Even in his sore trouble a little flash of joy shot through Tip's heart. He _was_ different, then. Kitty had noticed it; she knew he was trying to be different. There _must_ be a little bit of change in him. CHAPTER XI. "Avoid it, pass not by it, turn from it, and pass away." Over and over in his mind did Tip repeat this verse; it seemed to sound all around him, and mixed up with everything he did. And yet he went out of the house that evening, and turned straight down the street in the direction leading to the tented circus grounds, walking along slowly, talking to himself. "It won't do any harm just to listen to the music. I don't mean to go in--of course I don't! Suppose I'd do _that_, after all I said to Kitty! Besides, I couldn't if I would; I haven't got any ticket. I'm just going to walk down that way, and see if there's lots of folks going, and if the music sounds nice." "Avoid it, pass not by it." Oh yes, Tip knew; he heard the voice, yet on he went; beginning to walk swiftly, only saying in answer, "I ain't going in; I couldn't if I wanted to; and I don't want to." By and by he came within sight of the tents and within sound of the music, which, to his untaught ears, was wonderfully beautiful; came up even to the very door of the large tent, bewitched to go just a step nearer, though he didn't mean to go in, not he. Yes, the people were crowding in. Mr. Douglass stood by the door. Tip knew him very well; that is, he knew he lived in a large house and had plenty of money; and he knew, when the men were trying to raise any money, some one was sure to say, "Go to Mr. Douglass; he's always ready to give." Everybody liked Mr. Douglass. He turned around now from looking down the road, and looked down at Tip. "Well, Tip," he said, "going to the circus?" Tip shook his head. "What's the matter?--no money? Pity to get so near and not go in; isn't it, pet?" This last to the dainty little girl whose hand he held. "Yes," she answered, with a happy smile. "Papa, why don't mamma come?" "Oh, she'll be along soon. Here, sir," to the doorkeeper, handing him twenty-five cents, "let this ragamuffin in. In with you, Tip, and practise standing on your head for a month to come." It was all done in a hurry; the doorkeeper stepped aside, the crowd jostled and pushed against him, the music burst forth in a new loud swell. A moment more, and Tip stood in the brightly-lighted room, staring eagerly around him. There was enough to see; the seats were filling rapidly with gaily--dressed ladies and gentlemen. He knew them, many of them, had seen them on the streets often and often; had seen some of them in Sabbath school, seated before their classes.