Books: Tip Lewis and His Lamp
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Pansy (aka Isabella Alden) >> Tip Lewis and His Lamp
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11 Produced by Joel Erickson, Mary Meehan, David Garcia
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
TIP LEWIS AND HIS LAMP
BY PANSY
AUTHOR OF "ESTER RIED," "ESTER RIED YET SPEAKING," "MRS. SOLOMON SMITH
LOOKING ON," "AN ENDLESS CHAIN," "FOUR GIRLS AT CHAUTAUQUA," ETC. ETC.
TIP LEWIS AND HIS LAMP.
CHAPTER I.
"Cast thy bread upon the waters."
The room was very full. Children, large and small, boys and girls, and
some looking almost old enough to be called men and women, filled the
seats. The scholars had just finished singing their best-loved hymn,
"Happy Land;" and the superintendent was walking up and down the room,
spying out classes here and there which were without teachers, and
supplying them from the visitors' seat, which was up by the desk.
The long seat near the door was filled this morning by half a dozen
dirty, ragged, barefooted boys; their teacher's seat was vacant, and
those boys looked, every one, as though they had come thither just to
have a grand frolic.
Oh, such bright, cunning, wicked faces as they had!
Their torn pants and jackets, their matted hair, even the very twinkle in
their eyes, showed that they were the "Mission Class."
That is, the class which somebody had gathered from the little black,
comfortless-looking houses which thronged a narrow back street of that
village, and coaxed to come to the Sabbath school,--to this large, light,
pleasant room, where the sun shone in upon little girls in white dresses,
with blue and pink ribbons fluttering from their shoulders; and upon
little boys, whose snowy linen collars and dainty knots of black ribbon
had evidently been arranged by careful hands that very morning.
But those boys in the corner kicked their bare heels together, pulled
each other's hair, or laughed in each other's faces in the greatest
good humour.
The superintendent stopped before them.
"Well, boys, good morning; glad to see you all here. Where's your
teacher?"
"Hain't got none!" answered one,
"Gone to Guinea!" said another.
"She was afraid of us," explained a third. "Tip, here, put his foot
through one of her lace flounces last Sunday. Tip's the worst boy we've
got, anyhow."
The boys all seemed to think this was very funny, for they laughed so
loudly that the little girls at their right looked over to see what was
the matter.
Tip ran his fingers through his uncombed hair, and laughed with the rest.
"Well," said the superintendent, "I'm going to get you a teacher,--one
you will like, I guess. I shall expect you to treat her well."
There was just one person left on the visitors' seat,--a young lady who
looked shy and quiet.
"Oh, Mr. Parker," she said, when the superintendent told her what he
wanted, "I can't take that class; I've watched those boys ever since
they came in,--they look mischievous enough for anything, and act as
they look."
"Then shall we leave them with nothing but mischief to take up their
attention?"
"No, but--they really ought to have a better teacher than I,--some one
who knows how to interest them."
"But, Miss Perry, the choice lies between you and no one."
And, while she still hesitated and looked distressed, Mr. Parker bent
forward a little, and said softly,--
"'Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these My brethren, ye
did it not to Me.'"
The lady rose quickly, and gathered her mantle about her.
"I will go, Mr. Parker," she said, speaking quickly, as if afraid her
courage would fail her. "Since there is no one else, I will do the best I
can; but oh, I am afraid!"
Down the long room, past the rows of neatly-dressed, attentive children,
Mr. Parker led her to the seat near the door.
"Now, boys," said he, "this is Miss Perry. Suppose you see if you can't
all be gentlemen, and treat her well."
Miss Perry sat down in the teacher's chair, her heart all in a flutter.
She taught a class in her own Sabbath school hundreds of miles
away,--five rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed little girls gathered around her
every Sabbath; but they were little girls whose mothers had taught them
to love their lessons, to listen respectfully to what their teacher
said, to bow their heads reverently in prayer; and more than that, they
loved her, and she loved them. But these boys! Still she must say
something: six pairs of bright, roguish eyes, brimful of fire and fun,
were bent on her.
"Boys," she said gently, "have you any lessons for me?"
"Not much," answered Bob Turner, who always spoke first.
"We don't get lessons mostly. Don't come unless it's too hot to go
fishing or berrying."
"Tip comes 'cause he's too lazy to go past the door,"
"I don't!" drawled out the boy they called Tip; "I come to get out of the
sun; it's hotter than sixty down home."
"Never mind, boys," said their frightened teacher; for they were all
laughing now, as though the funniest thing in the world had happened.
