Bishop's Shadow

by Joel Chandler Harris

  IV. TODE MEETS THE BISHOP

  Sundays were Tode's dreariest days. He found that it did not pay tokeep his stand open later than ten o'clock, and then after he hadspent an hour with Little Brother and Nan, the time hung heavy on hishands. Sometimes he pored over a newspaper for a while, sometimes oversomething even more objectionable than the Sunday newspaper, and forthe rest, he loafed around street corners and wharves with otherhomeless boys like himself.

  One Sunday morning he was listlessly reading over some play-billspasted on a fence, when the word "bishop" caught his eye, and hespelled out the announcement that a well-known bishop was to speak inSt. Mark's Church, that afternoon.

  "Cracky! I'd like to see a live bishop. B'lieve I'll go," he said tohimself. Then looking down at his ragged trousers and dirty jacket, headded with a grin, "'Spect some o' them nobs'll most have a fit to seeme there."

  Nevertheless he determined to go. Old Mr. Carey had never called himanything but "bishop," and now the boy had a queer feeling as he readthat word on the bill--a feeling that this bishop whom he had neverseen had yet in some way something to do with him--though in what wayhe could not imagine.

  He thought over the matter through the hours that followed, sometimesdeciding that he would go, and again that he wouldn't, but he foundout 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 thepillared porch and the stone stairway. He seemed to see himselfrunning up those stairs and stuffing that stolen pocketbook into thepastor's box that he remembered so clearly. These thoughts were notpleasant ones to him now, and Tode stopped hesitatingly, undecidedwhether to go on or to go in. It was early yet and no one was enteringthough the doors stood invitingly open.

  While he hesitated, the sexton came out to the steps. Tode rememberedhim too, and looked at him with a grin that exasperated the man. "Getout 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 goin now anyhow, but he knew better than to attempt it just then.

  "Who wants to go int' yer ol' church," he muttered as he turnedaway. The man growled a surly response but Tode did not look back.

  On the corner he stopped, wondering how he could best elude theunfriendly sexton and slip into the building, without hisknowledge. He dropped down on the curbstone and sat there thinking forsome 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 hehad never before looked into. Instinctively he arose and stepped backthat 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 upinto the man's face, nodded silently.

  "That's right, my son--come," and a large, kindly hand was laid gentlyupon 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 lookof blank amazement swept across his face at sight of the boy in suchcompany. He said no word, however, only stepped aside with a bow, buthis eyes followed the two as they passed into the church together, andhe muttered a few angry words under his breath.

  As for Tode, some strange influence seemed to have taken possession ofhim, for he forgot to exult over the surly sexton. He passed himwithout a thought indeed, feeling nothing but a strange, happy wonderat the companionship in which he found himself.

  The stranger led him up the aisle to one of the best pews, andmotioned him in. Silently the boy obeyed. Then the man looking downwith his rare, beautiful smile into the uplifted face, gently raisedTode's ragged cap from his rough hair, and laid it on the cushionedseat beside him. Then he went away, and Tode felt as if the sunlighthad been suddenly darkened. His eyes followed the tall, strong figurelongingly until it disappeared--then he looked about him, at thebeautiful interior of the church. The boy had never been in such aplace before, and he gazed wonderingly at the frescoes, the richcolours in the windows, the dark carved woodwork and the wide chanceland pulpit.

  "Wat's it all for, I wonder," he said, half aloud, and then startedand flushed as his own voice broke the beautiful, solemn silence.

  People were beginning to come in and filling the seats about him, andmany curious and astonished glances fell upon the boy, but he did notnotice them. Presently a soft, low strain of music stole out upon thestillness. Surely a master hand touched the keys that day, for thestreet boy sat like a statue listening eagerly to the sweet sounds,and suddenly he found his cheeks wet. He dashed his hand impatientlyacross them wondering what was the matter with him, for tears werestrangers to Tode's eyes, but in spite of himself they filled again,till he almost wished the music would cease--almost but not quite, forthat strange happiness thrilled his heart as he listened.

  Then far-off voices began to sing, coming nerrer and nearer, until along line of white-robed men and boys appeared, singing as theywalked, and last of all came the kingly stranger who had brought Todeinto the church, and he went to the lectern and began to read.

  "The--bishop!" Tode breathed the words softly, in a mixture of wonderand delight, as he suddenly realised who this man must be.

  He sat through the remainder of the service in a dreamy state ofstrange enjoyment. He did not understand why the people around himstood or knelt at intervals. He did not care. When the bishop prayed,Tode looked around, wondering whom he was calling "Lord." He concludedthat it must be the one who made the music.

