Unkown - "Vergil's Aeneid in Latin"

Unkown - "*The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Golden Mean [Golden Ratio]*"

Unknown - "The Merchant of Venice"

Wallace Irwin - "The Love Sonnets of a Car Conductor"

The Bishop\'s Shadow

I >> I. T. Thurston >> The Bishop\'s Shadow



Produced by Dave Maddock and The Online Distributed Proofreading Team



THE BISHOP'S SHADOW

BY

I.T. THURSTON

_Author of "Boys of the Central," "A Genuine Lady" etc._

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY M. ECKERSON







"This learned I from the shadow of a tree
That to and fro did sway upon a wall,
Our shadow selves--our influence--may fall
Where we can never be."



CONTENTS

I. LOST--A POCKETBOOK

II. NAN'S NEW HOME

III. AN ACCIDENT

IV. TODE MEETS THE BISHOP

V. IN THE BISHOP'S HOUSE

VI. TODE'S NEW START

VII. AFTER TODE'S DEPARTURE

VIII. THEO'S SHADOW WORK

IX. THEO IN TROUBLE

X. A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT

XI. THEO'S NEW BUSINESS

XII. NAN FINDS FRIENDS

XIII. NAN'S DEPARTURE

XIV. THEODORE GIVES CARROTS A CHANCE

XV. A STRIKE

XVI. CALLED TO GO UP HIGHER

XVII. FINAL GLIMPSES



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THEODORE BRYAN, SIGN-POLISHER

"HE'S AWAKIN' UP, I GUESS"

ADRIFT AGAIN

"OH, HOW PRETTY,--HOW PRETTY IT IS!"

"STOP THE CAR!"

THANKSGIVING REUNION




THE BISHOP'S SHADOW


[Illustration: Theodore Bryan, Sign-Polisher]



I. LOST--A POCKETBOOK


It was about ten o'clock in the morning and a northeast storm was
raging in Boston.

The narrow crooked business streets were slippery with mud and
thronged with drays and wagons of every description, which, with the
continual passing of the street cars, made it a difficult and often a
dangerous matter to attempt a crossing.

The rain came in sudden driving sheets, blotting out all but the
nearest cars or vehicles, while the wind seemed to lie in wait at
every corner ready to spring forth and wrest umbrellas out of the
hands of pedestrians at the most critical points in the crossings.

Two ladies coming along Causeway street by the Union Depot, waited
some minutes on the sidewalk watching for an opening in the endless
stream of passing teams.

"There! We shan't have a better chance than this. Come on now," one of
them exclaimed, stepping quickly forward as there came a little break
in the moving line. She stepped in front of two cars that had stopped
on parallel tracks and her companion hastily followed her. Just then
there came a fierce gust that threatened to turn their umbrellas
inside out. The lady in front clutched hers nervously and hurried
forward. As she ran past the second car she found herself almost under
the feet of a pair of horses attached to a heavy wagon. The driver
yelled angrily at her as he hastily pulled up his team; a policeman
shouted warningly and sprang toward her, and her friend stopped short
with a low cry of terror. But though the pole of the wagon grazed her
cheek and the shock threw her almost to the ground, the lady recovered
herself and hurried across to the sidewalk.

It was then that a little ragged fellow of perhaps thirteen, slipped
swiftly under the very feet of the horses, and, unheeding the savage
shouts of the driver, wormed his way rapidly through the crowd and
vanished. As he did so, the lady who had so narrowly escaped injury,
turned to her friend and cried,

"Oh my pocketbook! I must have dropped it on the crossing."

"On the crossing, did you say?" questioned the policeman, and as she
assented, he turned hastily back to the street, but the cars and teams
had passed on and others were surging forward and no trace of the
pocketbook was visible. The policeman came back and questioned the
lady about it, promising to do what he could to recover it.

"But it's not probable you'll ever see a penny of the money again," he
said. "Some rascally thief most likely saw ye drop it an' snatched it
up."