"See here, since you have no lessons, shall I tell you a story?"
Oh yes, they were willing enough to hear a story, if it wasn't stupid.
"I'll tell you something that happened to a boy when he was about
thirteen years old. His name is Robert; he told me this story himself, so
you may be sure it's true.
"He said one evening he was walking slowly down the main street of the
village where he lived"--
"Where was that?" asked Bob Turner.
"Oh, it was away out west. He said he felt cross and unhappy; he had
nowhere in particular to go, and nothing to do. As he walked, he came to
a turn where two roads met. 'Now,' thought he, 'shall I turn to the left
and go home, and hang around until bed-time, or shall I turn to the right
and go down to the river awhile?'
"You see, Robert hadn't a happy home,--his mother was dead, and his
father was a drunkard.
"While he stood thinking, a boy came around the other corner, and
called out,--
"Going home, Rob?'
"'Don't know,' said Robert; 'I can't make up my mind.'
"'Suppose you come on down to our house, and we'll have a game of ball?'
"Still Robert waited. He was fond of playing ball,--that was
certain,--and he liked company better than to walk alone; why he should
think of wandering off down to the river by himself he was sure he didn't
know. Still something seemed to keep saying to him, 'Go this way--turn to
the right; come, go to the river, 'until he said at last,--
"'No; I guess I'll take a walk this way first.'
"And he turned the corner, then he was but a few steps from the river."
"What came of the other fellow?" asked Bob.
"Why, some more boys came up just then, and he walked along with them.
"There was a large elm-tree on the river bank, and there was one
particular spot under it that Robert called his seat; but he found a
gentleman seated there this time; he had a book in his hand, partly
closed, and he was leaning back against a tree, watching the sunset.
"He looked around as he heard Robert's step, and said, 'Good evening;
will you have a seat?'
"He moved along, and Robert sat down on the grass near him; then
he said,--
"'I heard a boy call out to another just now, "Going home, Robert?" Are
you the boy?'
"'No,' said Robert; 'Hal Carter screamed that out to me just as he came
round the corner.'
"'Oh, you are the one he was talking to. Well, I'll ask you the same
question. _Are_ you going home?'
"'No,' said Robert again; 'I have just walked straight away from home.'
"'Yes; but are you going up _there_?' And the gentleman pointed up to the
blue sky. 'That's the home I mean; I've just been reading about it; this
river made me think of it. Where it says, you know, "And he showed me a
pure river of water, clear as crystal." Then it goes on to describe the
city with its "gates of pearl" and "streets of gold," the robes and
crowns that the people wear, the harps on which they play, and, after
this warm day, I couldn't help thinking that one of the pleasantest
things about this home was the promise, "Neither shall the sun light on
them, nor any heat." Aren't you going to that home, my boy?'"
"'I don't know,' Robert said, feeling very much astonished."
At this point the superintendent's bell rang, and Miss Perry had to
hasten her story.
"I haven't time, boys, to tell you all the gentleman said, but, after
that talk, Robert began to think about these things a great deal, and
pretty soon he learned to read the Bible and to pray. That was more than
fifty years ago. He is an old minister now; I have heard him preach a
great many times; and he told me once he should always believe God put it
into his heart to turn to the right that evening, instead of the left."
"Oh!" exclaimed Tip, just here; and Miss Perry stopped.
"Joe pinched me," said Tip, to explain his part of the noise.
But their teacher felt very badly; they had not listened to her story as
though they cared to hear it; they had slid up and down the seat, pulled
and pinched and pricked each other, and done a great many mischievous
things since she commenced; and yet now and then they seemed to hear a
few words; so she kept on, because she did not know what else to do.
"Oh, Mr. Parker," she said, when the school was dismissed, and her noisy
class had scrambled, some through the window and some through the door,
"some man who understands boys ought to have had that class; I haven't
done them any good, but I tried;" and there were tears in her eyes as
she spoke.
"You did what you could," said the superintendent kindly; "none of us
can do more."
Some loving voice ought to have whispered in that teacher's ear, "He that
goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come
again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him."
CHAPTER II.
"But other fell into good ground, and brought forth fruit."
Tip Lewis yawned and stretched, and finally opened his eyes rather late
on Monday morning.
"Oh, bother!" he said, with another yawn, when he saw how the sun was
pouring into the room; "I suppose a fellow has got to get up. I wish
getting up wasn't such hard work,--spoils all the fun of going to bed;
but then the old cat will be to pay, if I don't get around soon."
