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Tor, A Street Boy of Jerusalem

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<h1>TOR, A STREET BOY OF JERUSALEM</h1> <h2>By</h2> <h1>Florence Morse Kingsley</h1> <h1>CHAPTER I A STRANGER COMES TO TOWN</h1> Tor was hungry. Hunger was a common experience in Tor’s short life; he merely tightened the dingy rags about his middle and continued to stare at the group of sparrows quarreling noisily in the red dust of the street. It had occurred to Tor that the life of a sparrow must be vastly pleasanter than that of a boy. “They find plenty to eat,” he told himself enviously, as he hugged his lean little body. With a sudden impulse the child flung a pebble into the midst of the belligerents. The birds shook the dust from their ruffled feathers with noisy clamor of dismay, darted into the bright air, and disappeared far above the tops of the tallest houses. Tor laughed aloud as a second idea struggled with the first in his clouded brain; then he checked himself thoughtfully, and, winding his rags more closely about him, trotted noiselessly away down the street. Chelluh, the blind beggar, for more years than one could count on the fingers of both hands the undisputed proprietor of a snug corner just within the Damascus gate, was shaking his brazen cup after his daily custom. The cup rattled bravely, for certain coins had already been dropped therein by the charitable. “Have mercy, kind lords of Jerusalem; have mercy on the sorrows of one born blind!” chanted the beggar in his whining monotone. “Kind lords, beautiful ladies, only a denarius, I beseech of you, and may the blessings of heaven—” The blind man paused, his quick ear catching the sound of a hesitating footfall amid the hurrying steps which passed in and out at the open gate. “Now may Jove, Jehovah, and all lesser gods be gracious unto thee, noble sir,” he began. On a sudden this professional plaint broke into a bellow of anger and alarm. “Help! Thieves! Murder!” he cried. “My money—my hard-earned money! Some one has stolen my money!” No one appearing to pay the slightest heed to his outcries, the beggar beat upon the ground in a very fury of impotent rage. Tor, standing well out of range of the whirling staff, regarded the blind man with a pleased smile. For the moment he had quite forgotten that he was hungry. “Aha! my very good master,” he cried tauntingly, “and who is it who will fast to-day—ay, and perchance to-morrow!” At sound of the shrill childish voice the beggar sprang to his feet with a vile imprecation. “Is it thou, spawn of the dust, who hast dared rob me?” he screamed, making a vicious rush in the direction of the voice. “Come hither, that I may break every bone of thy thieving body!” “What if I choose not to be beaten?” inquired Tor, coolly evading the groping fingers of the beggar. “What if I will to exchange thy good coin for bread? Yesterday thou gav’st me naught save a beating; to-day I have had but a bellyful of curses. I tell thee I will serve thee no longer. May Jove, Jehovah, and all lesser gods be gracious unto thee!” With this mocking farewell the boy darted away, and, being for the moment almost as unseeing as his late master by reason of the hunger which tore him urgently, ran straight into the arms of a man who had been curiously watching the scene from the shelter of an archway. “Let me go!” shrieked Tor, striving with all his puny strength to writhe out of the powerful grasp of his captor. “Let me go, I say!” Then, like the little animal that he was, he twisted about and buried his sharp white teeth in the brown hand that held him. “Ouf! verily thou art a wolf-whelp!” cried the stranger, lightly cuffing the child’s ears. “Hold hard, small one, till I find how thy matters lie with the fellow yonder.” “Give the lad into the hand of his lawful master, and may heaven reward thee, noble sir,” cried Chelluh, making his way rapidly toward the two with the aid of his staff. “The boy is mine—alas, that I should have begotten such an undutiful one. Yet because of mine infirmity—I am helpless, as thou seest—yes, but give him into my hand and I will speedily requite him for robbing me of my last coin.” “Didst thou steal his money, boy?” asked the stranger, stooping to look into the child’s pinched face. “Yes,” said Tor, his big, bright eyes fixed upon the beggar in manifest terror. “I was hungry. Let me go or I will bite.” “Ah, little dog, thy teeth shall be broken for that word,” mumbled the beggar, feeling after the child with a ferocious chuckle. “Give him to me—ah!” “Not so fast, friend, not so fast,” said the stranger quietly, drawing the boy away from the grimy talons outstretched to seize him. “This is thy son, sayst thou? Why, then, is the child starving and naked, whilst thou art sleek and well covered? Why is he bruised and bleeding like the dog thou didst call him, whilst thou art whole?” The beggar bared his yellow teeth in a malevolent smile. “Why, herein is a marvel,” he said softly. “A noble stranger—for thy speech betrayeth thee, kind sir—come to Jerusalem for the passover, perchance, for love, for war—the gods alone know thine errand—but delaying his so honorable affairs, his so important business, to look to a blind beggar’s brat. Sacred fire, but I am bowed to the earth before thy most noble condescension, who am not worthy to touch the hem of thy honorable garment. I have said that the boy is mine. If he be hungry, if he be naked, if he be bruised—what is that to a stranger from Galilee? Truly, he is but a dog of the gutters, but even a dog hath eyes and may be useful to one in my misfortune.” “Wilt thou that I give thee into the hand of thy father?” asked the Galilean of the child, who no longer struggled to free himself. “The man is not my father,” mumbled Tor hopelessly. “He will kill me.” “Thou liest, my son, after thy custom,” put in Chelluh, with a triumphant chuckle. “It is easy to kill—yes, and there is no one to say me nay—easy, but not profitable. I shall but chasten thee for thy profit as is enjoined upon every son of Abraham. Permit me to salute thee, most honorable stranger, ’tis already over long that we keep thee from thy business—my son and I.” And, leaning forward as if to humbly kiss the stranger’s robe, the beggar laid violent hands on the trembling child. “Oho! I have my fingers on thee at last, rat of the gutter. Come now, and we will settle our matters! Five denarii, it was. Brr—Veil of the temple! what now?” The stranger had forcibly relaxed the clutch of the bony fingers. “Here is thy money,” he said, counting out from his broad palm the coins which the child passed over to him with a look of piteous appeal. “Five denarii, saidst thou. As for the lad, if he hath the proper love for thee he will doubtless return fast enough when thou art in kindlier temper; if not, thou art relieved of his keep. Come with me, boy, if thou wouldst eat.” “Thou art a swine!” screamed the beggar. “Dost hear me, Galilean? A swine—swine—swine! Thy father, also, and the father of thy father, thy mother—sacred fire! Help! Help!” The beggar lay sprawling in the dust, under a well-directed blow from the Galilean’s powerful fist. The stranger stood over him, breathing deep, his dark eyes flashing baleful fire. Then, shrugging his shoulders slightly and muttering certain strange words under his breath, he stooped, picked up the beggar quite gently, and set him in his place. “Here is thy staff, thy cup, and thy money, friend,” he said calmly, ignoring the torrent of imprecation which issued from the open month of the beggar like a foul stream. “My Master hath taught me that even such refuse as thou must be handled with love. But, hark ye, fellow, no man may defile the name of my mother and stand before Peter, the fisherman.” The beggar strained his sightless eyes after the departing footfalls. “Peter, the fisherman,” he repeated with a ferocious smile. “Ah, most honorable and never-to-be-forgotten benefactor, I humbly thank thy noble honor for relating to me thy name. May, Jove, Jehovah, and all lesser deities enable me to suitably requite the man, and I will offer of my gains a sacrifice—a yearling lamb, no less. I will, I swear it.” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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