The policeman was not mistaken. If he had turned through Tremont and
Boylston streets he might have seen a ragged, barefooted boy
sauntering along with his hands in his pockets, stopping now and then
to look into a shop window, yet ever keeping a keenly watchful eye on
every policeman he met. The boy looked as if he had not a penny in
those ragged pockets of his, but one of his grimy hands clutched
tightly the lost pocketbook, which his sharp eyes had seen as it fell
beneath the feet of the horses, and which he had deftly appropriated
as he wriggled through the mud.

Heedless of wind and rain the boy lounged along the street. It was not
often that he found himself in this section of the city, and it was
much less familiar to him than some other localities. He seemed to be
wandering aimlessly along, but his restless eyes were on the watch for
some retired spot where he might safely examine his prize and see how
much money he had secured. For a long time he saw no place that seemed
to him a safe one for his purpose, so he went on and on until suddenly
he realised that he was tired. He was passing a large brownstone
church at the moment, and he sat down on the steps to rest.

"My! But this is a gay ol' church!" he thought, as he looked curiously
at the beautiful building. "Wonder where them steps go to."

Springing up he ran across the pillared porch to the foot of the stone
stairs that led to the upper entrance to the chapel. Following a
sudden impulse he started hastily up these stairs, his bare feet
making no sound. At the top of the stairs he found himself shut in on
two sides by a high stone balustrade, the chapel door forming the
third side. This door was closed. He tried it softly and found it
locked. Then he dropped down in the darkest corner of the landing,
and, with eyes and ears still keenly alert, pulled from his pocket the
mud-stained purse and examined it carefully. He found in it thirty-six
dollars in bills and about a dollar more in silver.

The boy gave a gleeful, silent laugh. "Struck it rich this time," he
said to himself.

He hunted up a crooked pin from somewhere about his dilapidated
garments, and fastened the roll of bills as securely as he could
inside the lining of his jacket, keeping the silver in his pocket.
Then he again examined the book to be sure that he had overlooked
nothing. On the inside of the leather was the name,

"R. A. RUSSELL,"

and there was also a card bearing the same name and an address. The
card he tore into tiny bits and chewed into a pellet which he tossed
over the stone balustrade. Then, with the pocketbook in his hand, he
looked about him. There was a pastor's box fastened beside the
door. He crowded the telltale book through the opening in the top of
this box, and then with a satisfied air ran blithely down the stone
steps. But he stopped short as he came face to face with the sexton
who was just crossing the porch.

"Here, you! Where've you been? What you been up to?" cried the man,
clutching at him angrily, but the boy was too quick.

He ducked suddenly, slipped under the sexton's hands and darted across
the porch and down the steps. Then he stopped to call back,

"Be'n makin' 'rangements ter preach fer ye here next Sunday--yah!
yah!" and with a mocking laugh he disappeared leaving the sexton
shaking his fist in impotent wrath.

The boy ran swiftly on until he had gotten quite a distance from the
church; then he slackened his pace and began to plan what he should do
next. The sight of a confectioner's window reminded him that he was
hungry, and he went into the store and bought two tarts which he ate
as he walked on. After that he bought a quart of peanuts, two bananas
and a piece of mince-pie, and having disposed of all these he felt
hungry no longer.

Having in his possession what seemed to him a small fortune, he saw no
necessity for working, so that night he did not go as usual to the
newspaper office for the evening papers, but spent his time loafing
around the busiest corners and watching all that went on about the
streets. This unusual conduct attracted the attention of his cronies,
and a number of newsboys gathered about him trying to find out the
reason of his strange idleness.

"I say, Tode," called one, "why ain't ye gettin' yer papers?"

"Aw, he's come into a fortune, he has," put in another. "His rich
uncle's come home an' 'dopted him."

"Naw, he's married Vanderbilt's daughter," sneered a third.

"Say, now, Tode, tell us w'at's up," whispered one, sidling up to
him. "Hev ye swiped somethin'?"

