dimple in the baby's cheek, then drawing it quickly away again with an
uncomfortable expression. Tode never cared how dirty his hands were
except when he saw them in contrast with Little Brother's pure face.
"Yes, he's getting well and strong," assented Nan, with a happy smile.
"I say, Nan, w'at's the reason you won't let me pay for his milk?"
asked Tode, after a little.
Then it was Nan's turn to look uncomfortable, and the color rose in
her cheeks as she answered, "I can pay now for all he needs. You know
Mrs. Hunt gets a double quantity of bags and I work on them every
day."
But this answer did not satisfy Tode. "That don't make no diff'runce,"
he growled. "Don't see why you won't let me do nothin' for him," and
he cast a gloomy glance at the baby, but Little Brother laughed up at
him and the gloom speedily melted away. After a moment's silence he
added, slowly, "It's comin' cold weather. He'll want a jacket or
somethin', won't he?"
"He'll have to have some warm clothes," replied Nan, thoughtfully,
"but I can get them--I guess."
Tode turned upon her fiercely. "I s'pose you'd let him freeze to death
'fore you'd let me buy him any clothes," he burst out, angrily. "I
sh'd like ter know w'at's the matter with ye, anyhow. Has that measly
Dick Hunt ben stuffin' ye 'bout me?"
Nan coloured again and dropped her eyes.
"Say--has he? I'll give it ter him next time I catch him out!" and
Tode ground his heel suggestively into the gravel walk.
"Oh, Tode, don't! Please don't fight Dick," pleaded Nan. "How can you
when his mother's so good to Little Brother?"
"Don't care 'f she is. _He_ ain't," was Tode's surly reply. "He
don't want you'n him to stay there."
Nan's eyes were full of uneasiness.
"Did he say so?" she questioned, for she had noticed Dick's coldness
and been vaguely disturbed by it.
The boy nodded. "Yes," he said, "he tol' me so. Said there's 'nough
fer his father ter feed 'thout you'n him," and he pointed to the baby.
"But I work," pleaded Nan. "I pay for all we eat."
"But ye don't pay fer the rent an' the fire, an'--an' everything,"
Tode replied, with a note of triumph in his voice, "so now, ye better
let me pay fer Little Brother an' then you c'n pay the rest."
Nan hesitated and her face was troubled. Finally she lifted her dark
eyes to his and said bravely, "Tode, I guess I ought to tell you just
why I couldn't anyway let you do for Little Brother as you want
to. It's because--because you don't get your money the right way."
"Who says I don't? Did that Dick Hunt say so? I'll"--began Tode,
fiercely, but Nan laid her hand on his arm and looked steadily into
his face.
"Tode," she said, earnestly, "if you will look straight into Little
Brother's eyes and tell me that you never steal--I'll believe you."
"I never"--began the boy, boldly; then he met a grave, sweet glance
from the baby's big blue eyes, and he hesitated. The lying words died
on his tongue, and turning his eyes away from the little face that he
loved, he said gloomily, "What's that got to do with it anyhow?
S'posin' I do hook a han'ful of peanuts sometimes. That ain't
nothin'."
"Tode, do you want Little Brother to hook a handful of peanuts
sometimes when he gets big?" asked Nan, quietly.
The boy turned his eyes again to the baby face and the hot blood
burned in his own as he answered, quickly, "'Course I don't. He won't
be that sort."
"No, he won't, if I can help it," replied Nan, gravely.
Tode dug his toe into the dirt in silence. Nan added, "Tode, by and
by, when he gets bigger, would you want him to know that you were a
thief?"
When Tode looked up there was a strange gravity in his eyes, and his
lips were set in an expression of stern resolve.
"I've got ter quit it," he said, solemnly, "an' I will. Say, Nan," he
added, wistfully, "if I quit now, ye wont ever let him know I used ter
be--what you said, will ye?"
"No, Tode, never," answered Nan, quickly and earnestly. "And Tode, if
you'll stick to it, and not steal or lie or swear, I shan't mind your
helping me get things for Little Brother."
The boy's face brightened, and he drew himself up proudly. "It's a
bargain, then," he said.
Nan looked at him thoughtfully. "I don't believe you know how hard it
will be, Tode. I find it's awful hard to break myself of bad habits,
and I don't s'pose you've ever tried to before, have you?"
Tode considered the question. "Guess not," he said, slowly, after a
pause.
