This last to the dainty little girl whose hand he held.

"Yes," she answered, with a happy smile. "Papa, why don't mamma come?"

"Oh, she'll be along soon. Here, sir," to the doorkeeper, handing him
twenty-five cents, "let this ragamuffin in. In with you, Tip, and
practise standing on your head for a month to come."

It was all done in a hurry; the doorkeeper stepped aside, the crowd
jostled and pushed against him, the music burst forth in a new loud
swell. A moment more, and Tip stood in the brightly-lighted room, staring
eagerly around him. There was enough to see; the seats were filling
rapidly with gaily--dressed ladies and gentlemen. He knew them, many of
them, had seen them on the streets often and often; had seen some of them
in Sabbath school, seated before their classes.

Tip was speedily giving himself up to enjoyment, hushing the small voice
in his heart. One of the nicest men in town had let him in; yes, and
there he was now with his wife and little girl; Mrs. Douglas was not
only a teacher in the Sabbath school, but a member of the church. If she
could go to the circus, why couldn't he? So Tip reasoned, and nobody
told him that his lamp said, "Every one of us shall give account of
_himself_ to God."

Presently the wonderful little shaggy ponies trotted out; and back behind
the curtains was one of the riders; he got a peep of her every now and
then in her splendid dress; he knew she would be out pretty soon, and
then she would ride.

Oh, that music! how it rolled around the ring! Tip was too busy looking