And with this he rolled out; and when he was dressed, which was in a very
few minutes after he tumbled out of his ragged bed, he was the self-same
Tip who had been at the bottom of most of the mischief in Miss Perry's
class the day before,--the very same, from the curly hair, not yet
combed nor likely to be, down to the bare, soiled feet.
The bed which he had just left, so far as neatness was concerned, looked
very much like Tip, and the room looked like the bed; and they all looked
about as badly as dust and rags and poverty could make them look.
After running his fingers through his hair, by way of finishing his
toilet, Tip made his way down the rickety stairs to the kitchen.
It seemed as though that kitchen was just calculated to make a boy feel
cross. The table stood against the wall on its three legs, the
tablecloth was daubed with molasses and stained with gravy; a plate,
with something in it which looked like melted lard, but which Tip's
mother called butter, and a half loaf of bread, were the only eatable
articles as yet on the table; and around these the flies had gathered in
such numbers, that it almost seemed as though they might carry the loaf
away entirely, if too many of them didn't drown themselves in the
butter. Over all the July sun poured in its rays from the eastern
window, the only one in the room.
Tip stumbled over his father's boots, and made his way to the stove,
where his mother was bending over a spider of sizzling pork.
"Well," she said, as he came near, "did you get up for all day? I'd be
ashamed--great boy like you--to lie in bed till this time of day, and let
your mother split wood and bring water to cook your breakfast with."
"You cooked, a little for you, too, didn't you?" asked Tip, in a saucy,
good-natured tone. "Where's father?"
"Just where you have been all day so far,--in bed and asleep. Such folks
as I've got! I'm sick of living."
And Mrs. Lewis stepped back from the steaming tea-kettle, and wiped great
beads of perspiration from her forehead; then fanned herself with her big
apron, looking meantime very tired and cross.
Yet Tip's mother was not so cross after all as she seemed; had Tip only
known it, her heart was very heavy that morning. She did not blame his
father for his morning nap, not a bit of it; she was only glad that the
weary frame could rest a little after a night of pain. She had been up
since the first grey dawn of morning, bathing his head, straightening the
tangled bedclothes, walking the floor with the restless baby, in order
that her husband might have quiet. Oh no; there were worse women in the
world than Mrs. Lewis; but this morning her life looked very wretched to
her. She thought of her idle, mischievous boy; of her naughty,
high-tempered little girl; of her fat, healthy baby, who took so much of
her time; of her husband, who, though she never said it to him, or even
to herself, yet she knew and felt was every day growing weaker; and with
these came the remembrance that her own tired hands were all that lay
between them and want; and it is hardly a wonder that her voice was sharp
and her words ill chosen. For this mother tried to bear all her trials
alone; she never went for help to the Redeemer, who said,--
"Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden."
"Wah!" said Johnny, from his cradle in the bit of a bedroom near the
kitchen,--which kitchen was all the room they had, save two tiny bedrooms
and Tip's little den up-stairs.
Mrs. Lewis glanced quickly towards the door of her husband's room; it was
closed. Then she called,--
"Kitty, make that baby go to sleep!"
"Oh yes!" muttered Kitty, who sat on the floor lacing her old shoe with a
white cord; "it's easy to say that, but I'd just like to see you do it."
"Ah yah!" answered Johnny from the cradle, as though he tried to say, "So
should I."
Then, not being noticed, he gave up pretending to cry, and screamed in
good earnest, loud, positive yells, which brought his mother in haste
from the kitchen.
"Ugly girl!" she said to Kitty, as she lifted the conquering hero from
his cradle; "you don't care how soon your father is waked out of the only
nap he has had all night. Why didn't you rock the cradle? I've a notion
to whip you this minute!"
"I did," answered Kitty sulkily; "and he opened his eyes at me as wide as
he could stretch them."
Crash! went something at that moment in the kitchen; and, with Johnny in
her arms, Mrs. Lewis ran back to see what new trouble she had to meet.
Tip, meantime, had been in business; being hungry, he had cut a slice of
bread from the loaf, and, in the act of reaching over to help himself to
some butter, hit his arm against a pitcher of water standing on the
corner of the table. Over it went and broke, just as pitchers will
whenever they get a chance. This was too much for the tired mother's
patience; what little she had vanished. She tossed the slice of bread at
Tip, and as she did so, said,--
"There! take that and be off. Don't let me see a sight of your face
again to-day. March this instant, or you will wish you had!"
