Public-domain ebook
Blind Tim, and other Christmas stories written for children
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In: Short Stories·Children & Young Adult Reading
Public-domain ebook sourced from Project Gutenberg #72713.
The opening · free to read
The Sunday School at the Chapel
Already the room had become comparatively quiet. The bustle of closing Sunday School as the children were hastening to the door was succeeded by a surprising stillness. The teachers were now busy setting the room in order. Miss Merton was just about to take down the big picture roll, from which she had been teaching a juvenile class, when she heard a piping voice. Turning, she saw the pale, hump-backed blind boy who had joined her class some weeks since, with his cousin Louise, who led him.
“What do you want, Tim?” she asked kindly.
“Please, ma’am, can I feel o’ that picture you was telling about?”
“Oh, certainly,” exclaimed Miss Merton, touched by the appeal. She directed the thin little hand.
“It’s a big picture,” he said. “Where’s the sheep?”
The teacher directed his hand across each portion of the picture. The lesson had been about the Good Shepherd, and Tim insisted on every detail. As the parable was rehearsed and his hand was directed to the hills, the flocks, the big sheep in the foreground, the crook, and the Shepherd, his satisfaction grew. A sigh of pleasure escaped him. By the time that the story was done, all the teachers stood grouped about, for all were touched at the spectacle of the crippled boy. In the few weeks that he had attended, Tim had become greatly interested. A new world had opened to his blind eye. And yet he had not so far learned to bow his head at the times of prayer. For Tim had been taught none of the actions that accompany Christian ways. He was a saloon-keeper’s son.
Out on the street corner, the teachers and several pupils stood waiting for the street car. For this was an afternoon Sunday School at the little chapel in the heart of the great city. North and south along the street rose the stone fronts of the many houses, red, yellow, gray, brown, some new and some weather-beaten. They were interspersed here and there with a grocery, a delicatessen, a shop, or a saloon. The side streets were lined with pretty, cheerful cottages or tall, flat buildings—not very flat to the eye, for they were narrow and thin, even four stories high. But so they were called in the city. The little crippled figure led by pretty Louise, with her long curls, her handsome coat and hat, was trudging along the concrete walls. Now and then a carriage passed, or an auto whirred by. At last the proper car came banging to a stop, and the group of teachers climbed in, to be carried swiftly to their several destinations.
It was in one of these side streets that Tim found his home. Alas, he had seldom gone far from it. He had never shared the active hustling pleasures of boy life in the great city. From the front steps one could see in the distance a bit of open prairie. But Tim could almost number on his finger the times he had played on any grass except that in the backyard. For Mr. Rudiger took great pride in his home. Its fresh, cheery, yellow bricks were set off with white. The rear lot was green and beautiful in summer with well-kept grass, bushes, and flowers. But many an hour the neighbors saw the still figure of the blind boy, seated on the front porch, his only company his thoughts or the noises of the town. The fact that he was a saloon-keeper’s son had added deep and tender pathos to the lonely figure.
Late that evening Tim lay curled up and dozing in the big Morris chair. His mother sat rocking beside him. Louise had gone to bed. Tim had told over and over again about the afternoon at the chapel.
“Oh, yes, Tim,” said his mother, “you’ve got Sunday School on the brain.”
“Wish I could a took part in that Christmas program. S’pose I can’t.”
There was a rattle and bark outside the house. The dogs, Jim and Gyp, set up a howl in the kennel under the porch. No, it was not brother Alex. He had been gone since dinner.
The house was again disturbed by the homecoming of Mr. Rudiger. He always remained in his place of business very late. He had an idea, too, that robbers never attack a drunk man. So that he came home tonight with the receipts of the day, singing along the alley. He had just parted from some cronies, and came up the rear sidewalk with somewhat uncertain steps. His big mustache looked bigger still across his face red with excitement and with the night air. Tim was stirred up in the chair. Louise had to get up. The dogs let people know that they were awake. Even the parrot blinked and screeched. The house was all lit, the table set. And long into the night Louise played and sang, and those of the family who wanted to feasted at the table.
“Where’s that boy? Alex, I mean?” exclaimed Mr. Rudiger at last as he looked up from the Sunday paper he had been reading. “That boy runs everywhere.”
“Must be at Grandma’s,” answered his wife.
The house was at last quiet, and Tim tucked away in his bed. But excited, feverish, he was unable to sleep. At such times Tim was very quiet in the home. He little enjoyed these night festivities. Most of the night was gone before he could sleep, and the sun was bright and high on the day following before he was again seen in his place on the front porch.
The little lad made no answer, but the words had reached the ear of his mother, who was busy setting the house in order, and happened to be close to the open window. Mrs. Rudiger had been anxious all morning. Alex had never before remained away over night without permission. Her anxiety had grown steadily, and she was not without foreboding of ill. With a call to Louise, who had not yet set out for school, that she should take care of Tim, she set out for Mr. Rudiger’s place of business.
