He had felt so sure and proud and strong, that he had asked no help from God that day; he had been so eager to spend every moment on his arithmetic, that he had found no time to go to his Bible for strength. No wonder--oh, no wonder that he fell! He had been standing too firmly, feeling no need of help. Now, what should he do? How low he felt, how mean! Could God forgive him? Yes, He _could_. Tip felt in his soul that there was nothing which God could _not_ do, and yet he felt too mean and fallen to dare to ask Him for anything more; he forgot for the moment that Jesus Christ died to save _sinners_. The sun went on over his head, and commenced his afternoon work; then there came up the hill the sound of the school-bell, but Tip took no notice of that; he didn't want to _think_ of school, much less even _go_. He began to fumble presently for his Bible,--he _must_ have some help. It opened of itself at the Psalms, and he read the first line which he saw: "Unto Thee, O God, do we give thanks "--No, not that, and he turned back a couple of leaves. "Make a joyful noise "--No, no! he didn't want to hear anything about joy; his heart was as heavy as lead. So he turned over several leaves at once: he _must_ find something that would read as if it meant him. "O Lord, rebuke me not in Thy wrath, neither chasten me in Thy sore displeasure." Oh, that was it! God was very angry with him,---had a right to be,--this was just what he ought to say. He read on through the psalm; almost every verse seemed for him, and when he read the one next to the last,--"Forsake me not, O Lord; O my God, be not far from me,"--he said it over and over, and finally, in a great burst of tears, got down and said it on his knees.