  He listened eagerly, breathlessly, to the sermon, understanding almostnothing of what was said, but simply drinking in the words spoken bythat rich, sweet voice, that touched something within him, somethingthat only Little Brother had ever touched before. Yet this wasdifferent from the feeling that the baby had awakened in the boy'sheart. He loved the baby dearly, but to this great, grand man, whostood there above him wearing the strange dress that he had neverbefore seen a man wear--to him the boy's whole heart seemed to go outin reverent admiration and desire. He knew that he would do anythingthat 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'smemory with no effort of his own. Buying and selling were mattersquite in his line now, but he did not understand this. He puzzledover 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 boyspass slowly out, and his eyes followed the tall figure of the bishoptill it disappeared from his wistful gaze. Then he looked about uponthe kneeling congregation, wondering if the people were going to staythere all day. The bishop was gone, the music had ceased, and Tode didnot want to stay any longer. He slipped silently out of the pew andleft the church.

  That evening he wandered off by himself, avoiding the Sundaygathering-places of the boys, and thinking over the new experiences ofthe afternoon. The words the bishop had repeated so often sungthemselves 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 Jesusis, he talked about so much. I wish--I wish he'd talk ter me--thatbishop."

  All the strange happiness that had filled his heart during the servicein the church, was gone now. He did not feel happy at all. On thecontrary, he felt wretched and utterly miserable. He had begun to havea distinct pride and satisfaction in himself lately, since he hadstopped lying and stealing, and had set up in business for himself,and especially since Mrs. Hunt had begun to look upon him with morefavour, as he knew she had--but somehow now all this seemed worthless.Although he had not understood the b
ishop's sermon, it seemed to haveunsettled Tode's mind, and awakened a vague miserable dissatisfactionwith 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 themoff.

  He had wandered to the quiet corner of the wharf, where he and Nan andLittle Brother had spent the first hours of their acquaintance, and hestood leaning against that same post, looking gloomily down into thewater, when a lean, rough dog crept slowly toward him, wagging hisstumpy tail and looking into the boy's face with eyes that pleaded fora friendly word. Generally Tode would have responded to the muteappeal, but now he felt so miserable himself, that he longed to makesomebody or something else miserable too, so instead of a pat, he gavethe dog a kick that sent it limping off with a yelp of pain andremonstrance. He had made another creature as miserable as himself,but somehow it didn't seem to lessen his own wretchedness. Indeed, hecouldn't help feeling that he had done a mean, cowardly thing, andTode never liked to feel himself a coward. He looked after the dog.It had crawled into a corner and was licking the injured paw. Todewalked toward the poor creature that looked at him suspiciously, yetwith a faint little wag of its tail, as showing its readiness toforgive and forget, while at the same time ready to run if more abusethreatened.

  Tode stooped and called, "Come here, sir!" and, after a moment'shesitation, the dog crept slowly toward him with a low whine, stillkeeping his bright eyes fastened on the boy's.

  "Poor old fellow," Tode said, gently, patting the dog's roughhead. "Is it hurt? Let me see." He felt of the leg, the dog standingquietly 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 andtried to say with his eloquent eyes what his dumb lips could notutter.

  "Got none--ye mean? You're a street dog--like me," the boyadded. "Well, guess I'll go home an' get some supper," and he walkedslowly away and presently forgot all about the dog.

  He had lately hired a tiny garret room where he slept, and kept hissupplies when his stand was closed. He went there now and ate hislonely supper. It had never before seemed lonely to him, but somehowto-night it did. He hurried down the food and started to go outagain. As he opened his door, he heard a faint sound, and somethingmoved on the dark landing.

  "Who's there?" he called, sharply.

  A low whine answered him, and from out the gloom two eyes gleamed andglittered. Tode peered into the shadow, then he laughed.

  "So it's you, is it? You must have tagged me home. Come in here thenif you want to," and he flung his door wide open and stepped back intothe room.

  Then out of the shadows of the dark landing the dog came slowly andwarily, ready to turn and slink off if he met no welcome, but Tode wasin the mood when even a strange dog was better than his owncompany. He fed the half-starved creature with some stale sandwiches,and then talked to him and tried to teach him some tricks until to hisown surprise he heard the city clocks striking nine, and the long,lonely evening he had dreaded was gone.

  "Well now, you're a heap o' company," he said to the dog. "I've a goodmind ter keep ye. Say, d'ye wan' ter stay, ol' feller?"

  The dog wagged his abbreviated tail, licked Tode's fingers, and rubbedhis head against the ragged trousers of his new friend.