"Then I'm afraid you'll find you can't stop doing those bad things all
at once. But you'll keep on trying, Tode. You won't give up 'cause
it's hard work," Nan pleaded, anxiously.
"Nope," answered the boy, briefly, with a glance at the soft little
fingers that were clasped about one of his.
When Nan went home he went with her to the door, loth to lose sight of
the only creature in the world for whom he cared. As the door closed
behind the two, he walked on thinking over what Nan had said. Much of
it seemed to him "girls' stuff an' nonsense." "As if a fella couldn't
stop swipin' things if he wanted to!" he said to himself.
As he went on he passed a fruit stand where a man was buying some
bananas. In putting his change into his pocket he dropped a nickel,
which rolled toward Tode who promptly set his foot on it, and then
pretending to pull a rag off his torn trousers, he picked up the coin
and went on chuckling over his "luck." But suddenly he stopped short
and the hot color rose in his cheeks as he exclaimed with an oath,
"Done it again!"
He looked around for the man, but he had disappeared, and with an
angry grunt Tode flung the nickel into the gutter and went on,
beginning so soon to realise that evil habits are not overcome by
simply resolving to conquer them. Tode never had made any such
attempt before, and the discovery had rather a depressing effect on
him. It made him cross, too, but to his credit be it said, the thought
of giving up the struggle never once occurred to him.
He found old Mr. Carey asleep in his chair, and he awoke him roughly.
"See here!" he exclaimed, sharply. "Is this the way you 'tend to
business when I'm gone? Some cove might a stole every book an' paper
on the stand, and cleaned out the cash, too." He pulled open the
drawer as he spoke. "No thanks to you that 'tain't empty," he
grumbled. He had never spoken so sharply before, and the old man was
vaguely disturbed by it. He got up and walked feebly across the room,
rubbing his trembling fingers through his grey hair in a troubled
fashion, as he answered slowly,
"Yes, yes, bishop--you're right. It was very careless of me to go to
sleep so. I don't see how I came to do it. I'm afraid I'm breaking
down, my boy--breaking down," he added, sadly.
As Tode looked at the old man's dim eyes and shaking hands a feeling
of sympathy and compassion stole into his heart, and his voice
softened as he said, "Oh, well, it's all right this time. Reckon I'll
have to run the business altogether till you get better."
"I'm afraid you will, bishop. I'm not much good anyhow, nowadays," and
the old man dropped again into his chair with a heavy sigh.
The weeks that followed were the most miserable weeks of Tode Byran's
short life. He found out some things about himself that he had never
before suspected. It was wholesome knowledge, but it was not pleasant
to find that in spite of his strongest resolutions, those nimble
fingers of his _would_ pick up nuts and apples from street stands
and his quick tongue would rattle off lies and evil words before he
could remember to stop it. The other boys found him a most unpleasant
companion in these days, for his continual failures made him cross and
moody. He would speedily have given up the struggle but for Little
Brother. Several times he did give it up for a week or two, but then
he staid away from the Hunts' rooms until he grew so hungry for a
sight of the baby face that he could stay away no longer. Nan came to
understand what these absences meant, and always when he reappeared
she would speak a word of encouragement and faith in his final
victory. Tode had not cared at all for Nan at first, but in these days
of struggle and failure he began to value her steadfast faith in him,
and again and again he renewed his vow to make himself "fit to help
bring up Little Brother," as he expressed it.
It was one day toward the close of winter that Tode noticed that
Mr. Carey seemed more than usually dull and listless, dropping into a
doze even while the boy was speaking to him, and he went to bed
directly after supper. When the boy awoke the next morning the old man
lay just as he had fallen asleep. He did not answer when Tode spoke to
him, and his hands were cold as ice to the boy's touch.
Tode did not know what to do, but he finally hunted up the policeman,
who knew him, and the two went back together and found the old man
dead. As no relatives appeared, the city authorities took charge of
the funeral, the books and the few pieces of furniture were sold to
pay the expenses, and Tode found himself once more a homeless waif. He
had not minded it before, but his brief experience of even this poor
home had unfitted him for living and sleeping in the streets. He found
it unpleasant too, to have no money except the little he could earn
selling papers. He set himself to face his future in earnest, and came
to the conclusion that it was time for him to get into some better
paying business. After thinking over the matter for several days he
went to Nan.
"You know them doughnuts you made th' other day?" he began.
