Tip Lewis and His Lamp Part 3

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 n.o.body did.

Ah, never mind! G.o.d knew, and took care of him.

CHAPTER IV.

"They that seek Me shall find Me."

Mrs. Lewis's room was in order for once; swept, and even dusted; the cook-stove cooled off, and the green paper curtain at the window let down, to shut out the noise and dust; it was quiet there too.

Kitty stood in the open door, her face and hands clean, hair combed, and dress mended; stood quite still, and with a sober face, unmindful, for once, that there were b.u.t.terflies to chase and flies to kill all around her. In the only comfortable seat in the room, a large old-fas.h.i.+oned arm-chair, sat the worn, wasted frame of Kitty's father. There was a look of hopeless sadness settled on his face. Neither Tip nor his mother were to be seen. One or two women were moving through the house, with quiet steps, bringing in chairs and doing little thoughtful things in and about that wonderfully orderly room.

On the table was that which told the whole story of this unusual stillness and preparation. It was a pine coffin, very small and plain; and in it, with folded hands and brown hair rolled smoothly back from his baby forehead, little Johnny lay, asleep. Somebody, with a touch of tenderness, had placed a just budding rose in the tiny white hand, and baby looked very sweet and beautiful in his narrow bed. Poor little Johnny! his had been a sad, neglected babyhood; many weary hours had he spent in his cradle, receiving only cross looks from Kitty, and neglected by the mother, who, though she loved Johnny, and even because she loved him, must leave him to work for her daily bread. But it was all over now: Johnny's cries would never disturb them again; Johnny's weary little body rested quietly in its coffin; Johnny's precious self was gathered in the Saviour's arms.

Tip came out of the bedroom, and softly approached the coffin; his hair, too, was partly combed, and some attempt had been made to put his ragged clothes in order. His heart swelled, and the tears gathered in his eyes, as they rested on the baby.

Tip loved his little brother, and though he had not had much to do with him, yet he had this much to comfort him,--Johnny had received only kindness and good-natured words from him, which was more than Kitty could say. As she stood there in the door, it seemed to her that every time she had ever said cross, naughty words to the poor baby, or turned away from his pitiful cry for comfort, or shook his little helpless self, came back to her now,--stood all around his coffin, and looked straight at her.

Poor Kitty thought if he could _only_ come back to them for a little while, she would hold him in her arms all night, without a murmur.

People began to come in now from the lowly houses about them, and fill the empty chairs. Mrs. Lewis came out from the bedroom, and sat down beside the arm-chair, thankful that her tear-stained face and swollen eyes were hidden, by the thick black veil which some thoughtful neighbour had sent for her use.

In a few minutes a dozen or more people had filled up the vacant s.p.a.ces in the little room, and Mr. Holbrook arose from his seat at the coffin's head.

Tip turned quickly at the first sound of his voice, and listened eagerly while he read from the book in his hand, "And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before G.o.d," listening until the closing sentence was read, "And there shall be no more death; neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain, for the former things are pa.s.sed away."

Tip had never paid such close attention to anything in his life as he did to Mr. Holbrook's words; after that they were very simple and plain spoken, so that a child might understand them, and were about heaven, that beautiful city of which Tip had heard and thought more during the last three weeks than he ever had in his life before. His heart had been in a constant Struggle with Satan, ever since that morning in the Sabbath school. He didn't know enough to understand that it was Satan's evil voice which was constantly persuading him that he could not be anybody, that-he was only a poor, miserable, ragged boy, with n.o.body to help him, n.o.body to show him what to do; that he might as well not try to be anything but what he was; and he didn't know either that the other voice in his heart which struggled with the evil counsel, which said to him, "Other boys as poor and ignorant as you are have reformed; that Robert did about whom the teacher told you; and then, if you don't, you will never see that river nor the fountain, nor the streets of gold," was the dear, loving voice of his Redeemer.

Now, as he listened to Mr. Holbrook, and heard how Johnny, little Johnny whom he loved, had surely gone up there to be with Christ for ever, and how Jesus, looking down on the father and mother, and the children who were left, said to them, "I want you, too, to give Me your hearts, so that when I gather My jewels I may come for you." The weak, struggling resolves in his heart grew strong, and he said within himself, while the tears fell slowly down his cheeks, "I will; I'll begin to-day."

The coffin-lid was screwed down, and Johnny's baby-face shut out from them for ever. A man came forward and took the light burden in his arms, and bore it out to the waggon; down the narrow street they drove, to the burial-ground, which was not far away. They laid Johnny down to sleep under the shade of a large old tree; and the gra.s.s waved softly, and the birds sang low, and the angels surely sang in heaven, because another little form was numbered among the thousands of children who stand "around the Throne."

The people moved slowly from the grave,--all but Tip; he didn't want to leave Johnny; he wanted to follow him, and he didn't know how. Mr.

Holbrook glanced back at the boy standing there alone, paused a moment, then, turning back, laid his hand gently on Tip's shoulder.

"You can go up there too, my boy, if you will," he said, in a low, kind tone.

Tip looked up quickly, then down again; he wanted to ask how--what he should do; but his voice choked, he could not speak a word; and with the earnest sentence, "G.o.d bless you, my little friend, and lead you to Himself," Mr. Holbrook turned and left him.

