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THIS IS THE
AUTOGRAPHED EDITION
LIMITED TO TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES.
NUMBER _58_
_Florence Morse Kingsley_
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[Illustration: _Frontispiece._ “TOR FLATTENED HIMSELF AGAINST A
CONVENIENT WALL.” _See p. 31._]
Tor,
A Street Boy of Jerusalem
By
Florence Morse Kingsley
Author of “Stephen,” “Paul,” “Kindly Light,” etc.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
F. A. ECKMAN
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
_Copyright, 1904, by Henry Altemus_
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
PAUL, A HERALD OF THE CROSS
STEPHEN, A SOLDIER OF THE CROSS
THE CROSS TRIUMPHANT
WINGS AND FETTERS
A Story for Girls
One Dollar Each
AN UNRECORDED MIRACLE
UNDER THE STARS
KINDLY LIGHT
Fifty Cents Each
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. PAGE
A STRANGER COMES TO TOWN, 13
CHAPTER II.
A SPARROW FALLETH, 24
CHAPTER III.
THE MAN WHO OPENED HIS EYES, 35
CHAPTER IV.
“THE KING, MY MASTER!” 53
CHAPTER V.
DEEP CALLETH UNTO DEEP, 64
CHAPTER VI.
REJECTED BY MEN, 83
CHAPTER VII.
FELICIA, 99
CHAPTER VIII.
CHELLUH DRIVES A BARGAIN, 115
CHAPTER IX.
BEFORE THE COCK CREW, 130
CHAPTER X.
IN THE PALACE GARDEN, 146
CHAPTER XI.
LOVE TRIUMPHANT, 160
CHAPTER XII.
BY GENNESARET WATER, 175
ILLUSTRATIONS
“Tor flattened himself against a convenient wall” _Frontispiece_
“‘I have said it. I will take thee to the King’” Facing p. 48
“‘Take him away!’ she commanded” Facing p. 112
“His wicked face disfigured with rage and pain” Facing p. 168
TOR, A STREET BOY OF JERUSALEM
CHAPTER I
A STRANGER COMES TO TOWN
Tor was hungry. Hunger was a common experience in Tor’s short life; he
merely tightened the dingy rags about his middle and continued to stare at
the group of sparrows quarreling noisily in the red dust of the street. It
had occurred to Tor that the life of a sparrow must be vastly pleasanter
than that of a boy. “They find plenty to eat,” he told himself enviously,
as he hugged his lean little body. With a sudden impulse the child flung a
pebble into the midst of the belligerents. The birds shook the dust from
their ruffled feathers with noisy clamor of dismay, darted into the bright
air, and disappeared far above the tops of the tallest houses.
Tor laughed aloud as a second idea struggled with the first in his clouded
brain; then he checked himself thoughtfully, and, winding his rags more
closely about him, trotted noiselessly away down the street.
Chelluh, the blind beggar, for more years than one could count on the
fingers of both hands the undisputed proprietor of a snug corner just
within the Damascus gate, was shaking his brazen cup after his daily
custom. The cup rattled bravely, for certain coins had already been
dropped therein by the charitable.
“Have mercy, kind lords of Jerusalem; have mercy on the sorrows of one
born blind!” chanted the beggar in his whining monotone. “Kind lords,
beautiful ladies, only a denarius, I beseech of you, and may the blessings
of heaven—” The blind man paused, his quick ear catching the sound of a
hesitating footfall amid the hurrying steps which passed in and out at the
open gate. “Now may Jove, Jehovah, and all lesser gods be gracious unto
thee, noble sir,” he began.
On a sudden this professional plaint broke into a bellow of anger and
alarm. “Help! Thieves! Murder!” he cried. “My money—my hard‐earned money!
Some one has stolen my money!” No one appearing to pay the slightest heed
to his outcries, the beggar beat upon the ground in a very fury of
impotent rage.
Tor, standing well out of range of the whirling staff, regarded the blind
man with a pleased smile. For the moment he had quite forgotten that he
was hungry. “Aha! my very good master,” he cried tauntingly, “and who is
it who will fast to‐day—ay, and perchance to‐morrow!”
At sound of the shrill childish voice the beggar sprang to his feet with a
vile imprecation. “Is it thou, spawn of the dust, who hast dared rob me?”
he screamed, making a vicious rush in the direction of the voice. “Come
hither, that I may break every bone of thy thieving body!”
“What if I choose not to be beaten?” inquired Tor, coolly evading the
groping fingers of the beggar. “What if I will to exchange thy good coin
for bread? Yesterday thou gav’st me naught save a beating; to‐day I have
had but a bellyful of curses. I tell thee I will serve thee no longer. May
Jove, Jehovah, and all lesser gods be gracious unto thee!”