"Yes," replied Nan, wonderingly. Mrs. Hunt had taught her to make
various simple dishes, and as Tode had happened in the day she made
her first doughnuts, she had given him a couple, which he had
pronounced "prime!"
Now he went on, "I don't want to sleep 'round the streets any
more. I'm sick of it, but I can't make money 'nough off papers to do
anything else. I'm thinkin' of settin' up a stand."
"A bookstand, Tode?" questioned Nan, interestedly.
"No--a eatin' stand--fer the fellers ye know--newsboys an' such. 'F
you'll make doughnuts an' gingerbread an' san'wiches fer me, I bet all
the fellers'll come fer 'em."
"Now that ain't a bad idea, Tode," said Mrs. Hunt, looking up from
her work. "Of course the boys would buy good homemade food instead of
the trash they get from the cheap eatin' houses, an' Nan, I shouldn't
wonder if you could earn more that way than by workin' at these bags."
Nan considered the matter thoughtfully, and finally agreed to give it
a trial, and Tode went off highly pleased.
It took him two weeks to save enough to start his stand even in the
simplest fashion, but when he did open it, he at first did a
flourishing business. In the beginning the boys patronised him partly
from curiosity and partly from good fellowship, but Nan's cookery
found favour with them at once, and "Tode's Corner" soon became the
favorite lunch counter for the city newsboys, and Tode's pockets were
better filled than they had been since Mr. Carey's death.
For several weeks all went well, and the boy began to consider himself
on the high road to fortune, but then came a setback.
One day his stand was surrounded by a crowd of boys all clamoring to
be served at once, when the big fellow who had taken possession of
Tode's newspaper route, months before, came along. He had never
forgotten or forgiven the boy for getting the better of him on that
occasion, and now he thought he saw a chance for revenge.
Creeping up behind the group of hungry boys, he suddenly hit one of
them a stinging blow on the face, and as this one turned and struck
back angrily at him, the big fellow flung him back with all his
strength against Tode's stand. The stand was an old one and
rickety--Tode had bought it secondhand--and it went down with a crash,
carrying cookies, doughnuts, gingerbread, coffee, sandwiches, cups,
plates and boys in one promiscuous mixture. Before the boys could
struggle to their feet, Carrots, with his hands full of gingerbread,
had disappeared around the nearest corner. There was a wild rush and
a scramble, and when two minutes later, Tode stood gazing mournfully
at the wreck, not an eatable bit remained. The boys had considered the
wreckage as their lawful spoils, and every one of them had snatched as
much as he could.
Later, however, their sense of justice led some of them to express,
after their rough fashion, sympathy for Tode, and disapproval of his
enemy's revengeful act. Besides, a few of them had enough conscience
to acknowledge to themselves that they had not been entirely
blameless. The result was that half a dozen of them went to Tode the
next day and offered to "chip in" and set him up again.
Tode appreciated the spirit that prompted the offer, but he was also
shrewd enough to foresee that should he accept it, these boys would
expect favours in the way of prices and quantities when they dealt
with him in the future, and so he declined.
"Reckin I can stan' on my own feet, boys," he answered. "I've been
a-tinkerin' up the ol' stand, an' I'm a-goin' to start in again
to-morrow. You fellers come here an' get yer breakfast, an' that's
all the help I'll ask, 'cept that ev'ry last one o' ye'll give that
Carrots a kick fer me."
"We will that!" shouted the boys. "We'll make him sorry fer himself!"
And the next day their sympathy took the practical form that Tode had
suggested, for every one of them that had any money to spend, spent it
at "Tode's Corner," so that his stand was cleared again, but in a very
satisfactory fashion--a fashion that filled his pockets with dimes and
nickels.
IV. TODE MEETS THE BISHOP
Sundays were Tode's dreariest days. He found that it did not pay to
keep his stand open later than ten o'clock, and then after he had
spent an hour with Little Brother and Nan, the time hung heavy on his
hands. Sometimes he pored over a newspaper for a while, sometimes over
something even more objectionable than the Sunday newspaper, and for
the rest, he loafed around street corners and wharves with other
homeless boys like himself.
One Sunday morning he was listlessly reading over some play-bills
pasted on a fence, when the word "bishop" caught his eye, and he
spelled out the announcement that a well-known bishop was to speak in
St. Mark's Church, that afternoon.
"Cracky! I'd like to see a live bishop. B'lieve I'll go," he said to
himself. Then looking down at his ragged trousers and dirty jacket, he
added with a grin, "'Spect some o' them nobs'll most have a fit to see
me there."
