CHAPTER XXIII.
"A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver." Behold Tip, now in Albany, far away from home and friends, from every one that he had ever seen before, save Mr.Howard Minturn, young Howard's uncle.

But he had been there some time, and was growing into a settled-at-home feeling.

It had been a wonderful change to him.

Mr.
Minturn did not board his clerks; but for some reason, best known to himself, he had taken Tip home with him.

For a few days the boy felt as though the roses on the carpets were made of glass, and would smash if he stepped on them.