  "Ye do, hey! Well, I'll keep ye ter-night, anyhow. Le' see, what'll Icall ye? You've got ter have a name. S'posin' I call ye Tag. Thatdo--hey, Tag?"

  The dog gave a quick, short bark and limped gaily about the boy'sfeet.

  "All right--we'll call ye Tag then. Now then, there's yer bed," and hethrew into a corner an old piece of carpet that he had picked up on avacant lot. The dog understood and settled himself with a long,contented sigh, as if he would have said:

  "At last I've found a master and a home."

  In a day or two Tag's lameness disappeared, and his devotion to hisnew master was unbounded. Tode found him useful, too, for he keptvigilant watch when the boy was busy at his stand, and suffered nothievish fingers to snatch anything when Tode's eyes and fingers weretoo busy for him to be on the lookout. The dog was such a loving,intelligent little creature, that he quickly won his way into Nan'sheart, and he evidently considered himself the guardian of LittleBrother from the first day that he saw Tode and the childtogether. Some dogs have a way of reading hearts, and Tag knew withintwo minutes that Tode loved every lock on Little Brother's sunny head.

  A few days after that Sabbath that the boy was never to forget, hewent to see Nan and the baby, and in the course of his visit,remarked,

  "Nan, I seen the bishop last Sunday."

  "What bishop?" inquired Nan.

  "The one that talked at the big, stone church--St. Mark's, they callit."

  "I wonder 't they let you in, if you wore them ragged duds," remarkedMrs. Hunt.

  "The bishop asked me to go in an' he took me in himself," retortedTode, defiantly.

  "For the land's sake," exclaimed Mrs. Hunt. "He must be a queer kindof a bishop!"

  "A splendid kind of a bishop, I should think," put in Nan, and the boyresponded quickly,

  "He is so! I never see a man like him."

  "Never see a man like him? What d'ye mean, Tode?" questionedMrs. Hunt.

  Tode looked at her as he answered slowly, "He's a great big man--lookslike a king--an' his eyes look right through a feller, but they don'thurt. They ain't sharp. They're soft, an'--an'--I guess they look likea mother's eyes would. I d'know much 'bout mothers, 'cause I never hadone, but I should think they'd look like his do. I tell ye," Todefaced Mrs. Hunt and spoke earnestly, "a feller'd do 'most anything thatthat bishop asked him to--couldn't help it."

  Mrs. Hunt stared in amazement at the boy. His eyes were glowing andin his voice there was a ring of deep feeling that she had neverbefore heard in it. It made her vaguely uncomfortable. Her Dick hadnever spoken so about any bishop, nor indeed, about anybody else, andhere was this rough street boy whom she considered quite unfit toassociate with Dick--and the bishop himself had taken him into church.

  Mrs. Hunt spoke somewhat sharply. "Well, I must say you were aqueer-lookin' one to set in a pew in a church like St. Mark's."

  Nan looked distressed, and Tode glanced uneasily at his garments. Theycertainly were about as bad as they could be. Even pins and twinecould not hold them together much longer.

  "Tode," Mrs. Hunt went on, "I think it's high time you got yourselfsome better clothes. Dear knows, you need 'em if ever a boy did, an'certainly you must have money 'nough now."

  "'Spect I have. I never thought about it," replied Tode.

  "Well, you'd better think about it, an' 'tend to it right away. 'Fyou're goin' to church with bishops you'd ought to look respectable,anyhow."

  Something in the tone and emphasis with which Mrs. Hunt spoke broughtthe colour into Tode's brown cheeks, while Nan looked at the goodwoman in surprise and dismay. She did not know how troubled was themother's heart over her own boy lately, as she saw him growing roughand careless, and that it seemed to her hard that this waif of thestreets should be going up while her Dick went down.

  Tode thought over what had been said, and the result was that the nexttime he appeared he was so changed that the good woman looked twicebefore she recognised him. His clothes had been purchased at asecondhand store, and they might have fitted better than they did, butthey were a vast improvement on what he had worn before. He hadscrubbed his face as well as his hands this time, and had combed hisrough hair as well as he could with the broken bit of comb which wasall he possessed in the way of toilet appliances. It is no easy matterfor a boy to keep himself well washed and brushed with no face clothor towel or brush, and no wash basin save the public sink. Tode haddone his best however, and Nan looked at him in pleased surprise.

  "You do look nice, Tode," she said, and the boy's face brightened withsatisfaction.

  All through that week Tode told himself that he would not go to thechurch again, yet day by day the longing grew to see the bishop's faceonce more and to h
ear his voice.