Nevertheless he determined to go. Old Mr. Carey had never called him
anything but "bishop," and now the boy had a queer feeling as he read
that word on the bill--a feeling that this bishop whom he had never
seen had yet in some way something to do with him--though in what way
he could not imagine.
He thought over the matter through the hours that followed, sometimes
deciding that he would go, and again that he wouldn't, but he found
out where St. Mark's Church was, and at three o'clock he was there.
He gave a little start and a shadow fell upon his face as he saw the
pillared porch and the stone stairway. He seemed to see himself
running up those stairs and stuffing that stolen pocketbook into the
pastor's box that he remembered so clearly. These thoughts were not
pleasant ones to him now, and Tode stopped hesitatingly, undecided
whether to go on or to go in. It was early yet and no one was entering
though the doors stood invitingly open.
While he hesitated, the sexton came out to the steps. Tode remembered
him too, and looked at him with a grin that exasperated the man. "Get
out o' this!" he exclaimed, roughly. "We don't want any o' your sort
'round here."
Of course that settled the matter for Tode. He was determined to go
in now anyhow, but he knew better than to attempt it just then.
"Who wants to go int' yer ol' church," he muttered as he turned
away. The man growled a surly response but Tode did not look back.
On the corner he stopped, wondering how he could best elude the
unfriendly sexton and slip into the building, without his
knowledge. He dropped down on the curbstone and sat there thinking for
some time. At last a voice above him said quietly,
"Well, my boy, aren't you coming to church?"
Tode looked up, up a long way it seemed to him, into such a face as he
had never before looked into. Instinctively he arose and stepped back
that he might see more plainly those clear blue eyes and that strong,
tender mouth. The boy gazed and gazed, forgetting utterly to answer.
"You are coming into church with me, aren't you?"
So the question was repeated, and Tode, still lookingly earnestly up
into the man's face, nodded silently.
"That's right, my son--come," and a large, kindly hand was laid gently
upon the boy's shoulder.
Without a word he walked on beside the stranger.
The sexton was standing in the vestibule as the two approached. A look
of blank amazement swept across his face at sight of the boy in such
company. He said no word, however, only stepped aside with a bow, but
his eyes followed the two as they passed into the church together, and
he muttered a few angry words under his breath.
As for Tode, some strange influence seemed to have taken possession of
him, for he forgot to exult over the surly sexton. He passed him
without a thought indeed, feeling nothing but a strange, happy wonder
at the companionship in which he found himself.
The stranger led him up the aisle to one of the best pews, and
motioned him in. Silently the boy obeyed. Then the man looking down
with his rare, beautiful smile into the uplifted face, gently raised
Tode's ragged cap from his rough hair, and laid it on the cushioned
seat beside him. Then he went away, and Tode felt as if the sunlight
had been suddenly darkened. His eyes followed the tall, strong figure
longingly until it disappeared--then he looked about him, at the
beautiful interior of the church. The boy had never been in such a
place before, and he gazed wonderingly at the frescoes, the rich
colours in the windows, the dark carved woodwork and the wide chancel
and pulpit.
"Wat's it all for, I wonder," he said, half aloud, and then started
and flushed as his own voice broke the beautiful, solemn silence.
People were beginning to come in and filling the seats about him, and
many curious and astonished glances fell upon the boy, but he did not
notice them. Presently a soft, low strain of music stole out upon the
stillness. Surely a master hand touched the keys that day, for the
street boy sat like a statue listening eagerly to the sweet sounds,
and suddenly he found his cheeks wet. He dashed his hand impatiently
across them wondering what was the matter with him, for tears were
strangers to Tode's eyes, but in spite of himself they filled again,
till he almost wished the music would cease--almost but not quite, for
that strange happiness thrilled his heart as he listened.
Then far-off voices began to sing, coming nerrer and nearer, until a
long line of white-robed men and boys appeared, singing as they
walked, and last of all came the kingly stranger who had brought Tode
into the church, and he went to the lectern and began to read.
"The--bishop!" Tode breathed the words softly, in a mixture of wonder
and delight, as he suddenly realised who this man must be.
He sat through the remainder of the service in a dreamy state of
strange enjoyment. He did not understand why the people around him
stood or knelt at intervals. He did not care. When the bishop prayed,
Tode looked around, wondering whom he was calling "Lord." He concluded
that it must be the one who made the music.
