"Hitherto hath the Lord helped us."
"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 mean _extreme_, or _beginning_
and _order_. 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't _begin_ to do it!"
"Yes, you can," said Mr. Burrows; "I don't give my scholars any work that
they _can't_ do. You may quote it, or make it original, as you please;
but I want every one of you to _try_."
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, _many_ verses, he would be sure to find what he
wanted. But then, how very queer it would be for _him_, 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'll _do_ 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."
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."
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 really _can't_ to-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, he _said_ it;
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.