And in the midst of the din, while his mother looked after the pork,
which had seized this occasion for burning fast to the spider, Tip
managed to spread his slice of bread, find his hat, and make good his
escape from the comfortless home.
There was an hour yet to school-time; or, for the matter of that, he
might have the whole day. Tip went to school, or let it alone, just as he
pleased. He made his way straight to his favourite spot, the broad, deep
pond, and laid himself down on its grassy bank to chat with the fishes.
"My!" he said; "how nice they look whisking about. It's cool down there,
I know; they don't mind the sun. I wish I had my fish-pole here, I'd have
one of them shiny big fellows there for my dinner; only it's too hot to
fish, and it would seem kind of mean, besides, to get him up here in this
blazing sun. Hang me if I make even a fish get out of the water to-day,
when it can stay in!"
Of all the scholars in Miss Perry's class, the one who she would have
said paid the least attention was this same boy who was lying on his face
by the pond, envying the fishes. Yet Tip had heard nearly every word she
said; and now, as he looked into the water, which lay cool in the shade
of some broad, branching trees, there came into his heart the music of
those words again,--
"Neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat."
"I declare," he said, as the meaning of those words dawned upon him, "I'd
like that! they'll never be too warm again. It was a pretty nice story
she told us about that boy. He couldn't have had a very good time; his
father was a drunkard. I wish I knew just about what kind of a fellow he
was; he turned right square round after that man talked to him. Now he is
a minister; I suppose lots of people like him. It must be kind of nice,
the whole of it. I would like to be somebody, as true as I live, I would.
I'd like to have the people say, 'There goes Tip Lewis; he's the best boy
in town.' Bless me! that would be funny; I don't believe they could ever
say it; they are so used to calling me the worst, they couldn't help it.
What if I should reform? I declare I don't know but I will."
And Tip rolled over on his back, and looked up into the blue, cloudless
sky; lying there, he certainly had some of the most sober thoughts,
perhaps the only really sober ones he had ever known in his life. And
when at last he slowly picked himself up, turned his back upon the
darting fishes, and walked towards the school-house, he had in his mind
some vague notion that perhaps he would be different from that time
forth. Just what he was going to do, or how to commence doing it, he
didn't know; but the story, to which he had seemed not to listen at all,
had crept into his heart, had commenced its work; very dimly was it
working, very blindly he might grope for a while, but the seed sown had
taken root.
CHAPTER III.
"Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye did
it unto Me."
Around the corner, and far up the street from where Tip Lewis lived,
there stood a large white house; not another house in the village was so
beautiful as this. Many a time had Tip walked slowly by the place, and
cast the most admiring glances on the broad green lawns and bubbling
fountain, of which he caught; glimpses from the road. Often he had stood
outside, at the great gate, and fairly _longed_ for a nearer view of that
same fountain; for the truth was, though he was such a rough,
mischief-making,--yes, a _wicked_ boy, down in his heart he had a great
love for beautiful things.
On this Fourth of July morning, Tip was up and abroad very early. He held
a horse, which had been so frightened by fire-crackers that it wouldn't
stand still a minute, and the owner of it gave him ten cents, with which
he immediately bought fire-crackers for himself, and frightened the very
next horse he saw. When the great cannon on the hill was fired, he got in
the way, just as much as he knew how, which was a great deal; he
contrived to be around when the largest bell was rung, and add his voice
to the uproar among the boys who were gathered around the church doors;
indeed, wherever there was commotion or confusion, Tip managed very soon
to be, and to do his part towards making the most of it.
About ten o'clock he had lived out the most of his pleasures, having been
on hand since a little after three. He had no more money to spend, saw no
chance of getting any more; he had had no breakfast, and was very much in
doubt as to whether he would get any, if he took the trouble to go home;
he had some way lost track of all his companions; and, altogether, he was
beginning to feel as if the Fourth of July were a humbug. He felt
ill-used, angry; it seemed to him that he was being cheated out of a good
time that he expected to have. He sat down on the edge of an old
sugar-barrel and thought about it a while; then finally, with his hands
in his pockets, and whistling "Yankee Doodle" in honour of the day, he
sauntered along the street in search of something to take up his time.
Hurrying towards him, with hands not in his pockets, but full of
packages, came Mr. Mintum, the owner of the grand white house on the
hill.
To Tip's surprise, the gentleman halted suddenly before him, and, eyeing
him closely, asked, "Whose boy are you?"
"John Lewis's."
"Where do you live?"
"T'other side of the pond, by the mill."
