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.

Mr. Burrows' tones were not so harsh to him as they used to be; and
now-a-days, when he was accused of breaking rules, instead of being
called up and unhesitatingly punished, his teacher, who grew every day
less and less sure that he was at the bottom of all the mischief done,
always gave him a chance to speak for himself, and was learning to
believe him.

Oh yes! things were different, and were all the time growing more so. Bob
Turner saw this plainly: he began to find Tip a very stupid companion,
and stayed away from school more afternoons than ever.

But poor Tip noticed the change less,--yes, much less than any of the