Holbrook would ever have
thought of it: they worried at a great rate about that stone, how they
would get it rolled away, and when they got there it was gone. I'll
remember that. I'll do just as he said: when I see a stone ahead of me, I
won't stop and fret about it; I'll walk straight up to it, and when I get
there maybe it will roll out of my way."
CHAPTER XXIII.
"A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver."
Behold Tip, now in Albany, far away from home and friends, from every one
that he had ever seen before, save Mr. Howard Minturn, young Howard's
uncle. But he had been there some time, and was growing into a
settled-at-home feeling. It had been a wonderful change to him. Mr.
Minturn did not board his clerks; but for some reason, best known to
himself, he had taken Tip home with him. For a few days the boy felt as
though the roses on the carpets were made of glass, and would smash if he
stepped on them. But he was getting used to it all; he could sit squarely
on his chair at the table instead of on the edge, spread his napkin over
his lap as the others did, and eat his pie with a silver fork under the
light of the sparkling gas.
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