And he did, besides feeling eager and excited. The long winter term was over; to-day and tomorrow were to be days of examination. The boys had been working hard for it,—none harder than had Tip. It was the first examination which had ever come to him in this exciting way. Always before he had been among the few inevitable dunces, running away from examination altogether, or else laughing good-naturedly over his own blundering ignorance. But to-day it was different: he stood there on the stage among the workers, proudly answering his teacher's questions, and looking proudly over at the group of idlers,—Bob Turner at their head,—who loitered near the windows, wondering that he could ever have been of their number. This was going to be a great day for Tip; it is true he was far behind some others of his age, so far that not a single class of Howard Minturn's and Ellis Holbrook's were to be examined that day,—the advance classes being put for the next day,—while all of his came that morning; but then Tip knew there was change enough in him to call the attention of every one present. He felt the change in himself; his mother felt it, when she that morning brushed his hair for him, and fastened a clean collar on his jacket; the boys in school felt it. He had taken his place among the workers.
The bell rang at last, and the scholars filed in and took their places. There were visitors, even in the early morning; the people liked to attend Mr. Burrows' examinations. Tip's class in reading came first on the list, and never had his eyes been so bright or his face so eager. Tip had learned to read. Patiently, earnestly, he had plodded on through the long winter; now his sad blunderings in that line were over for ever; not a boy in school read more slowly, distinctly, and correctly than Tip Lewis. The selections were to be made by the committee, immediately after class, of those who were considered ready to enter the history class on the following term. This was the highest reading class in the school: and Tip's eyes fairly danced when Mr. Holbrook, who was chairman of the committee, out of a class of thirteen read but two names,—"Thomas Jones" and "Edward Lewis."
"Hallo, Tip!" Howard Minturn had said to him at recess; "let's shake hands. Welcome to history; it's awfully hard and interesting."
And Tip did shake hands, and laughed; and looked over at the other clique—the dunces—with a half-patronizing nod to Bob Turner; and wondered how he could, have borne it to have been numbered with them that day; then he felt that he was climbing into the first set, and climbing fast.
In spelling, too, he came off conqueror; spelled down the class, spelled until Mr. Burrows closed his book with the words, "I presume you are tired of this, gentlemen, and, as our examinations are confined to the lessons, I think it will hardly pay to go further, for Edward has not missed since the second week in the term."
So again, flushed and excited, Tip went to his seat victorious. Only arithmetic now, and he would be through with the working part of the day. It was the last recitation in the morning, and he was so eager and anxious to do well, that he began to grow nervous.
The class was called at last. They had gone slowly and carefully through long division, and would be ready for fractions next term. The recitation passed off finely. Tip had not studied day and night during the winter for nothing. He was at the board, working an example in long division; it was almost finished. The hand of the clock pointed to ten minutes of twelve. In ten minutes he would be through, and his name would stand on that honoured list, among those who had not missed one word or made one mistake during the examination. His hand began to tremble. What was the matter with that example? Oh, what was the matter? The remainder was too large; no—it was too small; no—it was—he didn't know what! Everybody was watching him; he heard a boy laugh softly. He had made a mistake, then; what was it? where was it? Mr. Burrows' voice came to him, calm and kind:
"Edward, don't get excited. Look at your remainder closely; take the first figures of divisor and remainder—nine in thirty-one, how many times? That will help you."
Ellis Holbrook stood but a step from the blackboard, just behind him. Tip heard his low whisper, "Seven," and, without waiting to think,—indeed, he was too nervous to think,—he caught at the number.
"Seven times!" he said hurriedly.