Mr. Burrows' tones were not so harsh to him as they used to be; and now-a-days, when he was accused of breaking rules, instead of being called up and unhesitatingly punished, his teacher, who grew every day less and less sure that he was at the bottom of all the mischief done, always gave him a chance to speak for himself, and was learning to believe him. Oh yes! things were different, and were all the time growing more so. Bob Turner saw this plainly: he began to find Tip a very stupid companion, and stayed away from school more afternoons than ever. But poor Tip noticed the change less,--yes, much less than any of the others. You don't know how hard it was for him. Do you think Satan was willing to leave him, and let him grow quietly into a good boy? Not a bit of it. You see he had been born bubbling over with fun and frolic; he had never learned to have them come in at the right place or the right time. Sometimes he felt willing to give up all trying to do right, for the sake of having a grand frolic just when and where he wanted it,--no matter what might be going on just then. Sometimes, when he failed, he felt fierce and sullen, and told himself it was all humbug, this trying to be good. Sometimes he felt so utterly sad and discouraged, that it seemed to him he never could try again; yet through it all he _did_ try heartily. His arithmetic was the hardest. He was still in the dunce class,--so the boys called it, because it was made up of the drones from several classes, and was constantly being put back to addition. It was a sharp winter's morning. No more make-believe winter for a while,--the snow lay white and crisp on the ground, and the frosty air stung every nose and every finger it could reach. Tip's study, at the foot of the hill under the elm, had been quite broken up, and he found it very hard to study at home,--especially this morning. His father's cough had been bad all night, and this made his mother troubled and cross. Kitty, these days, seemed trying to see just how cross and disagreeable she could be; and the kitchen--at best a dismal place--was just now at the worst. The wet wood in the stove sizzled and stewed and made a smoke; and in the midst of Tip's fifth trial on an example which was puzzling him terribly, he was called on to split some kindlings.