The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVII, Issue 19, 11 May 1899, Page 23

The Storyteller.

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<JI M . '

It was a wet, cold December evening. A thick, unwholesome fog was rapidly closing in, veiling in dark shrouds the streets of the great metropolis in the neighbourhood of Notting Hill. The lighted lamps shone dimly like bleared stars poised in a firmament that was anything but celestial. Hurrying along the almost deserted pavement of v small side street was a little boy, one hand thrust into a ragged pocket, while' with the other he pulled his thin jacket together to keep out the biting wind. In so doing the holes in the back of his wretched garment were torn still more, anl the rags beneath were not even sufficient to cover the little body. Jim was only twelve years old, but in those years he had faced the stern realities of a life of terrible poverty, and in his little weazened face were lines that toid a sad story of want and neglect. Jim was puzzling out an oft-repeated problem — how was the family supper to be provided ? He had only succeeded in gettig one job all day, and with twopence-halfpenny in his pocket he was going horne — home to a sick and widowed mother and a tribe of starving brothers and sisters. Things were at a deadlock, and Jim had long ago realised that no one wanted an errand boy whose clothes left knees and elbows bare, and whose toes were peeping out of boots that courtesy only entitled to the name. The top of the street was illumined by the blaze of the flaring gas-jets of a public-house opposite the door of which a woman stood singing. She was carrying one child and two or three more dragged at her ragged skirts. The ring of despair in her feeble voice would have moved any listener to ipity, but audience she had none, and the words died away unnoticed. ' Lor !' exclaimed Jim, 'if it ain't mother. Why, mother, I thought you was at 'ome.' ' I felt better this afternoon, Jim,' -replied the woman, •so I corned out to see if I could get a few pence. The children are crying for summat to eat end there's nowt to give 'em.' ' Best come 'ome now, mother ; I've got a few coppers. We'll git some bread.' ' Ketch 'old o' Bella, will 'cc Jim ? She's awful tired and perished wi' cold.' They turned away and the fog wrapped them in its icy folds. That evening Jim's mother sat up mending his tattered jacket, while he read scraps out of a newspaper he had picked up. As he spelt out the words to himself he came upon an announcement in which it was stated that the possessor of the current issue of the paper thereby insured his life for £100, which would be paid to his next-of-kin if he was accidentally killed while the paper was in his pocket. Jim did not understand all the long words, but as he would have said, he ' twigged what they meant,' and he thought a great deal over it. A hundred pounds I A fortune ! A fabulous amount. ' Mother 1 ' he exclaimed suddenly. Has the Queen got a hundred pounds ? ' ' Gracious, boy, why she's got mints and mints o' glistenin' gold. What makes you ask ? ' 'I was just wondering,' said Jim, and as at this moment the spluttering caudle went out he crept away to bei on the heap of straw where his two younger brothers were already sleeping soundly. Jim, however, slept but little. A great idea had entered into his head by which he hoped to benefit his family. He had had plans so often, hitherto always unsuccessful, but this one was really great and could not fail. It involved a sacrifice, but his childish mind did not grasp the extent of it or the terrible nature of his idea if carried to fulfilment. Next morning Jim went out once more to try and earn a bare subsistence. He made his way towards the more crowded thoroughfares, keeping a sharp look out aa he went. Suddenly a notice in a shop attracted him. ' Wanted — a boy.' ' I answer that description,' thought Jim, and he ventured into Mr. May's grocery establishment The shop was full of customers and he stood on one side to wait for a favourable opportunity of presenting himself. 1 Now then, young rascal, what do you want ? Pen'orth o' candles ? Out of the way I' shouted the busy grocer as he caught sight of Jim. ' Please, sir, I'm a boy,' began Jim, standing cap in hand. 'So I see. There are too many of your kind about. What ! Is the notice still up in the window. Bless my soul. What trouble you young scamps do give one to be sure. There, out you go I I don't want you.' Snatching the card out of its place against a row of bottles he elbowed Jim out of the shop. Full of disappointment he stood for a moment looking disconsolately into the street when he heard a voice behind him. ' What did you want in the shop, little boy V He turned and saw a little girl of about his own age, but his aexact opposite in appearance, as she was well and warmly dressed, *and her chubby cheeks shone like rosy apples. ' I wanted a job, Miss,' replied Jim. 'To carry a parcel or summat o' that.' ' Papa could not give you any parcels to carry,' she answered gravely. ' Your clothes are not good enough, and your hands are so very dirty. But you may have my orange, 'cos I've got two.' She thrust the orange into his hand and ran away. Jim was very grateful to his little friend, and prompted by her remark as to the state of his hands, he went to a pump hard by and washed them. He then returned to the neighbourhood of the grocer's Bhop, hoping his benefactress might chance to see that his once grimy fingers were now almost as pink as her own, Sure