He listened eagerly, breathlessly, to the sermon, understanding almost
nothing of what was said, but simply drinking in the words spoken by
that rich, sweet voice, that touched something within him, something
that only Little Brother had ever touched before. Yet this was
different from the feeling that the baby had awakened in the boy's
heart. He loved the baby dearly, but to this great, grand man, who
stood there above him wearing the strange dress that he had never
before seen a man wear--to him the boy's whole heart seemed to go out
in reverent admiration and desire. He knew that he would do anything
that this man might ask of him. He could refuse him nothing.
"Ye are not your own. Ye are bought with a price."
These words, repeated again and again, fixed themselves in Tode's
memory with no effort of his own. Buying and selling were matters
quite in his line now, but he did not understand this. He puzzled
over it awhile, then put it aside to be thought out at another time.
When the service was over, Tode watched the long line of choir boys
pass slowly out, and his eyes followed the tall figure of the bishop
till it disappeared from his wistful gaze. Then he looked about upon
the kneeling congregation, wondering if the people were going to stay
there all day. The bishop was gone, the music had ceased, and Tode did
not want to stay any longer. He slipped silently out of the pew and
left the church.
That evening he wandered off by himself, avoiding the Sunday
gathering-places of the boys, and thinking over the new experiences of
the afternoon. The words the bishop had repeated so often sung
themselves over and over in his ears.
"Ye are not your own. Ye are bought with a price."
"Don't mean me, anyhow," he thought, "'cause I b'long ter myself, sure
'nough. Nobody ever bought me 't ever I heard of. Wonder who that Jesus
is, he talked about so much. I wish--I wish he'd talk ter me--that
bishop."
All the strange happiness that had filled his heart during the service
in the church, was gone now. He did not feel happy at all. On the
contrary, he felt wretched and utterly miserable. He had begun to have
a distinct pride and satisfaction in himself lately, since he had
stopped lying and stealing, and had set up in business for himself,
and especially since Mrs. Hunt had begun to look upon him with more
favour, as he knew she had--but somehow now all this seemed worthless.
Although he had not understood the bishop's sermon, it seemed to have
unsettled Tode's mind, and awakened a vague miserable dissatisfaction
with himself. He was not used to such feelings. He didn't like them,
and he grew cross and ugly when he found himself unable to shake them
off.
He had wandered to the quiet corner of the wharf, where he and Nan and
Little Brother had spent the first hours of their acquaintance, and he
stood leaning against that same post, looking gloomily down into the
water, when a lean, rough dog crept slowly toward him, wagging his
stumpy tail and looking into the boy's face with eyes that pleaded for
a friendly word. Generally Tode would have responded to the mute
appeal, but now he felt so miserable himself, that he longed to make
somebody or something else miserable too, so instead of a pat, he gave
the dog a kick that sent it limping off with a yelp of pain and
remonstrance. He had made another creature as miserable as himself,
but somehow it didn't seem to lessen his own wretchedness. Indeed, he
couldn't help feeling that he had done a mean, cowardly thing, and
Tode never liked to feel himself a coward. He looked after the dog.
It had crawled into a corner and was licking the injured paw. Tode
walked toward the poor creature that looked at him suspiciously, yet
with a faint little wag of its tail, as showing its readiness to
forgive and forget, while at the same time ready to run if more abuse
threatened.
Tode stooped and called, "Come here, sir!" and, after a moment's
hesitation, the dog crept slowly toward him with a low whine, still
keeping his bright eyes fastened on the boy's.
"Poor old fellow," Tode said, gently, patting the dog's rough
head. "Is it hurt? Let me see." He felt of the leg, the dog standing
quietly beside him.
"'Tain't broken. It'll be all right pretty soon. What's your name?"
Tode said, and the dog rubbed his head against the boy's knee and
tried to say with his eloquent eyes what his dumb lips could not
utter.
"Got none--ye mean? You're a street dog--like me," the boy
added. "Well, guess I'll go home an' get some supper," and he walked
slowly away and presently forgot all about the dog.
He had lately hired a tiny garret room where he slept, and kept his
supplies when his stand was closed. He went there now and ate his
lonely supper. It had never before seemed lonely to him, but somehow
to-night it did. He hurried down the food and started to go out
again. As he opened his door, he heard a faint sound, and something
moved on the dark landing.
"Who's there?" he called, sharply.
A low whine answered him, and from out the gloom two eyes gleamed and
glittered. Tode peered into the shadow, then he laughed.