He had no more money to spend, saw no chance of getting any more; he had had no breakfast, and was very much in doubt as to whether he would get any, if he took the trouble to go home; he had some way lost track of all his companions; and, altogether, he was beginning to feel as if the Fourth of July were a humbug.

He felt ill-used, angry; it seemed to him that he was being cheated out of a good time that he expected to have.

He sat down on the edge of an old sugar-barrel and thought about it a while; then finally, with his hands in his pockets, and whistling "Yankee Doodle" in honour of the day, he sauntered along the street in search of something to take up his time.
Hurrying towards him, with hands not in his pockets, but full of packages, came Mr.Mintum, the owner of the grand white house on the hill.
To Tip's surprise, the gentleman halted suddenly before him, and, eyeing him closely, asked, "Whose boy are you ?" "John Lewis's." "Where do you live ?" "T'other side of the pond, by the mill." "Oh, your father is the carpenter, I suppose,--I know him.

What's your name ?" "Tip." "Tip! What kind of a name is that?
is it all the one you own ?" "Well," said Tip, "I suppose my name was Edward when I was a little shaver; but nobody knows it now; I don't myself." "Well, Tip, then, I'll call you that, for I want you to know yourself to-night.

What are you going to do ?" "When?
to-night?
Oh, hang around, I s'pose,--have some fun, if I can find any." "Fun.