With this mocking farewell the boy darted away, and, being for the moment
almost as unseeing as his late master by reason of the hunger which tore
him urgently, ran straight into the arms of a man who had been curiously
watching the scene from the shelter of an archway.
“Let me go!” shrieked Tor, striving with all his puny strength to writhe
out of the powerful grasp of his captor. “Let me go, I say!” Then, like
the little animal that he was, he twisted about and buried his sharp white
teeth in the brown hand that held him.
“Ouf! verily thou art a wolf‐whelp!” cried the stranger, lightly cuffing
the child’s ears. “Hold hard, small one, till I find how thy matters lie
with the fellow yonder.”
“Give the lad into the hand of his lawful master, and may heaven reward
thee, noble sir,” cried Chelluh, making his way rapidly toward the two
with the aid of his staff. “The boy is mine—alas, that I should have
begotten such an undutiful one. Yet because of mine infirmity—I am
helpless, as thou seest—yes, but give him into my hand and I will speedily
requite him for robbing me of my last coin.”
“Didst thou steal his money, boy?” asked the stranger, stooping to look
into the child’s pinched face.
“Yes,” said Tor, his big, bright eyes fixed upon the beggar in manifest
terror. “I was hungry. Let me go or I will bite.”
“Ah, little dog, thy teeth shall be broken for that word,” mumbled the
beggar, feeling after the child with a ferocious chuckle. “Give him to
me—ah!”
“Not so fast, friend, not so fast,” said the stranger quietly, drawing the
boy away from the grimy talons outstretched to seize him. “This is thy
son, sayst thou? Why, then, is the child starving and naked, whilst thou
art sleek and well covered? Why is he bruised and bleeding like the dog
thou didst call him, whilst thou art whole?”
The beggar bared his yellow teeth in a malevolent smile. “Why, herein is a
marvel,” he said softly. “A noble stranger—for thy speech betrayeth thee,
kind sir—come to Jerusalem for the passover, perchance, for love, for
war—the gods alone know thine errand—but delaying his so honorable
affairs, his so important business, to look to a blind beggar’s brat.
Sacred fire, but I am bowed to the earth before thy most noble
condescension, who am not worthy to touch the hem of thy honorable
garment. I have said that the boy is mine. If he be hungry, if he be
naked, if he be bruised—what is that to a stranger from Galilee? Truly, he
is but a dog of the gutters, but even a dog hath eyes and may be useful to
one in my misfortune.”
“Wilt thou that I give thee into the hand of thy father?” asked the
Galilean of the child, who no longer struggled to free himself.
“The man is not my father,” mumbled Tor hopelessly. “He will kill me.”
“Thou liest, my son, after thy custom,” put in Chelluh, with a triumphant
chuckle. “It is easy to kill—yes, and there is no one to say me nay—easy,
but not profitable. I shall but chasten thee for thy profit as is enjoined
upon every son of Abraham. Permit me to salute thee, most honorable
stranger, ’tis already over long that we keep thee from thy business—my
son and I.” And, leaning forward as if to humbly kiss the stranger’s robe,
the beggar laid violent hands on the trembling child. “Oho! I have my
fingers on thee at last, rat of the gutter. Come now, and we will settle
our matters! Five denarii, it was. Brr—Veil of the temple! what now?”
The stranger had forcibly relaxed the clutch of the bony fingers. “Here is
thy money,” he said, counting out from his broad palm the coins which the
child passed over to him with a look of piteous appeal. “Five denarii,
saidst thou. As for the lad, if he hath the proper love for thee he will
doubtless return fast enough when thou art in kindlier temper; if not,
thou art relieved of his keep. Come with me, boy, if thou wouldst eat.”
“Thou art a swine!” screamed the beggar. “Dost hear me, Galilean? A
swine—swine—swine! Thy father, also, and the father of thy father, thy
mother—sacred fire! Help! Help!”
The beggar lay sprawling in the dust, under a well‐directed blow from the
Galilean’s powerful fist. The stranger stood over him, breathing deep, his
dark eyes flashing baleful fire. Then, shrugging his shoulders slightly
and muttering certain strange words under his breath, he stooped, picked
up the beggar quite gently, and set him in his place. “Here is thy staff,
thy cup, and thy money, friend,” he said calmly, ignoring the torrent of
imprecation which issued from the open month of the beggar like a foul
stream. “My Master hath taught me that even such refuse as thou must be
handled with love. But, hark ye, fellow, no man may defile the name of my
mother and stand before Peter, the fisherman.”
The beggar strained his sightless eyes after the departing footfalls.
“Peter, the fisherman,” he repeated with a ferocious smile. “Ah, most
honorable and never‐to‐be‐forgotten benefactor, I humbly thank thy noble
honor for relating to me thy name. May, Jove, Jehovah, and all lesser
deities enable me to suitably requite the man, and I will offer of my
gains a sacrifice—a yearling lamb, no less. I will, I swear it.”