VIII. THEO'S SHADOW WORK
The days that followed were very busy ones for both Nan and Theo. Thegirl spent most of her time over the stove or the moulding board, andthe boy, delivering the supplies to many of the families in the twobig tenement houses, attending to his stand, and selling eveningpapers, found the days hardly long enough for all that he wanted todo.
As he went from room to room with Nan's bread and soup andgingerbread, he soon learned much about the different families andfound plenty of opportunities to serve as the "bishop's shadow," inthese poor homes. Money he had not to give, for every penny that hecould possibly spare was laid aside for a special purpose now, but hefound countless ways to carry help and sunshine to sad and sorehearts, without money.
One morning he left Nan's room with a basket piled with bread--brownand white--in one hand, and a big tin pail full of boiled hominy inthe other. He went first to the top floor, stopping at one door afteranother, where dirty, frowzy women and children opened at the sound ofhis cheery whistle. He handed in the loaves, or the measures of hominywith a gay word or a joke that more than once banished a frown from awoman's worn face, or checked the tears of a tired, hungrychild. Children were getting to be fond of the boy now, and he likedit.
In one room there were two families and half a dozen children. In onecorner, on a rickety couch was a crippled boy, who had lain there dayafter day, through long, weary months. He was listening intently forthat whistle outside the door, and when he heard it, his dull eyesbrightened, and he called out eagerly,
"Oh, tell him to come in a minute--_just_ a minute!"
The woman who opened the door, said indifferently, "Tommy wants you tocome in a minute."
Theo stepped over to the tumbled couch, and smiled down into thewistful eyes of the sick boy.
"Hello, old man!" he said, cheerily. "I've brought you something," andout of his pocket he pulled a golden chrysanthemum that he had pickedup in the street the day before, and had kept all night in water. Itwas not very fresh now, but Tommy snatched it hungrily, and gazed atit with a happy smile.
"Oh, how pretty--how pretty it is!" he cried, softly smoothing thegolden petals with his little bony forefinger. "Can I keep it, truly?"
"Oh, how pretty,--how pretty it is!"]
"'Course. I brought it for you," Theo answered, his round, freckledface reflecting the boy's delight. "But I must scoot. Folks'll berowin' me if their bread's late."
He ran off leaving the sick boy with the flower held lovingly againsthis thin white cheek, while his eyes followed wistfully Theo's strong,active figure as he hurried away.
On the next floor, an old woman, bent and stiffened by rheumatism, satalone all day, while her children were away at work. She could not getout of her chair, or help herself in any way. Her breakfast would bea penny's worth of Nan's hominy, but on this morning her children hadgone off without even setting out a dish, or a cup of water for her.
Tode brought her a saucer and spoon, filled a cup with fresh waterfrom the faucet, and pulled up the curtain so that the sunlight wouldshine in upon her.
"There, old lady," he said, brightly, when this was done, "now you'reall right, an' I'll be in again an' fix your dinner for ye."
The old woman's dim eyes looked after him, and she muttered a word ofthanks as she turned slowly to her breakfast.
The boy wasted no minutes, for he had none to spare, but even when hedid not step inside a door at all, he always had a smile or a brightword ready for each customer, and in lives where sin or grindingpoverty has destroyed all hope, and life has become simply dull,dogged endurance of suffering, a cheerful word or smile has awonderful power. These wretched women and forlorn little children hadalready begun to look forward to the coming of the "bread boy," as thelittle ones called him, as a bright spot in their days. In almostevery room he managed to leave a hint of cheer behind him, or at leastto lighten a little the cloudy atmosphere.
His pail and basket empty, he ran back to Nan's room for his ownsupplies, and having opened his stand he served his customers, takinghis own breakfast between whiles, as he had opportunity. He sold themorning papers, too, at his stand, and between twelve and one o'clockhe was as busy as a boy could well be. After that hour few customersappeared, and then, having made his midday meal from whatever he hadleft, he closed his stand and went home.
