"Very well," he said at last; "you may take the first page in addition to-morrow morning, and we'll see if you can be made to know anything about that."
Tip's hopes fell; his heart was as heavy as lead. Not one of the others cared; they were used to it; so indeed was he, only now he was trying, he did so long to go on; just when he was working so hard, to be put away back to the beginning again made him feel utterly disgraced.
"Wait a minute, Tip." Mr. Burrows' eye fell first on him, then on the neatly and correctly worked example; then he turned, and asked, "Charlie Wilcox, on what page is your arithmetic lesson for to-morrow?"
"We commence multiplication, sir," answered Charlie, a bright little boy, who belonged to a bright class, that did not idle over any pages in their work.
"Edward," said Mr. Burrows, turning back to Tip, "you have done well to-day. You mean to study, after this, I think; I have been watching you for some time. The third arithmetic class take the first page in multiplication for their next lesson to-morrow; you may take your place in that class, and remain there as long as you can keep up with it."
Now Tip was too much astonished to speak or move; his wildest dreams had not taken in promotion, at least not for a long, long time.
Bob Turner leaned over and looked at him in actual sober wonder, that Tip was to be in a higher class.
Not a word did Tip say. He did not even raise his eyes to his teacher's face; and that teacher had not the least idea how the boy before him felt. He did not know how Tip's heart was throbbing, nor how he was saying over and over to himself, "Things are different; they're surely different." He did not know how those few words of his, spoken that winter morning, were going to help to make the boy a man.
It was that very morning, standing in that room before the blackboard, with his toe on the third crack from the wall, that Tip resolved to have an education.