.
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.
God bless Mr. Minturn!
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.
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,--some in dainty white dresses and shining jackets; but they went
down and mingled with the others,--brothers and sisters for that night at
least,--and were all, oh, _so_ happy!
How they _did_ 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!
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,--
"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."
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.
Only Tip, as he turned longingly away from the last dying spark of the
rocket, muttered, "Bother the preaching!"
Mr. Holbrook came forward to the steps, as the boys and girls gathered
around him.
"Children," said he, "we have had a good time, haven't we?"
"Yes, sir!" came in a loud chorus from many voices.
"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,--so many young, bright
faces, all looking so happy,--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 _one_ of these boys and girls will be
missing--_one_ of them? Oh, children, I pray God that you may _all_ be
there, _every_ one."
Just a little speech it was,--so little that the youngest there might
almost remember the whole of it,--yet it meant _so_ much.
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 _how_ 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,--
"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--I long--I long to be there!"
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.
Ah, never mind! God knew, and took care of him.