Tode tried to put on an expression of injured innocence, but his face
flushed as he answered, shortly,

"Come, hush yer noise, will ye! Can't a chap lay off fer one day
'thout all the town pitchin' inter him? I made a dollar extry this
mornin'--that's all the' is about it," and stuffing his hands into his
pockets he marched off to avoid further comment.

For the next week Tode "lived high" as he expressed it. He had from
three to six meals a day and an unlimited amount of pie and peanuts
besides, but after all he was not particularly happy. Time hung heavy
on his hands sometimes--the more so as the boys, resenting his living
in luxurious idleness, held aloof, and would have nothing to do with
him. He had been quite a leader among them, and it galled him to be so
left out and ignored. He began to think that he should not be sorry
when his ill-gotten money was gone. He was thinking after this fashion
one day as he strolled aimlessly down a side street. It was a quiet
street where at that hour there was little passing, and Tode lounged
along with his hands in his pockets until he came to a place where the
sidewalk was littered with building material and where a large house
was in course of construction. Perhaps the workmen were on a strike
that day. At any rate none of them were about, and the boy sprang up
onto a barrel that was standing near the curbstone, and sat there
drumming on the head with two pieces of lath and whistling a lively
air.

After a little his whistle ceased and he looked up and down the street
with a yawn, saying to himself,

"Gay ol' street, this is! Looks like everybody's dead or asleep."

But even as he spoke a girl came hastily around the nearest corner and
hurried toward him. She looked about fourteen. Her clothes were worn
and shabby but they were clean, and in her arms she carried a baby
wrapped in a shawl. She stopped beside Tode and looked at him with
imploring eyes.

"Oh can't you help me to hide somewhere? Do! Do!" she cried, with a
world of entreaty in her voice.

The boy glanced at her coolly.

"What ye want ter hide for? Been swipin' somethin'?" he questioned,
carelessly.

The girl flashed at him an indignant glance, then cast a quick,
frightened one behind her.

"No, no!" she exclaimed, earnestly. "I'm no thief. I'm running away
from old Mary Leary. She's most killed my little brother giving him
whiskey so's to make him look sick when she takes him out
begging. Look here!"

She lifted the shawl that was wrapped about the child. Tode leaned
over and looked at the little face. It was a pitiful little face--so
white and thin, with sunken eyes and blue lips--so pitiful that it
touched even Tode's heart, that was not easily touched.

"The ol' woman after ye?" he asked, springing down from the barrel.

"Yes, yes! Oh, do help me," pleaded the girl, the tears running down
her cheeks as she gazed at the baby face. "I'm afraid he's going to
die."

The boy cast a quick glance about him.

"Here!" he exclaimed, "squat down an' I'll turn this over ye."

He seized a big empty barrel that stood near. Without a word the girl
slipped to the ground and he turned the barrel over her, kicking under
the edge a bit of wood to give air. The next moment he stooped down to
the opening and whispered,

"Hi! The ol' lady's a comin'. Don't ye peep. I'll fix her!"

Then he reseated himself again on the barrelhead and began to drum and
whistle as before, apparently paying no heed to the woman who came
along scolding and swearing, with half a dozen street children
following at her heels. She came nearer and nearer but Tode drummed on
and whistled unconcernedly until she stopped before him and exclaimed
harshly,

"You boy--have you seen a girl go by here, with a baby?"

"Nope," replied Tode, briefly.

"How long you be'n settin' here?"

"'Bout two weeks," answered the boy, gravely.

The woman stormed and blustered, but finding that this made no
impression she changed her tactics and began in a wheedling tone,

"Now, dearie, you'll help an ol' woman find her baby, won't ye? It's
heartbroke I am for my pretty darlin' an' that girl has carried him
off. Tell me, dearie, did they go this way?"

"I d' know nothin' 'bout yer gal," exclaimed Tode. "Why don't ye scoot
'round an' find her 'f she's cleared out?"

"An' ain't I huntin' her this blessed minute?" shrieked the woman,
angrily. "I b'lieve ye _have_ seen her. Like's not ye've hid her
away somewheres."

