Blind Tim
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-keptgrass, 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 somewhatuncertain 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.