Well, good-by, Mahs'r Bob, sah; when you's nuffin' else to HOW TIM'S PRAYER WAS ANSWERED. "It's a staving night for a supper, a hot supper, too!” said Tim Mulligan to himself, as he stood on the street corner, in the piercing wind and sleet. 66 A staving night," he reiterated, as he peered wistfully into the bakery windows across the way. He had not had any dinner at all, and not enough breakfast to say sonothing but a crust or two that he had picked up. A little humpbacked, stunted figure, with dull blue eyes, and thin, peaked face surmounted by a brimless hat; his clothes — evidently odds and ends, for the pants were too large and long, while the coat-sleeves came scarcely below his elbows, and the garment would not begin to button around him, that was Tim. 66 It's a bad night," he said, as a gust of wind nearly took him off his feet. "The worst I ever knew," which was saying a good deal, for Tim had known some pretty rough nights in the course of his short life. "There isn't much show of my getting anything to-night. Guess I'd better be turnin' in, pervided nobody's gone and took possession of my 'stablishment.” But just as Tim was bracing himself up to face the storm, some one came driving down street at a furious rate, stopping so close to Tim that he took a step to get out of the way. 66 'Here, bub, hold my horse for me, ," said the clergyman, springing out; and handing the lines to Tim, he disappeared. "Mebbe he'll give me as much as - five cents," thought Tim, when he had thoughtfully obeyed. "If he does, I'll have a plate of hot beans and biscuits. P'r'aps he'll give me ten. Wouldn't I have a reg'lar square meal then? But 'taint likely." Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Tim's hands were pretty thoroughly benumbed when at last the gentleman returned in as much haste as he had gone away. "Here's something for you," he said, dropping a couple of coins into Tim's hand, then springing into his buggy. Tim went under the nearest gaslight to examine. 66 Je-ru-sa-lum!" he gasped, as he saw two bright silver dimes in his rather grimy hands. Twenty cents seemed a small fortune to Tim, for there were so few things a poor little bunchback like him could do. He would have such a supper, baked beans, biscuit, and a cup of coffee, and even a doughnut; he could have all that, and still have some money left for to-morrow. The richest man in the whole great city would have felt poor beside Tim, as clutching his treasure, he crossed the street. There crouching in the shadow of a doorway, he spied two miserably forlorn little figures. "Hullo!" he said. 66 What you doin' here?" "Nuthin," replied the oldest, briefly. "What makes you stay here then? Why don't you go home?" continued Tim. 66 66 Haint got none," was the reply; and then feeling the hearty, though unspoken sympathy of one of their own sort, the little waif added, as he drew his jacket-sleeve across his eyes, They carried mother up to the graveyard, yonder," pointing in the direction of the pauper burial ground, "and we hasn't anybody now, nor nowheres to stay." As Tim stood deliberating, the bakery door opened and a most appetizing odor came out, reminding Tim of his promised treat. 66 66 Hungry?" he asked. "You bet!" was the inelegant but emphatic response. Tim reflected on his own real good fortune. He could get biscuits, cold beans, and perhaps doughnuts enough for them all. "Tell you what, fellers," he said magnificently. "I was just a-goin' to order my bill of fare. I'll increase my order a little, have a party and invite you two. As it's rather suddint, we won't none of us bother 'bout party cloes. 'Greeable?" "Reckon we air," was the quick response. Tim made a dive for the bakery, trying hard not to smell the coffee, nor think how much better a plate of hot beans would be than the same cold. 66 'Now," he said, reappearing, “all aboard. Follow me sharp." You may be sure the two little ragamuffins did as they were bidden. 66 'Taint much further," said Tim, at length. "I'm a little s'lect in my tastes, you see, so I live rather out of the way o' folks," laughed he. Presently they struck the railroad, and then, in a few minutes, he stopped before an unused, dilapidated flag house. 66 Walk in," he asked, politely holding open the door, which was only a plank. There certainly was not much room to spare when they were all in, but then they were sheltered, and all the warmer for being obliged to keep close together. 66 Reckon we'd better interduce before grub, hadn't we? I'm Tim Mulligan - at your service, an' happy to meet you." "The boys in the alley call us Speckle-Face and RedTop. I'm Speckle-Face, and he's Red-Top," said the spokesman. 66 'Now we're all right, and old friends," said Tim, complacently. "Let's pitch in." He had spread the contents of his parcels on an old box, and without waiting for another invitation, didn't they "pitch in!" Tim watched them with solid satisfaction, contenting himself with one small biscuit and half a doughnut. "I'm not so very pertic'ler about beans. Guess I won't indulge to-night," he said. It did not take very long to clear up, even to the last crumb of Tim's spread. Now, sirs," said the brave little host, when it was gone and his guests showed signs of departing, "my accommerdations are not so very grand, but they're better than the storm. You'd better stop over night." As his guests made no remonstrance to this suggestion, he made ready a bed for them, a little straw and a part of an old blanket. "You bundle up together, and you'll stand it, I guess," said Tim. "You're an awful good feller," said Speckle-Face, grate fully, as he pulled the blanket up round him, and in less than five minutes both were sound asleep. It was cold over by the door, which did not quite fit, and Tim missed his blanket, but did not say anything. Something came to him as he lay there shivering. Sometimes he had crept into a church because it was warm there; he had caught at such times snatches of sermons about One who once lived on earth, was homeless, poor, and lonely"like us fellers," thought Tim. But now this mysterious One was great, rich, and powerful, and had a beautiful home. And those who would love and try to please Him could go and live with Him. He thought it over, as the bitter wind and storm came through the cracks upon him. He drew as far away as possible, up beside his little visitors, who lay sleeping so peacefully. "I wonder if Jesus'd listen to a poor hunchy like me." And clasping his stiff little hands, Tim knelt and made his first prayer: "Dear Lord, I don't know who you are, nor where you live, but I wish you'd take me to your home, for I am so tired, hungry, and cold. And I'll do everything I can, if you'll tell me how. Won't you please take me? Amen." Then Tim lay down again, and somehow he did not mind the cold as before. "I-wonder when-He'll take me get there," he thought dreamingly. It was broad daylight before the two little visitors awoke, threw off the blanket and sat up. "Hello!" said Speckle-Face, but Tim did not stir. "Hello!" piped Red-Top. Then Speckle-Face shook him, but still Tim's eyes did not open, and Red-Top, putting his hand out on his face, started back in terror. "He's cold, like she was," he sobbed. Tim's prayer had been answered; he had gone to that home where they shall hunger no more. And I think he had found that, inasmuch as he had done it unto the least of earth's sorrowing ones, he had done it unto Him. LITTLE ROCKET'S CHRISTMAS. I'LL tell you how the Christmas came To Rocket no, you never met him, And who was Rocket? Well, an urchin, A father once he had, no doubt, An ash-box served him for a bed As good, at least, as Moses' rushes — And for his daily meat and bread, He earned them with his box and brushes. An Arab of the city's slums, With ready tongue and empty pocket, Unaided left to solve life's sums, But plucky always-that was Rocket! 'Twas Christmas eve, and all the day The snow had fallen fine and fast; In banks and drifted heaps it lay Along the streets. A piercing blast Blew cuttingly. The storm was past, And now the stars looked coldly down Upon the snow-enshrouded town. |