Tode turned away from her and resumed his drumming while the woman
cast a suspicious glance at the unfinished building.

"She may be there," she muttered and began searching through the piles
of building material on the ground floor.

"Hope she'll break her ol' neck!" thought Tode, vengefully, as he
whistled with fresh vigor.

The woman reappeared presently, and casting a threatening glance and a
torrent of bad language at the boy, went lumbering heavily down the
street with the crowd of noisy, curious children straggling along
behind her.

When they had all disappeared around the corner of the street, Tode
sprang down and putting his mouth to the opening at the bottom of the
barrel whispered hastily,

"Keep still 'til I see if she's gone sure," and he raced up to the
corner where he watched until the woman was out of sight. Then he ran
back and lifted the barrel off, saying,

"It's all right--she's gone, sure 'nough."

The girl cast an anxious glance up and down the street as she sprang
up.

"Oh dear!" she exclaimed. "I don't know where to go!" and Tode saw
that her eyes were full of tears.

He looked at her curiously.

"Might go down t' the wharf. Ol' woman wouldn't be likely ter go
there, would she?" he suggested.

"I don't think so. I've never been there," replied the girl. "Which
way is it?"

"Come on--I'll show ye;" and Tode set off at a rapid pace.

The girl followed as fast as she could, but the child was a limp
weight in her arms and she soon began to lag behind and breathe
heavily. "What's the matter? Why don't ye hurry up?" exclaimed the
boy with an impatient backward glance.

"I--can't. He's so--heavy," panted the girl breathlessly.

Tode did not offer to take the child. He only put his hands in his
pockets and waited for her, and then went on more slowly.

When they reached the wharf, he led the way to a quiet corner where
the girl dropped down with a sigh of relief and weariness, while he
leaned against a post and looked down at her. Presently he remarked,

"What's yer name?"

"Nan Hastings," replied the girl.

"How'd she get hold o' ye?" pursued the boy, with a backward jerk of
his thumb that Nan rightly concluded was meant to indicate the Leary
woman.

She answered slowly, "It was when mother died. We had a nice home. We
were not poor folks. My father was an engineer, and he was killed in
an accident before Little Brother was born, and that almost broke
mother's heart. After the baby came she was sick all the time and she
couldn't work much, and so we used up all the money we had, and mother
got sicker and at last she told me she was going to die." The girl's
voice trembled and she was silent for a moment; then she went on, "She
made me kneel down by the bed and promise her that I would always take
care of Little Brother and bring him up to be a _good_ man as
father was. I promised, and I am going to do it."

The girl spoke earnestly with the light of a solemn purpose in her
dark eyes.

Tode began to be interested. "And she died?" he prompted.

"Yes, she died. She wrote to some of her relatives before she died
asking them to help Little Brother and me, but there was no answer to
the letter, and after she died all our furniture was sold to pay the
doctor and the funeral bills. The doctor wanted to send us to an
orphan asylum, but Mary Leary had worked for us, and she told me that
if we went to an asylum they would take Little Brother away from me
and I'd never see him any more, and she said if I'd go home with her
she'd find me a place to work and I could keep the baby. So I went
home with her. It was a horrid place"--Nan shuddered--"and I found out
pretty soon that she drank whiskey, but I hadn't any other place to
go, so I had to stay there, but lately she's been taking the baby out
every day and he's been growing so pale and sick-looking, and
yesterday I caught her giving him whiskey, and then I knew she did it
to make him look sick so that she would get more money when she went
out begging with him."

"An' so you cut an' run?" put in Tode, as the girl paused.

[Illustration: "He's awakin' up, I guess."]

"Yes--and I'll _never_ go back to her, but--I don't know what I
_can_ do. Do you know any place where I can stay and work for
Little Brother?"

The dark eyes looked up into the boy's face with a wistful, pleading
glance, as the girl spoke.

