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.
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