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’s frettin’.”

  Dick’s face darkened angrily.

  “Who made you boss over me?” he shouted, springing from his seat with a 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 the two boys.

  “There’s no row, an’ nothin’ to get mad about,” said Theo, trying to speak quietly. “Dick’s mother’s frettin’, an’ I asked him to go home with me. That’s all there is about it.”

  “An’ enough it is too,” exclaimed one of the boys. “Dick’s big enough to know when to go home, ain’t he?”

  “What’s he got to do with me or my mother?” growled Dick, “I’ll go home when I get good an’ ready, an’ not before.”

  “An’ it’s time for you to go home now!” exclaimed the proprietor 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. Now clear out—d’ye hear?”

  Seeing that it was useless to stay longer, Theo departed, followed by taunting cries and yells, from all in the room.

  He went gloomily homeward, telling himself that he had been a fool to try to do anything for Dick Hunt. Dick was “no good anyhow.” But, as he passed her door, Mrs. Hunt opened it and peered anxiously out. Her eyes were red and swollen, and she turned back with a disappointed air as she saw Theo. The next moment however, she stepped out into the hall, 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,” she moaned, “his father’s gone to look for him, an’ if he finds him there he’ll most kill him—he’s that mad with the boy for the way he’s been goin’ on lately.”

  Theo stood silent, not knowing what to say, and then Mrs. Hunt turned back into the room while he went up another flight to his. He had just reached his own door when he heard loud, angry voices accompanied by scuffling sounds on the stairs below, and he knew that Mr. Hunt had found Dick, and was bringing him home.

  After Theodore had gone out, Nan had put all the flowers into two big dishes with plenty of water, and the next morning she was up early and separated them, putting together two or three pinks or a rose with its buds and a bit of foliage, or a cluster of geranium blossoms and green leaves.

  When Theo came for them she laid the small clusters carefully in a basket, and sprinkled them with fresh water, then as she stooped and buried 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 make them all with these beautiful, lovely flowers.”

  “I’ll begin with you,” laughed the boy. “Pick out the ones you like best.”

  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, and fixing them, beside my pot of geranium. That’s plenty for me.”

  Theodore looked critically at her, then at the blossoms; then he picked out three delicate pink carnations.

  “No, no! Please don’t, Theo,” began the girl, but with a laughing glance at her, Theodore laid the blossoms in Little Brother’s small white fingers, and hurried away.

  He went first to Tommy O’Brien’s room. The sick boy’s weary face brightened at sight of him, but it fairly beamed when Theodore held up the basket saying, “Choose any one of ‘em Tommy—the very prettiest of all.”

  “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 the basket to see and exclaim over the contents.

  Tommy chose a spray of lily of the valley and Theo added a pink rose and bud. Then he gave a blossom to each of the children and to their mothers as well, and went away leaving softened faces and smiles in place of frowns and sullen words.

  The old woman whose breakfast was so often forgotten was not alone to-day. Her daughters were at home, but they were not paying much attention to her. At first she peered stupidly with her half-blind eyes 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 it up and laid it in the wrinkled, trembling hands. The old woman held the blossoms against her withered cheek, then she pressed them to her lips, and two big tears rolled slowly down her face.

  “La! Ma’s cryin’ over them vi’lets. Here Tode, gi’ me some o’ them bright ones. Gi’ me a rose!” cried one of the young women, and Theo handed each of them a rose and went away in silence. He glanced back as he left the room. The old woman was still holding the violets to her cheek and it was plain, even to the boy, that her thoughts were far away.

  So, from room to room he went and nowhere did he fail of a glad welcome, because of the gifts he offered. In the dirtiest rooms, the most hardened of the women, the roughest and rudest of the children, seemed to become momentarily gentle and tender when the flowers were laid in their hands.

  When all had been given away except one rose, Theodore paused and considered. There were several rooms that he had not visited. To which of these should he carry this last rose?

  Not to Old Man Schneider surely. He was standing at the moment outside Old Man Schneider’s door. The old man was the terror of all the children in the house, so ugly and profane was he, and so hideous to look at. Fearless as Theodore was—the sight of Old Man Schneider always made him shudder, and the boy had never yet spoken to him.

  While he stood there trying to decide who should have the rose, he heard a deep, hollow groan, and surely it came from the room of Old Man Schneider. Theodore stood still and listened. There came another groan and another, and then he knocked on the door. There was no response 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. It looked as if it never had been clean. The only furniture was a tumble-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 on the boy and roughly demanded what he wanted, but even as he spoke he groaned 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 of angry 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 of place in that squalid room—but—beautifully out of place, for it seemed 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 a threatening fist, but his arm dropped weakly, and in spite of himself he moaned with pain.