"I'd know no place," replied Tode, shrugging his shoulders
carelessly. He did not feel called upon to help this girl. Tode
considered girls entirely unnecessary evils.

Nan looked disappointed, but she said no more.

"He's wakin' up, I guess," remarked Tode, glancing at the baby.

The little thing stirred uneasily, and then the heavy, blue-veined
lids were lifted slowly, and a pair of big innocent blue eyes looked
straight into Tode's. A long, steadfast, unchildlike look it was, a
look that somehow held the boy's eyes in spite of himself, and then a
faint, tremulous smile quivered over the pale lips, and the baby hands
were lifted to the boy.

That look and smile had a strange, a wonderful effect on
Tode. Something seemed to spring into life in his heart in that
instant. Up to this hour he had never known what love was, for he had
never loved any human being, but as he gazed into the pure depths of
those blue eyes and saw the baby fingers flutter feebly toward him,
his heart went out in love to the child, and he held out his arms to
take him.

Nan hesitated, with a quick glance at Tode's dirty hands and garments,
but he cried imperiously,

"Give him here. He wants to come to me," and she allowed him to take
the child from her arms. As he felt himself lifted in that strong
grasp, Little Brother smiled again, and nestled with a long breath of
content against Tode's dirty jacket.

"See--he likes me!" cried the boy, his face all aglow with the
strange, sweet delight that possessed him. He sat still holding the
child, afraid to move lest he disturb his charge, but in a few minutes
the baby began to fret.

"What's he want?" questioned Tode, anxiously.

Nan looked distressed. "I'm afraid he's hungry," she replied. "Oh
dear, what _shall_ I do!"

She seemed ready to cry herself, but Tode sprang up.

"You come along," he exclaimed, briefly, and he started off with the
child still in his arms, and Nan followed wonderingly. She shrank back
as he pushed open the door of a restaurant, but Tode went in and after
a moment's hesitation, she followed.

"What'll he take--some beef?" inquired the boy.

"Oh no!" cried Nan, hastily, "some bread and milk will be best for
him."

"All right. Here you--bring us a quart o' milk an' a loaf o' bread,"
called Tode, sharply, to a waiter.

When these were brought he added, "Now fetch on a steak an' a oyster
stew."

Then he turned with a puzzled look to Nan. "How does he take it? D'ye
pour it down his throat?" he asked.

"No, no!" cried Nan, hastily, as he seized the bowl of milk. "You must
feed it to him with a spoon."

"All right!" and utterly regardless of the grinning waiters Tode began
to feed the baby, depositing quite as much in his neck as in his
mouth, while Nan looked on, longing to take the matter into her own
hands, but afraid to interfere. Suddenly Tode glanced at her.

"Why don't ye eat?" he said, with a gesture toward the food on the
table. The girl coloured and drew back.

"Oh I can't," she exclaimed, hastily, "I ain't--I don't want
anything."

"Ain't ye hungry?" demanded Tode in a masterful tone.

"N--not much," stammered Nan, but the boy saw a hungry gleam in her
eyes as she glanced at the food.

"Y'are, too! Now you jest put that out o' sight in a hurry!"

But Nan shook her head. "I'm no beggar," she said, proudly, "and some
time I'm going to pay you for that," and she pointed to the bowl of
bread and milk.

"Shucks!" exclaimed the boy. "See here! I've ordered that stuff an'
I'll have it to pay for anyhow, so you might's well eat it. _I_
don't want it," and he devoted himself again to the child.

Nan turned her head resolutely away, but she was so hungry and the
food did smell so good that she could not resist it. She tasted the
oysters and in three minutes the bowl was empty, and a good bit of the
steak had disappeared before she pushed aside her plate.

"Thank you," she said, gratefully. "It did taste _so_ good!"

"Huh!" grunted Tode. This was the first time in his life that anybody
had said "thank you" to him.

He handed the baby over to Nan and, though he had said he was not
hungry, finished the steak and a big piece of pie in addition and then
the three left the restaurant.



