What could he do? He had never written a
composition in his life, having made it a point to run away from school
on composition-day; but running away was done with now. It didn't seem
possible that he could write anything: certainly not in such a new, queer
way as Mr. Burrows wished them to.
Supper and wood-splitting were hurried over for that evening, and Tip
took his way very early to the seat under the elm-tree down by the pond.
He wanted to think, to see how he should meet this new trouble; it was a
real trouble to him, for he had set out to do just right, and he saw no
way of getting out of this duty, and thought he saw no way of doing it.
"There is no place on the road so dark but this lamp will light you
through, if you give it a chance."
This is what Mr. Holbrook had said when he gave Tip his Bible. And Tip
had thought of his words very often, had already proved them true more
than once; but he didn't see how it could help him now.
He took it out, and slowly turned the leaves; it couldn't write his
composition for him, that was certain.
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