  “Can’t I bring a doctor or somebody to help you?” the boy asked gently.

  “Ain’t nobody ter help me. Don’t I tell ye I hate everybody?” was the fierce reply.

  Theodore gazed about him. There seemed nothing that he could do. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and laid the beautiful rose against the dark, knotted fingers on the ragged bed-covering, and then he went away, closing the door behind him. Stopping only to put his basket into his room and lock the door, he hurried off to the dispensary and asked that a doctor be sent to Old Man Schneider as soon as possible. He waited until the doctor was at liberty and then returned with him. There was no response to their knock, and again Theodore opened the door and went in, the doctor following.

  The old man did not move or look up even when the doctor spoke to him. He lay as Theo had last seen him only that his fingers were closed tightly over the stem of the rose, and one crimson petal lay on the pillow close to the sunken cheek. The old man was dead—but who could 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 not passed by Old Man Schneider’s door.

  IX. Theo in Trouble

  Theo went regularly now to the mission school on Sunday afternoons, and Mr. Scott had become much interested in him.

  One day Mr. Scott pleased Theo immensely by going to the boy’s stand and getting his lunch there, and not long after he went one evening to the boy’s room. He found the place dark and the door locked, but as he was turning away, Theo came running up the stairs.

  “Oh!” he cried out, in a tone of pleased surprise, as he saw his teacher. “Wait a minute an’ I’ll get a light.”

  Having lighted his lamp, the boy sat down on the cot, giving the broken stool to his visitor. Mr. Scott’s heart was full of sympathy as he glanced around the forlorn little room and remembered that it was all the home that the boy had.

  “Theodore,” he said, after talking a while, “what do you do evenings?”

  “Oh, sometimes I stay in Nan’s room, an’ sometimes I drop in an’ talk to Tommy O’Brien or some of the other sick ones in the house, an’ sometimes I go somewheres outside. Saturday nights I help at a flower stand.”

  “Why don’t you go to an evening school? I think that would be the best place for you to spend your evenings,” said Mr. Scott.

  This was a new idea to the boy. He thought it over in silence.

  Mr. Scott went on, “It’s not your fault, Theodore, that you have had no schooling, thus far, but now, you can go to an evening school and it will be your fault if you grow up ignorant. You will be able to do far more and better work in the world, with an education, than without one. The more you know yourself the better you can help others, you see.”

  “Yes,” sighed the boy. “I guess that’s so, but I ‘spect I’ll find it tough work learning.”

  “I’m not so sure of that. It will be rather hard at first, because you’re not used to studying; but I think you are bright enough to go ahead pretty fast when you once get a good start. Now who is this girl, that I’ve heard you mention several times—Nan is her name?”

  “Oh, yes, Nan. Come on, I want you to see her an’ our baby,” replied the boy, eagerly.

  Somewhat uncertain as to what kind of a girl this might be, yet anxious to know as much as possible about Theo’s associates and surroundings, Mr. Scott followed the boy down the stairs.

  “Nan, here’s my teacher, Mr. Scott, come to see the baby,” Theodore exclaimed, as he unceremoniously pushed open the door and ushered in the visitor.

  Mr. Scott was more taken aback than was Nan, at this abrupt introduction. The girl coloured a little, but quietly arose and shook hands with the gentleman, while Theo exclaimed:

  “Good! Little Brother ain’t asleep yet. This is our baby, Mr. Scott. Ain’t he a daisy? Take him.”

  Now, Mr. Scott was a young man and totally unused to “taking” babies, but the boy had lifted the little one from the bed and was holding him out to his teacher with such a happy face that the young man felt that it would never do to disappoint him. So he received the baby gingerly in both hands and set him on his knee, but he did not know what to say or do to amuse the child, and it was an immense relief to him when Little Brother held out his hands to Theo, and the boy took him again saying,

  “Ye don’t know him yet, do ye, Little Brother? You will though, by ‘n’ by,” wherein Theo was more of a prophet than he imagined.

  Relieved of the child, Mr. Scott turned to Nan and the colour rose in his face as he saw a gleam of amusement in the girl’s dark eyes, but Theo’s ready tongue filled up the momentary pause, and soon all three were chatting like old friends, and when Mr. Scott took his departure, it was with the conviction that his new scholar was fortunate in having Nan for a friend. At the same time he realised that this great tenement with its mixed community was a most unsuitable place for a girl like Nan, and determined that she should be gotten into better surroundings as soon as it could be accomplished.

