Read Ebook: Blind Tim and other Christmas stories written for children by Solberg Charles O Charles Orrin

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Ebook has 361 lines and 20126 words, and 8 pages

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POEM

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?"

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.

Toward school time a group of boys hurrying by on the way to the school room, caught sight of Tim in the sunshine on the steps. One of them called out:

"Hello, Tim! Heard about Alex? He's down to the Avenue Station. Got pinched last night."

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."

"Yes, sir," said the judge in answer to a mumbled reply by Mr. Rudiger, "it's your business, and I wouldn't have your responsibility for all the world. That," said he, pointing to Tim, "is the only kind of boy you ought to have. Case dismissed." The chair creaked as the judge turned about and directed his attention to other affairs.

Nothing could measure the joy of Tim as he accompanied father and brother home. He insisted on being first to enter the house, trembling in his eagerness. But his mother was too overcome with shame to respond to the innocent lad. Alex was shamefaced and silent, and for a week or so scarcely showed himself on the street. Tim was very happy in his brother's company. They rolled and tossed in their play with the dogs, and Alex took him riding in a wagon up and down the sheltered alley.

But as time passed much occurred to trouble Tim. He had understood only the misfortune that had come upon his brother. Soon the unkind taunts upon the street taught him what shame meant. The bitter anger and even tears of Alex and the insults of the street boys impressed Tim very sadly. When Alex soon resumed his running about in spite of his promises, and was impudent to his mother when she protested, he was painfully perplexed. Then, too, little by little he came to see that his father's business was not respected, and the fact gave rise to many sad thoughts in the heart of the little blind boy.

It was a bright Saturday morning. The sun shone down from a clear sky, and as its glowing ball hung mideast, the rays beat with steady cheer along the gray line of asphalt pavement. It shone along the steel rails of the street-car track, worn bright by the constant passing of the cars. Earlier a gray mist had made all dim. Have you ever watched how the coming of the morning light, as it gradually brightens, changes a morning mist from the darkness as of clouds to a light, transparent film, which is almost ghastly? So on this morning the full light of day had come, not with one splendid outburst, as when the sun rises on a clear sky, but gradually, and it was not until several hours were gone that one fully realized that it was day.

Now the sun smiled in upon every dingy shop and store. No less than its cheer upon a mild winter day was the cheer and bustle of Christmas trade up and down the avenue. In the little show-window were crowded all the toys that little boys and girls love to look at. Along the walks here and there were to be seen masses of evergreen, where the grocer was displaying his stock of trees. But brighter even than the day, for no snow lay on the ground and it even seemed warm; brighter even than the good cheer of the shopkeeper, who sang out a welcome the minute you stepped into the door, came out rubbing his hands, and ready to tell about the wonderful articles he had to sell; brighter still was the good cheer of the children at their play. How happy they were in their Saturday freedom! How happy too, in their Christmas expectations. A company of them had gathered at a certain street crossing on the avenue described and were shouting and running merrily. It was tag and safe, shouts, jumps, and running. They were utterly fearless. And the driver shouted as they dashed under the very noses of the horses, and the motor-man scowled because it was the only thing he had time to do as they rushed past in front of his car.

This particular day had brought joy to the heart of little Tim, also. Louise had led him over to the busy street, and he was now seated on the horse block in front of a house at the crossing mentioned above. Mama had gone away on one of those mysterious journeys mamas will make before Christmas.

Alex was among the boys and girls who were running and shouting about the street, and Tim's face shone as he sat, looking intent but seeing nothing, and yet following keenly every movement and sound. He smiled to the passer-by and shouted to the children at play. Every now and then some one came near and spoke to him. Miss Merton, his smiling teacher at the Sunday School, happened to pass by, and of course patted him on the head and spoke.

No street-car had passed for some time. There was some delay up the line. A small crowd of people had collected who wanted to go down town. They watched the play as they waited. Suddenly one of the boys, who had noticed the waiting people called out:

"There she comes!"

"Must a been some trouble," said another.

"Aw--you're a slow one!" shouted a little fellow, shaking his fist toward the car, which came hustling down the slope of the long hill, bounding along as if by jumps, behind time and in a hurry. Suddenly, just as the car approached the crossing, a wagon drove in from the cross street.

Clang, clang, clang!

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