enough the first thing he saw as he came round the oorner was Mr. May standing in his doorway, holding his little daughter by the I hand. 1 Father,' she said, ' there's the boy whose boots are broken. His hands are clean now, though.' Jim grinned and pulled his forelock. ' You're the boy who was here just now,' cried May in his hasty way. ' I won't have you hanging about. Be off 1' ' Please, sir,' said Jim respectfully, ' I didn't come to beg, only to ask if you could let me do an errand for you. Do, sir, for pity's sake.' • Yes, father, do let liiui ; he does want to,' put in Jim's little friend. ' What a child you are to coax your daddy,' replied the grocer fondly. ' Well, boy, you can take this parcel then ; wait for an answer, and come back sharp, or I'll make it hot for you.' On arriving at the house to which he had been sent, Jim was told by a servant who eyed him scornfully that he might wait in a small outer room, and perched upon an empty box he made himself as comfortable as he could and had plenty of time to remember how hungry he was. He took out his orange, smelt it, pinched it, and even nibbled a little bit of the peel off near the top, but he would not eat it now while he was on duty, and as he thrust his hand into his pocket he felt the scrap of newspaper which he had kept carefully after reading it on the previous evening. All his great plan rushed back into his mind with renewed force. He thought of the wretchedness of his home, his poor sick mother with her starving children and the aching disappointments that each day met every effort to earn enough to stop the craving for food. Jim felt convinced that it lay in his power to rescue those he loved from this distress, and for them he thought out his plan to the end, even to him a bitter end. Jim turned home happier that evening, for Mr. May, though he rated him for being so slow, had givea him threepence, which goes a long way when carefully laid out. The golden fortune of whioh the paper spoke recurred continually to his mind. He passed a church on his way home where the choir were practising for Sundey, and attracted by the singing he went in and sat down in a corner to listen. The melody rose and fell till the whole air seemed filled with heavenly voices ; a delicious drowsiness crept over him and he felt himself in a world where everyone was warmed and fed and had nothing left to wish for. Then the voices ceased, there was a noisy clatter of feet, a door swung back and there was silence. Jim roused himself. Why should not this Paradise be his t Yet how I A large illustrated text caught his eye. ' Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.' Again his hand rubbed against the newspaper containing the insurance coupon. What was this that tempted him ? Why must he think of it ? The atmosphere of the church was soothing and brought with it a sensation of ease. His head slipped back and a chansre came over his wan, white face as he passed into the unconsciousness of sleep. He seemed to be walking in a beautiful garden, where all was bright, where the air was soft and fragrant and the flowers rich in colour and profusion. He looked round and saw an angel by his side, who smiled upon him so that he had no fear, and together they walked through the garden. Many of the flower-beds were quite filled, but presently they came to one which had only just been planted. The angel stopped, and Jim, looking at the flowers, seemed to fancy he had seen some like them before. He was filled with wonder, and then the angel explained it all to him. ' This is the garden of your soul, my child. Every good aot of your life lives here for ever as a beautiful flower. Your garden is as yet young and unplanted, and you must daily endeavour to sow good seed in it, and do your life-work on earth bravely and well.' The words seemed to echo through the air as the vision became dim and faded away. Jim rubbed his eyes and opening them met the kindly glance of a Sister who was bending over him. ' You are tired, my child,' she said, ' yet the church is not to sleep in.' ' Where is my garden ?' he said. ' Where am I V Quietly she drew from him the story of his dream, then noticing the paper in his hand she led him to open all his heart to her, he half wondering the while whether he was still dreaming. The Sister's face grew very grave and pitying when she understood the terrible significance of the idea that had crept into the boy 'B innocent mind, and gently she pointed out to him the dreadful error of his misguided fancy. ' You are my angel,' said Jim, as he clung to her and knew that help had indeed come to him. ' I never thought of the wrong it would be, and only meant mother to save the money if I got into an accident. Come home with me, do, Sister ; don't leave me, I'm frightened.' The Sister went home with him, and thanks to the interest she excited on behalf of the poor child, brighter days dawned, and the dire distress was over, and Jim always looks back with thankfulness to the day of his dream and his rescue by his life-long friend, Sister Agnes. — Catholic Fireside,