"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. 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.