  "W'at's the use! O'ny makes a feller feel meaner 'n dirt," he said tohimself again and again, yet the next Sabbath afternoon found himhanging about St. Mark's hoping that the bishop would ask him inagain. But the minutes passed and the bishop did not appear.

  "Maybe he's gone in aready," the boy thought, peering cautiouslythrough the pillars of the entrance. There was no one in sight, andTode crept quietly across the porch through the wide vestibule to thechurch door. Only the sexton was there, and his back was toward theboy as he stood looking out of the opposite door.

  "Now's my time," thought Tode, and he ran swiftly and silently up theaisle to the pew where the bishop had placed him. There he hesitated.He was not sure which of several pews was the one, but with a quickglance at the sexton's back, he slipped into the nearest, and hearingthe man's footsteps approaching, dropped to the floor and crawledunder the seat.

  The sexton came slowly down the aisle, stopping here and there toarrange books or brush off a dusty spot. He even entered the pew whereTode was, and moved the books in the rack in front, but the boy laymotionless in the shadow, and the man passed on without discoveringhim.

  Then the people began to come in, and Tode was just about to get upand sit on the seat, when a lady and a little girl entered the pew.

  The boy groaned inwardly. "They'll screech if I get up now," hethought. "Nothin' for it but to lay here till it's over. Wal', I c'nhear _him_ anyhow."

  "Him," in Tode's thought was the bishop, and he waited patientlythrough the early part of the service, longing to hear again thatrich, strong, thrilling voice. But alas for Tode! It was not thebishop who preached that day. It was a stranger, whose low monotonousvoice reached the boy so indistinctly, that he soon gave up allattempts to listen, and before the sermon was half over he was soundasleep. Fortunately he was used to hard resting-places, and he sleptso quietly that the occupants of the pew did not discover his presenceat all.

  The music of the choir and of the organ mingled with the boy's dreams,but did not arouse him, and when the people departed and the sextonclosed the church and went home, Tode still slept on in darkness andsolitude.

  Usually there was an evening service, but on this occasion it wasomitted, the rector being ill, so when Tode at last opened his eyes,it was to find all dark and silent about him. As he started up hishead struck the bottom of the seat with a force that made him cry outand drop back again. Then as he lay there he put out his hands, andfeeling the cushioned seat over his head, he knew where he was andguessed what had happened.

  "Wal! I was a chump to go to sleep here!" he muttered, slowly, risingwith hands outstretched. "'Spect I'll have ter get out of thewindow."

  The street lights shining through the stained glass made a fainttwilight in the church, but there was something weird and strangeabout being there alone at that hour that set the boy's heart tobeating faster than usual.

  He went to one of the windows and felt about for the fastenings, buthe could not reach them. They were too high. He tried them all, butnone were within his reach. Then he sat down in one of the pews andwondered what he should do next. He was wide awake now. It seemed tohim that he could not close his eyes again that night, and indeed itwas long after midnight before he did. He felt strangely lonely as hesat there through those endless hours, dimly hearing the voices andfootsteps in the street without grow fewer and fainter, till all wassilent save the clocks that rang out the creeping hours to his wearyears. At last his tired eyes closed and he slipped down on thecushioned seat and slept for a few hours, but he awoke again beforedaylight.

  It was broad daylight outside before it was light enough in the churchfor the boy to see clearly, and then he looked hopelessly at the highwindow fastenings. He had tried every door but all were securelylocked.

  "Nothin' t' do but wait till that ol' cove comes back," he said tohimself.

  Then a thought flashed across his mind--a thought that made his heartstand still with dread. "S'posin' he don't come till next Sunday?"

  Tode knew nothing about midweek or daily services. But he put thisterrible thought away from him.

  "I'll get out somehow if I have ter smash some o' them pictures," hesaid aloud, as he looked up at the beautiful windows.

  The minutes seemed endless while the boy walked restlessly up and downthe aisles thinking of his stand, and of the customers who would seekbreakfast there in vain that morning. At last he heard approachingfootsteps, then a key rattled in the lock, and Tode instinctivelyrolled under the nearest pew and lay still, listening to the heavyfootsteps of the sexton as he passed slowly about opening doors andwindows. The boy waited with what patience he could until the manpassed on to the further side of the church, then he slid and crawledalong the carpeted aisle until he reached the door, when springing tohis feet he made a dash for the street. He heard the sexton shoutingangrily after him, but he paid no heed. On and on he ran until hereached his room where Tag gave him a wildly delighted welcome, and ina very short time thereafter the stand at "Tode's Corner" was doing abrisk business.