II. NAN'S NEW HOME


As they went out, Nan looked anxiously from side to side, fearing to
see or be seen by the Leary woman. Tode noticed her troubled look and
remarked,

"Ye needn't ter fret. _I_ wouldn't let her touch ye. We might's
well go back to the wharf," he added.

So they returned to the corner they had left, and in a little while
the baby dropped into a refreshing sleep in his sister's lap, while
Tode sometimes roamed about the wharf, and sometimes lounged against a
post and talked with Nan.

"What is _your_ name?" she asked him, suddenly.

"Tode Bryan."

"Tode? That's a queer name."

"'Spect that ain't all of it. There's some more, but I've forgot what
'tis," the boy replied, carelessly.

"And where's your home, Tode?"

"Home? Ain't got none. Never had none--no folks neither."

"But where do you live?"

"Oh, anywheres. When I'm flush, I sleeps at the Newsboys' Home, an'
when I ain't, I takes the softest corner I can find in a alley or on a
doorstep," was the indifferent reply.

Nan looked troubled.

"But I can't do that," she said. "I can't sleep in the street with
Little Brother."

"Why not?" questioned Tode, wonderingly.

"Oh because--girls can't do like that."

"Lots o' girls do."

"But--not nice girls, Tode," said Nan, wistfully.

"Well no, I don't 'spect they're nice girls. I don't know any girls 't
amount to much," replied Tode, disdainfully.

Nan flushed at his tone, as she answered,

"But what _can_ I do? Where can I go? Seems as if there ought to
be some place where girls like me could stay."

"That's so, for a fact," assented Tode, then he added, thoughtfully,
"The's one feller--mebbe you could stay where he lives. He's got a
mother, I know."

"Oh if I only could, Tode! I'd work _ever_ so hard," said Nan,
earnestly.

"You stay here an' I'll see 'f I can find him," said the boy. Then he
turned back to add suspiciously, "Now don't ye clear out while I'm
gone."

Nan looked at him wonderingly.

"Where would I go?" she questioned, and Tode answered with a laugh,

"That a fact--ye ain't got no place to go, have ye?"

Then he disappeared and Nan waited anxiously for his return. He came
back within an hour bringing with him a freckle-faced boy a year or so
older than himself.

"This's the gal!" he remarked, briefly.

The newcomer looked doubtfully at Nan.

"See the little feller," cried Tode, eagerly. "Ain't he a daisy? See
him laugh," and he chucked the baby clumsily under the chin.

The child's heavy eyes brightened and he smiled back into the
friendly, dirty face of the boy.

The other boy looked at Tode wonderingly. "Didn't know 't you liked
_kids,_" he said, scornfully.

"So I don't--but this one's diff'runt," replied Tode, promptly. "You
ain't no common kid, be ye, Little Brother?"

"What's his name?" questioned the boy.

"His name is David, but mother always called him Little Brother, and
so I do," answered the girl, in a low tone. "Have you a mother?" she
added, with an earnest look at the boy.

"Got the best mother in this town," was the prompt reply.

"Oh, won't you take me to her, then? Maybe she can tell me what to
do," Nan pleaded.

"Well, come along, then," responded the boy, rather grudgingly.

"You come too, Tode," said Nan. "'Cause you know we might meet Mary
Leary."

"All right. I'll settle her. Don't you worry," and Tode, with a very
warlike air marched along at Nan's right hand.

"What's your mother's name?" questioned Nan, shyly, of the newcomer as
the three walked on together.

"Hunt. I'm Dick Hunt," was the brief reply. Then Dick turned away
from the girl and talked to Tode.

It was not very far to Dick's home. It was in one of the better class
of tenement houses. The Hunts had three rooms and they were clean and
comfortably furnished. Tode looked around admiringly as Dick threw
open the door and led the way in. Tode had never been in rooms like
these before. Nan--after one quick glance about the place--looked
earnestly and longingly into Mrs. Hunt's kind motherly face. Dick
wasted no words.

Copyright (c) 2007. topbookz.net. All rights reserved.