Then was his time for a little more of what Nan called his "shadowwork," when he refilled with fresh water the cup of the rheumatic oldwoman, or carried her a cup of tea that Nan had made for her, addingto it, perhaps, a cooky or a sandwich that remained from his stock. Orhe glanced into a room where two or three children were locked in allday while the mothers were away at work--and attended to the fire forthem. Often he found time for a five minutes' chat with crippledTommy, and now and then he walked awhile with a sick baby in his armsas he had seen the bishop do that day long before. They were alllittle things that the boy did, but as he kept on doing them day afterday, he found in this service for others such happiness as he neverhad known before.
Tommy's delight in the half-withered chrysanthemum set Theo tothinking, and the result of his thinking was that he began to frequentthe flower stalls and pick up the broken blossoms that wereoccasionally thrown aside there.
One day a woman who was selling flowers, said to him, "Say, boy, whatdo you do with the flowers you pick up? I've seen you 'round hereafter 'em lots o' times lately."
"Give 'em to sick folks an' poor ones that can't get out anywheres,"replied the boy, promptly.
The woman searched his face to see if he were deceiving her, but therewas nothing sly or underhanded in the clear eyes that returned hergaze so frankly.
"Hm-m," she murmured, thoughtfully. "What do you do Saturday nights,boy?"
"Nothin' much, after I've sold out my papers."
"Well, Saturday night's our busy time here; one of our busy times,that is, an' if you want to come 'round an' help for an hour or two,I'll pay you in the flowers that are left over."
Theo's eyes brightened, but he was shrewd, and was not going to bindhimself to an agreement that might not be satisfactory.
"I'll come next Sat'day an' try it," he said.
"All right," and the woman turned to a customer.
Theo was on hand promptly the next Saturday evening. He found that theflower woman wanted him to carry home pots of growing plants for ladypurchasers. He was kept busy until nine o'clock, and received inpayment a good-sized basket full of violets, roses, heliotrope andcarnations. Some had short stems, and some were a little wilted, butthe boy was well content with his pay.
"Most of them will freshen up and look bright as ever if you put themto-night in a pail of water where they'll have plenty of room," thewoman said; "and here--this is for good luck," and she handed him alittle pot of geranium with a cluster of pink blossoms.
That brought a smile of genuine delight to the boy's face.
"Oh!" he cried, "that's dandy! I'll give it to Nan."
"And who's Nan--your sister?" questioned the woman.
"N--no, not quite. Guess she's as good's my sister, though. Shall Icome next Sat'day, ma'am?" replied the boy.
"Yes, come next Saturday, an' right along, if you keep on doing aswell's you've done to-night."
Theo almost ran home, so eager was he to show Nan his treasures. Hehad never cared very much for flowers himself, but he was beginningnow to realise their value to others, and he was sure that Nan wouldbe delighted with the geranium.
He was not disappointed. The girl's eyes sparkled at sight of thedelicate pink blossoms and she thanked him so heartily that he couldonly mutter, "Oh, shucks! 'Tain't nothin' much."
Then he showed her his basket of cut flowers, and she exclaimeddelightedly over them as she lifted them out as tenderly as if theyhad been alive, and placed them carefully in a pail of fresh water inwhich she had sprinkled a little salt.
"Mother used to put salt in the water to keep flowers fresh," shesaid, "and oh, won't it be _lovely_ to carry these
around to theshut-ins, tomorrow, Theo! I think Mrs. Hunt would like some," sheadded.
"All right. Pick out what you like an' take 'em in to her now."
Nan selected some of the freshest blossoms and went across with themto her neighbour, leaving Theo with the baby, who was asleep. She wasgone some time, and when she returned her face was grave.
"What's the matter? Didn't she like 'em?" asked the boy.
"Yes, indeed, she was ever so pleased with them, and told me to thankyou for sending them to her--but, Theo, she's worrying so over Dick.She thinks he's going all wrong."
"So he is," answered Theo, soberly.
"And can't you do anything about it?"
"Don't see's I can. He's in with a mean lot o' fellers, 'n he's nogood anyhow, nowadays."
"But there must be some good in him. His father and mother are sogood," pleaded Nan.
"Mrs. Hunt was crying when I went in. She says Dick often stays outtill midnight or after now, and she's afraid he'll be locked up."
"Serve him right if he was," muttered Theo, under his breath.
"He's lost the place his father got for him," added Nan.
