Mr. Burrows' hand was laid on Howard's arm. "Don't spoil a good, noble
thing, my boy. It is all new to Edward; _urge_ him."

Mr. Burrows spoke low, so no one else could hear him, and turned away.

At recess Howard sought out Tip.

"I honestly hope you'll come to-night, Tip, for you're a good fellow to
play games with, and the boys would all like to have you."

Tip had quarrelled with his ill-humour, and it had vanished.

"I'll come," he said, in a cheery tone; "only I'll look like a big
rag-bag by the side of _you_ fellows."

"Never mind," said Howard, turning to join the boys, "_you_ come."

Why had Howard Minturn invited him to the grand birthday party? This was
the question that puzzled Tip. Had he known the reason, it would have
been like this: Mr. Minturn had never quite lost sight of Tip since the
circus. He wanted to help him,--wanted to do it through his son; only he
wanted the son to think that he did it himself. Knowing Howard pretty
well, he said, when they were seated at breakfast that morning,--

"I've just been reading about a real hero."

Howard longed to be a hero; he looked up eagerly.

"Who was he, father? What did he do?"