"Fear not, for I have redeemed thee."
"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."
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.
"Hallo, Tip!" said Bob Turner, coming partly down the hill to meet him.
"How are you, old fellow?"
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.
The two had been linked together all their lives in every form of
mischief and wrong; they seemed almost a part of each other,--at least,
they _had_ seemed so until within these few weeks. Now, Tip _felt_ rather
than knew how far separated they must be.
The bell rang, and the boys jostled and tumbled against each other to
their seats.
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.
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?
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.
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?"
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."
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,--
"The man in the moon
Came down too soon,"
and continued to repeat some senseless or wicked rhymes, through the
reading of the beautiful chapter.
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,--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.
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.
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.
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.
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,--
"Look here, now, if you come that thing again, I'll pitch you out of the
window quicker than wink!"
"Edward Lewis marked for whispering," said Mr. Burrows. "Edward, you
have commenced the term as usual, I see,--the first one marked for
bad conduct."
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,--
"Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep!"
How often Tip had thought such things as these so very funny that he
could not possibly help laughing; how silly and meaningless--yes, and
cruel--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.
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,--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 _ei_ after all; nobody was
surprised, but nobody knew how very, _very_ hard he had tried.
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.
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--Mr. Burrows scolded.
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."
Not five minutes after that Mr. Burrows bent over his desk in search of
something within, when--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.
"Does any one know who threw that ball?" he asked, closing his desk and
speaking in a calm, steady tone.
No reply,--silence for a minute. Then, "Ellis Holbrook, do you know who
threw that ball of paper?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well; I am waiting to be told."
"Tip Lewis threw it, sir."
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.
"I didn't!" he almost screamed. "He knows I didn't! It is a mean,
wicked lie!"
"Sit down," said Mr. Burrows. "Ellis, did you _see_ him throw it?"
"Yes, sir, I did."
Mr. Burrows turned to Tip. "Edward, come here."
Tip was still standing.
"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."
But the command was repeated, and Tip went forward, fixing his steady
eyes on Mr. Burrows as he spoke.
"Mr. Burrows, as sure as I live, I _did_ not throw that paper ball."
And yet--poor Tip!--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 _not_ true, and what had been proved in a few minutes
to be false.
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?
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. Nobody 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 nobody 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_--God 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. 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.