  His interest in Theodore was deepened by this visit to his room and friends. He felt that there was something unusual in the boy, and determined to keep watch of him and give him any needed help.

  It was November now and the night was chilly. As Mr. Scott left the tenement house he buttoned his thick overcoat about him, and shivered as he thought of Theodore’s bare cot, with not a pillow or a blanket even.

  “Not a single bit of bedding,” he said, to himself, “and no fire! That will never do, in weather like this.”

  The next day he mentioned the case to the aunt with whom he lived, with the result that a couple of pillows and a warm comforter were sent before night to Nan’s room, addressed to Theodore Bryan, and for the remainder of the winter the boy at least did not suffer from cold at night.

  Theodore grew to like his teacher much as the weeks passed, and often after Sunday-school the two walked home together. Some of the boys that had been longer in the class rather resented this friendship, the more so as Theo was by no means popular among them just at this time.

  “He’s gettin’ too good, Tode Bryan is,” one of them said, one Sunday. “He walked home with teacher last week, an’ now he’s a doin’ it again.” He glanced gloomily after the two, as he spoke.

  “I’d like ter punch his head; that’s what I’d like to do,” put in another. “He pitched inter me for swearin’ t’other day.”

  “He’s a fine one to talk ‘bout swearin’,” added a third. “I’ve heard him goin’ it hot an’ heavy many a time.”

  “Oh yes, but he’s settin’ up fer a saint now, ye know,” said Dick Hunt, scornfully. “I owe him a lickin,’ an’ he’ll get it too ‘fore he’s many days older.”

  “What for, Dicky?” questioned another.

  “What for? For blabbin’ to my daddy an’ sendin’ him to Todd’s after me, the night he come sneakin’ in there himself,” cried Dick. “I’ve been layin’ for him ever since, an’ I’ll give it to him good, first chance I get.”

  “He goes to night school now,” remarked one.

  “Oh, yes, he’s puttin’ on airs all ‘round,” returned Dick. “I’ll night school him!” he added, vengefully.

  It was not long before Dick found an opportunity to execute his threats of vengeance. He was loafing on a street corner, with Carrots and two other boys, one night, when Theodore passed them on his way home from school. He nodded to them as he went by, but did not stop. Dick’s eyes followed him with a threatening glance until he saw him turn through a narrow street. Then Dick held a brief conference with Carrots and the other two, and all four set off hastily in the direction that Theodore had taken.

  He, meantime, went on whistling cheerily and thinking pleasant thoughts, for he was beginning to get on at the school, and better yet, he had in his pocket at that moment, a five-dollar bill that meant a great deal to him.

  Ever since his return from the bishop’s house, he had been working as he never had worked before, neglecting no opportunity to earn even a nickel, and every penny that he could possibly spare he had given to Nan to keep for him. He had been perfectly frank with her, and she knew that as soon as he had saved up thirty-seven dollars he meant to carry it to the bishop for Mrs. Russell, and tell him the whole story. First, to stop all his wrongdoing and then as far as possible, to make up to those he had wronged—these were Theodore’s firm purposes now, but he felt that he could never bear to face the bishop again until he could take with him the proof of his genuine repentance.

  Many and many a time in these past weeks, had the boy planned with Nan how he would go to the house and what he would say to the bishop, and what he hoped the bishop would say to him, and Nan had rejoiced almost as much as the boy himself as, week by week, the sum in her hands grew toward the desired amount. Even Nan did not know all the hard work and stern self-denial that had made it possible for Theodore to put by that money out of his small earnings.

  The five in his pocket on this evening would complete the entire sum and the very next day he meant to carry it to the bishop. The mere thought of seeing again the face that was to him like no other face in all the world—filled the boy’s heart with a deep, sweet delight. He was thinking of it as he hurried along through a short, dark alley, where were only two or three stables and one empty house.

  Quick, stealthy footsteps followed him, but he paid no heed to them until a heavy blow on the back of his head made him suddenly turn and face four dark figures that were close at his heels. “Who are you? What ye hittin’ me for?” he demanded, angrily.

  There was no response, but Dick struck at him again. This time, however, Theodore was on his guard, and he caught Dick’s arm and gave it a twist that made its owner cry out.

  “Oh ho, it’s you, Dick Hunt. I might a’ known nobody else would sneak up on a feller this way. Well, now, what are ye after?”

  “I’m after givin’ you the worst lickin’ ever you had,” muttered Dick, trying in vain to free his arm from Theo’s strong grip.

  “What for?” demanded Theodore.