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."

Just a little speech it was,--so little that the youngest there might
almost remember the whole of it,--yet it meant _so_ much.

Tip Lewis had wedged his way in among the boys until he stood very near
the minister, and his face wore a sober, thoughtful look. It was only
two days since his long talk with himself at the pond. Fourth of July,
with all the merrymaking and mischief that it brought to him, had nearly
driven sober thoughts from his mind, but the minister's solemn words
brought back the memory of his half-formed resolves, and again he said to
himself he believed he would reform; this time he added that if he knew
about _how_ to do it, he would begin right away. He felt it more than
ever when the sweet voices of many children floated out on the evening
air, as they sang,--

"I have read of a world of beauty,
Where there is no gloomy night,
Where love is the mainspring of duty,
And God is the fountain of light.
I have read of the flowing river
That bursts from beneath the throne,
And beautiful flowers that ever
Are found on its banks alone.
I long--I long--I long to be there!"

If somebody had only known Tip's thoughts as he stood there listening to