Tip was speedily giving himself up to enjoyment, hushing the small voice in his heart. One of the nicest men in town had let him in; yes, and there he was now with his wife and little girl; Mrs. Douglas was not only a teacher in the Sabbath school, but a member of the church. If she could go to the circus, why couldn't he? So Tip reasoned, and nobody told him that his lamp said, "Every one of us shall give account of _himself_ to God." Presently the wonderful little shaggy ponies trotted out; and back behind the curtains was one of the riders; he got a peep of her every now and then in her splendid dress; he knew she would be out pretty soon, and then she would ride. Oh, that music! how it rolled around the ring! Tip was too busy looking and listening to keep out of people's way; he stepped back, still jostled by the crowd who were pouring in, and stepped directly in front of a man who was trying to make his way through the crowd around the entrance. Tip knew him in an instant; he was one of the circus men,--the one with the ugly face that he had noticed in the morning; it was ugly still, and red with liquor. He turned a pair of fiery eyes on Tip, and a dreadful oath fell from his lips as he swung him angrily out of his way. Oh, Tip Lewis! No wonder your heart fairly stops its beating for an instant, then bounds on with rapid throbs. Only a few days ago you listened to the story of a bleeding, dying Saviour, bleeding and dying for you; and you promised, with honest tears, that for this you would love and serve and honour Him for ever. And yet, to-night, here you are, watching the tricks of men who can speak that sacred name in such a way that it will make even you, who are used to this, shudder and turn cold. "In the name of the Saviour whom you love, what do you here?" It was to Tip as if Christ Himself had asked that question. He turned suddenly, and, with both hands pressed to his ears, fairly fought his way through the crowd.