"'Course. Nobody'd keep such a feller long."
Nan shook her head sorrowfully, thinking of Dick's mother. Theo saidno more, and soon left the room. Nan thought he had gone to bed, butinstead, he went out and walked slowly and somewhat doubtfully towarda saloon which he had seen Dick enter more than once of late. Theo,himself, used to go there, but he had not been near the place for manya week. He did not want to go in now, and he waited about outside,wishing that Dick would come out, and yet uncertain what to do if hedid come. Finally he pushed open the door and went up the stairs. Adozen or so boys were there, many of whom he knew, and among them wasDick. The proprietor of the place gave the boy a warm welcome, andsome of the boys greeted him gaily, but Dick scowled as Theo sat downbeside him.
He waited until the loud talk began again, then he said in a low tone,"Dick, I came after you. Will you go home with me now? Your mother'sfrettin'."
Dick's face darkened angrily.
"Who made you boss over me?" he shouted, springing from his seat witha threatening gesture. "You mind your own business, will you?"
Theo's cheeks flushed as every face in the room was turned toward him.
"What's the row?"
"What's he doin'?"
"What does he want?"
"Put him out! Put him out!"
These shouts and others mingled with oaths as all crowded about thetwo boys.
"There's no row, an' nothin' to get mad about," said Theo, trying tospeak quietly. "Dick's mother's frettin', an' I asked him to go homewith me. That's all there is about it."
"An' enough it is too," exclaimed one of the boys. "Dick's big enoughto know when to go home, ain't he?"
"What's he got to do with me or my mother?" growled Dick, "I'll gohome when I get good an' ready, an' not before."
"An' it's time for _you_ to go home now!" exclaimed theproprietor of the place, elbowing his way to the front of the group,and addressing Theo. "We don't want none o' your sort around here. Nowclear out--d'ye hear?"
Seeing that it was useless to stay longer, Theo departed, followed bytaunting cries and yells, from all in the room.
He went gloomily homeward, telling himself that he had been a fool totry to do anything for Dick Hunt. Dick was "no good anyhow." But, ashe passed her door, Mrs. Hunt opened it and peered anxiously out. Hereyes were red and swollen, and she turned back with a disappointed airas she saw Theo. The next moment however, she stepped out into thehall, pushing the door to behind her.
"Tode," she whispered, "do you know where my Dick is?"
The boy answered reluctantly, "He's down at Todd's."
Mrs. Hunt put her apron to her eyes and sobbed softly. "Oh, dear," shemoaned, "his father's gone to look for him, an' if he finds him therehe'll most kill him--he's that mad with the boy for the way he's beengoin' on lately."
Theo stood silent, not knowing what to say, and then Mrs. Hunt turnedback into the room while he went up another flight to his. He had justreached his own door when he heard loud, angry voices accompanied byscuffling sounds on the stairs below, and he knew that Mr. Hunt hadfound Dick, and was bringing him home.
After Theodore had gone out, Nan had put all the flowers into two bigdishes with plenty of water, and the next morning she was up early andseparated them, putting together two or three pinks or a rose with itsbuds and a bit of foliage, or a cluster of geranium blossoms and greenleaves.
When Theo came for them she laid the small clusters carefully in abasket, and sprinkled them with fresh water, then as she stooped andburied her face among the fragrant, beautiful things she exclaimed,
"Oh Theo, I wish I had time to go with you, and see how happy you makethem all with these beautiful, lovely flowers."
"I'll begin with you," laughed the boy. "Pick out the ones you likebest."
But Nan put her hands resolutely behind her and shook her head.
"No, I'm not sick and I've had the pleasure of seeing them all, andfixing them, beside my pot of geranium. That's plenty for me."
Theodore looked critically at her, then at the blossoms; then hepicked out three delicate pink carnations.
"No, no! Please don't, Theo," began the girl, but with a laughingglance at her, Theodore laid the blossoms in Little Brother's smallwhite fingers, and hurried away.
He went first to Tommy O'Brien's room. The sick boy's weary facebrightened at sight of him, but it fairly beamed when Theodore held upthe basket saying, "Choose any one of 'em Tommy--the very prettiest ofall."