"Oh, your father is the carpenter, I suppose,--I know him. What's
your name?"
"Tip."
"Tip! What kind of a name is that? is it all the one you own?"
"Well," said Tip, "I suppose my name was Edward when I was a little
shaver; but nobody knows it now; I don't myself."
"Well, Tip, then, I'll call you that, for I want you to know yourself
to-night. What are you going to do?"
"When? to-night? Oh, hang around, I s'pose,--have some fun, if I can
find any."
"Fun. Is that what you're after? You come up to my house to-night at
dark, and see if you can find it there. We are going to have fireworks,
and songs, and all the fun we can."
Tip was not by any means a bashful boy, and it took a great deal to
astonish him; but this sudden invitation almost took his breath away. The
idea that Mr. Minturn had actually invited _him_, Tip Lewis, to come to
the white house!--to come near to that wonderful fountain, near enough
perhaps to feel the dash of its spray! He could have danced for joy; yet,
when Mr. Minturn said, "Well, will you come?" for the first time in his
life he was known to stammer and hesitate.
"I--I don't--know. I haven't got any clothes."
"Clothes!" repeated Mr. Minturn; "what do you call those things which
you have on?"
"I call 'em _rags_, sir," answered Tip, his embarrassment gone, and the
mischief twinkling back into his face again.
Mr. Minturn laughed, and looked down on the torn jacket and pants.
"Not a bad name," he said at last. "But you've got water at your house,
haven't you?"
"Lots of it."
"Then put your head into a tub of it, and a clean face up to my house
to-night, and we'll try and find that fun you're looking for."
And Mr. Minturn, who had spent a great deal of time for him, was passing
on. "See here!" he called, after he had moved forward a few steps; "if
you see any boy raggeder than you are yourself, bring him along,--bring
every boy and girl you meet who haven't anywhere else to go."
"Ho!" said Tip, as soon as the gentleman was at safe distance; "if this
isn't rich, then I don't know,--fireworks in that great yard, pretty near
the fountain maybe, and lots of fun. We can take anybody we like. I know
what I'll do. I'll hunt up Bob Turner; his jacket has got enough sight
more holes in it than mine has. Oh, ho! ain't it grand, though?" And Tip
clapped his hands and whistled, and at last, finding that didn't express
his feeling, said, "Hurrah!" in a good strong tone.
Yes, hurrah! Tip is right; it is glorious to think that one man out of
his abundance is going to open his heart, and gather in God's poor, and,
for one evening at least, make them happy.
God bless Mr. Minturn!
Never had the good man's grounds entertained such a group as, from all
quarters of the large town, gathered before it was quite dark.
Ragged boys and girls! If those were what be wanted, he had them, sure
enough, of almost every age and size. There were some not so
ragged,--some in dainty white dresses and shining jackets; but they went
down and mingled with the others,--brothers and sisters for that night at
least,--and were all, oh, _so_ happy!
How they _did_ dance and laugh and scream around that fountain, and snap
torpedoes and fire-crackers, and shout with wild delight when the rockets
shot up into the sky, or the burning wheels span round and round,
scattering showers of real fire right in among the crowds of children!
Well, the evening hasted away; the very last rocket took its bright,
rushing way up into the blue sky; and Mr. Minturn gathered his company
around the piazza with the words,--
"Now, children, Mr. Holbrook has a few words to say to you, and after
that, as soon as we have sung a hymn, it will be time to go home."
Mr. Holbrook was the minister; many of the children knew him well, and
most of them were ready to hear what he had to say, because they knew, by
experience, that he was old enough and wise enough not to make a long,
dry speech after nine o'clock on the Fourth of July.
Only Tip, as he turned longingly away from the last dying spark of the
rocket, muttered, "Bother the preaching!"
Mr. Holbrook came forward to the steps, as the boys and girls gathered
around him.
"Children," said he, "we have had a good time, haven't we?"
"Yes, sir!" came in a loud chorus from many voices.
"Yes; I thought you acted as though you felt pretty happy. Now this has
been a busy day, and we are all tired, so I'm not going to keep you here
to make a speech to you; I just want to tell you, in as few words as I
can, what I have been thinking about since I stood here to-night. I have
watched you as you frolicked around that fountain,--so many young, bright
faces, all looking so happy,--and I said to myself, When the time comes
for us to gather around that fountain of living water which is before the
throne of God, I wonder if _one_ of these boys and girls will be
missing--_one_ of them? Oh, children, I pray God that you may _all_ be
there, _every_ one."
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