“Oh, pshaw! Boy’s trick,” was his instant declaration. But he called up the police station by telephone. No boy of such a name had been arrested. He was smiling scornfully as he turned to his wife; but just then Louise walked in, leading Tim. A message had come from Uncle Tom. Mr. Rudiger again called up the station and found that a load of prisoners, including some boys, had just gone away to the court. The message might be correct. Alex may not have given his true name. As Rudiger set out for the police court, Tim sat by him on the car. It had proven impossible to get away from Tim. Tim loved his brother tenderly, and a very sober look settled on the generally peaceful face. There were but few vehicles on the street at this time, hence the car went so fast that it soon reached the neighborhood of the court.
The police court was well filled with a queer crowd. Several blue-coated men stood about the sidewalk, the door, and the room. The dingy, dirty chairs were mostly filled with people not altogether pleasant to see. Haggard faces and sour looks were on every hand.
“Is he here?” was Tim’s whisper, as he pressed his father’s hand.
It was only too true that Alex was there. On a bench lined with prisoners, two ragged, hard-featured young fellows beside him, sat Alex, his head bowed in shame. He had not observed the new arrivals.
Tim could smell the stale tobacco. It did not need eyes to show him the dirty, overloaded spittoons. He could not see the high and dirty walls, the smoky ceiling all littered with cobwebs, the windows that had known no other cleaning but the dirty rain in many a day. The gas burned dimly over the desks and above, for the day was cloudy. The air was too bad for the light to burn clearly. Nor could he see the long, low desk, and the judge who sat with other court officials about him.
A case was called which did not at the moment interest him, but at which his father drew a quick breath. One of the boys at Alex’s side was called forward, the charges read, and testimony taken.
A hold-up! There was reason why Mr. Rudiger should start. A short examination revealed that the boy had been several times in court before. A leer and grin were on his face as he took his seat. The other of Alex’s companions was called, and the situation seemed much the same. He carried a dark and rebellious look as if he felt himself outrageously treated, and would say little.
Tim did not realize that Alex had been called until he heard his brother’s voice. At the word, he grasped his father’s hand in agitation, and slipped down from the seat. He stood by his father’s knee as Alex gave his testimony.
“Now,” said the judge, “tell us the truth.” He spoke kindly, and his look was encouraging, for he saw the boy was not of the class represented in the other two.
“We went down to Frost Street about dark,” said Alex, “near the crossing of the railroad, and stands there in a shady place. Soon there comes along a feller, and one of the boys he steps out and shows the gun, and the other goes thru his clothes. Then we starts up a alley by a big factory and cuts across to Grant Avenue. When we was walkin’ along, Pete sees some fellers across the street, and he says, ‘Plain clothes,’ joking like. Mike only laughs. Soon we comes to the corner of Baldwin Place, where there is an old yard for scrap iron and such things with a high fence all ’round. We was talkin’ and countin’ what was in the pocketbook, when the gates opened, and there was the plainclothes men, ready for us.”
Cross-examination brought out the fact that Alex had never before shared in such an undertaking. That he had gotten in with his associates at Sunday ball games, and had entered upon the plan for a lark. The judge then began to ask about his home and parents, but the answers were not willing. Tim suddenly stumbled his way forward, and before the astonished court the blind, crippled boy took his place by the side of Alex. He felt about until he found Alex.
“And who are you, my little man?” asked the judge.
“Please, sir, Alex is my brother.”
“And what’s your name?” At this Mr. Rudiger was compelled to present himself, and Alex’s identity was made clear. He tried to lead Tim away, but the judge interposed.
“Please, Judge,” said Tim, “Alex is my brother. We didn’t know where he was last night. I’m sure Alex didn’t mean no harm. He’s my only brother. I knowed they wasn’t good boys that was with him, ’cause I heard ’em talking with Alex. I’m blind and nobody asks me to come anyw’ere, but there’s lots of things to lead a boy where he oughtn’t to go. Alex helps me, Judge, ’cause I can’t see. Please, Judge, let him go this time, and I know he won’t do it again.”
The queer spectacle of the two lads, one tall and manly in form but bent with shame, the other crippled and weak, standing in the presence of the court hand in hand, drew every eye. The high, thin voice was heard distinctly in its plea, for the crowd was silent. The big, glowing, but sightless eyes were filled with earnestness, and finally a few tears began to trickle unheeded down across the weazened face.
“You’re quite a lawyer, my boy,” said the judge as he leaned back in his chair and looked at the two.
“Yes, Tim,” he continued after a moment, “if Alex will promise to keep out of mischief I will let him go this time.” There was a movement of satisfaction in the crowd. Alex’s two associates scowled, for they did not like it.
“And you are in the saloon business, Mr. Rudiger?” asked the judge. “The business you are in makes it impossible for you to bring up a boy rightly, either in the city or out of it. You may make an easy living, sir, but you are putting a fearful handicap upon your boys. As for this one,” said he, pointing to Tim, “God has mercifully sheltered him from the evil influences of this world, and in that fact he is fortunate, deformed as he may be in body and lacking in sight.”
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