"He honoureth them that fear the Lord."
Slowly, but surely, as the late autumn days came on, Tip was growing into
a better place in the schoolroom, in the opinion of his teachers and his
schoolmates. In Mr. Burrows' school, ten was the perfect mark, and _x_
was the very lowest grade a boy could reach. It had once been an everyday
joke with Tip, that, being _x_, he must be perfect, because it said in
the spelling-book that _x_ was ten.
But it had been a good many days since Tip had said "_x_;" the boys had
ceased to be amazed when he answered "ten" in prompt, proud tone.
They were growing, many of them, to be surprised and sorry for him, when,
in his days of failures, he answered, with drooped eyes and very red,
ashamed face, "seven," or, it might be, "six."
Though he was still anything but a good reader, no one could fail to see
that he blundered less and less every day, and Mr. Burrows was growing
patient with his blunders, growing helpful in his troubles.
The boys saw him working hard over his spelling-book, and few of them now
had the meanness to laugh when a word passed him.
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