Tip wandered away into the woods for a little. When he returned the earth was heaped up fresh and black over the new mound, and Johnny was left underneath it all alone. Tip walked around it slowly, trying to take in the thought that the baby was lying there; that they should never see him again; trying, a moment after, to take in the thought that he was not there at all, but had gone up to the beautiful world which the hymn told about; then he thought of the chorus, and almost felt it.--"I long, I long, I long to be there."

Tip had heard people pray; he had been to Sabbath school often enough to catch and remember most of the words of the Lord's Prayer; he knew enough of G.o.d to understand that He could hear prayer, and that His help must be asked if one wanted to get to heaven. He hesitated a moment, glanced half fearfully around him,--no one was there, no one but himself, and Johnny, lying low at his feet, and G.o.d looking down upon him. Presently he knelt down before the little grave, and began,--

"Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come"--Then he stopped. Tip was in earnest now; he did not understand that prayer: he felt as though he was not saying what he meant. He commenced again,--

"Oh, Jesus, I want"--Then he waited a minute. What did he want? "I want to be different; I'm a wicked boy. I want to go where Johnny is when I die. Do show me how!"

Did Jesus ever fail to hear such a prayer as that,--simple, earnest, every word of it _felt? Never_--and He never will.

Tip rose up from that spot feeling that something was different. Ay, and always would be different; the Saviour had reached down and taken hold of the young seeker's hand, and would for ever after lead him up toward G.o.d.

CHAPTER V.

"Thy word is a lamp to my feet."

The Sabbath morning sun awoke Tip from a heavy sleep. He lay still a few moments, thinking who he was. Things were different: he was not simply Tip Lewis, a ragged little street boy, any longer; this was the morning when he was going to start out under a new motto, with Jesus for his guide.

He was going to Sabbath school. He had not been since the morning that Miss Perry had taught the cla.s.s, and told the story which was to be a blessing to him through all his future life. His evil spirit had been strong upon him during the three Sabbath mornings that had pa.s.sed since then, and persuaded him to stay away from the school, but this morning he was resolved to go. He had a secret hope that he should see Miss Perry again, for he did not know that she was hundreds of miles away from that village, and would probably never be there again; all he knew was, that a gentleman had brought her to the door, and introduced her to the superintendent as Miss Perry; that much he heard as he sat gazing at them.

This morning he judged by the sun that it was pretty late, yet he didn't get on very fast with the business of dressing: he sat down on the foot of the bed, and looked sorrowfully at his jacket; he even turned it inside out to see if it wouldn't improve its appearance, but he shook his head, and speedily turned it back again.

If he "only had a collar," he said to himself,--"a smooth white collar, to turn down over the worn-out edges,--it would make things look _so_ much better." But that was something he had never had in his life, and he put on the old ragged brown jacket with a sigh. Then he put on his shoes, and took them off again: the question was, which looked the best,--shoes which showed every one of his toes peeping out on the top, or no shoes at all? Suddenly a bright idea struck him: if his feet were only white and clean, he thought they would certainly look much better. Down he went to the rickety pump in the back yard, and face, hands, and feet took such a was.h.i.+ng as they had never received before; then the old comb had to do duty. Tip had never had such a time getting dressed; but, some way, he felt a great longing this morning to make himself look neatly; he had a feeling that it was ever so much more respectable to be neat and clean than it was to go looking as he had always done. Still, to carry a freshly-washed face and hands and smooth hair was the very best he could do; and, if he had but known it, these things made a great improvement.

He made his way half shyly into the mission seat, for the truth was he did not know just how the boys would receive his attempt at respectability; but he had no trouble, for several of his companions had seen his face when he took his last look into that little coffin the day before, and they felt sorry for him.

No Miss Perry appeared; and it seemed, at first, that the mission boys were to have no teacher. It was a warm morning, and the visitors' seat was vacant.

But there was at last a great nudging of elbows, and whispers of "Look out now!" "We're in a sc.r.a.pe!" "No chance for fun today!" And only Tip's eyes looked glad when Holbrook halted before their cla.s.s, with "Good morning, boys." Then, "Good morning Edward; I am glad to see you here to-day;" and the minister actually held out his hand to Tip. Mr. Holbrook never called him Tip; he had asked him one morning what his real name was, and since then had spoken it, "Edward," in clear, plain tones.

It was a restless, wearying cla.s.s. It required all Mr. Holbrook's wits and wisdom to keep them in any sort of order, to gain any part of their attention. Yet it was not as bad as usual; partly because the minister knew how, if anybody did, to teach just such boys, and partly because Tip, hitherto the spirit of all the mischief there, never took his eyes from the teacher's face. Mr. Holbrook watched his close attention, and took courage. When the other scholars pa.s.sed out, he laid his hand on Tip's arm, with the words, "You have been a good listener to-day, Edward, Did you understand the story I told, of the boy who started on a journey to the Holy Land?"

"Some of it I did: you meant that he started for heaven."

"You understand it, I see. Don't you want to take that journey?"

"I mean to, sir."

"'Help Thou mine unbelief,'" was Mr. Holbrook's prayer just then. He had hoped for, longed for, prayed for these boys, especially for this one since the day before; yet he was astonished when he received the firm, prompt answer, "I mean to, sir,"--astonished, as too many are, that his prayer was heard.

"Have you started, my boy?" he asked, speaking with a little tremble in his voice.

"Yes, sir, I've tried; I told G.o.d last night that I would, but I don't much know how."

"You want a lamp, don't you?"

"A what, sir?"

"A lamp. You remember in the story the boy found dark places every little way; then he took out his lamp, so he couldn't lose the road.

Don't you need it?"