"O-oh!" cried Tommy. "I never saw so many. Oh, Theo, where did you get'em all?"
Theo told him while the woman and the children crowded about thebasket to see and exclaim over the contents.
Tommy chose a spray of lily of the valley and Theo added a pink roseand bud. Then he gave a blossom to each of the children and to theirmothers as well, and went away leaving softened faces and smiles inplace of frowns and sullen words.
The old woman whose breakfast was so often forgotten was not aloneto-day. Her daughters were at home, but they were not paying muchattention to her. At first she peered stupidly with her half-blindeyes into Theo's basket, then suddenly she cried out,
"Oh, I smell 'em! I smell vi'lets. Where be they? Where be they?"
There was one little bunch of violets in the basket. Theo snatched itup and laid it in the wrinkled, trembling hands. The old woman heldthe blossoms against her withered cheek, then she pressed them to herlips, and two big tears rolled slowly down her face.
"La! Ma's cryin' over them vi'lets. Here Tode, gi' me some o' thembright ones. Gi' me a rose!" cried one of the young women, and Theohanded each of them a rose and went away in silence. He glanced backas he left the room. The old woman was still holding the violets toher cheek and it was plain, even to the boy, that her thoughts werefar away.
So, from room to room he went and nowhere did he fail of a gladwelcome, because of the gifts he offered. In the dirtiest rooms, themost hardened of the women, the roughest and rudest of the children,seemed to become momentarily gentle and tender when the flowers werelaid in their hands.
When all had been given away except one rose, Theodore paused andconsidered. There were several rooms that he had not visited. Towhich of these should he carry this last rose?
Not to Old Man Schneider surely. He was standing at the moment outsideOld Man Schneider's door. The old man was the terror of all thechildren in the house, so ugly and profane was he, and so hideous tolook at. Fearless as Theodore was--the sight of Old Man Schneideralways made him shudder, and the boy had never yet spoken to him.
While he stood there trying to decide who should have the rose, heheard a deep, hollow groan, and surely it came from the room of OldMan Schneider. Theodore stood still and listened. There came anothergroan and another, and then he knocked on the door. There was noresponse and he opened it and went in. He had been in many
dirty,dismal rooms, but never in one so dirty and so dismal as this. Itlooked as if it never had been clean. The only furniture was atumble-down bed in one corner, a chair and a broken stove. On the bed,the old man was lying, covered with rags. He fixed his sunken eyes onthe boy and roughly demanded what he wanted, but even as he spoke hegroaned again.
"You are sick--can't I do something for you?" asked the boy.
The old man gazed at him for a moment, then he broke into a torrent ofangry words, ending with,
"Get out o' my sight. I hate boys. I hate everybody an' everything."
Theodore stood still. The rose in his hand looked strangely out ofplace in that squalid room--but--beautifully out of place, for itseemed to shed light and color as well as perfume through the close,unhealthy atmosphere.
"Clear out, I say. Why don't ye go?" The old man tried to shake athreatening fist, but his arm dropped weakly, and in spite of himselfhe moaned with pain.
"Can't I bring a doctor or somebody to help you?" the boy askedgently.
"Ain't nobody ter help me. Don't I tell ye I hate everybody?" was thefierce reply.
Theodore gazed about him. There seemed nothing that he could do. Hehesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and laid the beautifulrose against the dark, knotted fingers on the ragged bed-covering, andthen he went away, closing the door behind him. Stopping only to puthis basket into his room and lock the door, he hurried off to thedispensary and asked that a doctor be sent to Old Man Schneider assoon as possible. He waited until the doctor was at liberty and thenreturned with him. There was no response to their knock, and againTheodore opened the door and went in, the doctor following.
The old man did not move or look up even when the doctor spoke tohim. He lay as Theo had last seen him only that his fingers wereclosed tightly over the stem of the rose, and one crimson petal lay onthe pillow close to the sunken cheek. The old man was dead--but whocould tell what thoughts of other days--of sinless days long past,perhaps--may have been awakened in his heart by that fragrant,beautiful bit of God's handiwork?
As Theodore went quietly up the stairs, he was glad that he had notpassed by Old Man Schneider's door.
Bishop's Shadow Page 8
