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Tor, A Street Boy of Jerusalem

<h1>CHAPTER IV “THE KING, MY MASTER!”</h1> The sun was setting behind the mountains before hunger, more potent than even the temple police with its flail-like rods of office, had cleared the great court of the temple. The sick and blind, the maimed and palsied had gone away restored, the multitude, sated with miracle and weary of shouting, followed. The Nazarene himself, looking more worn and thoughtful than his wont, also departed with the twelve, his disciples bearing themselves haughtily under the angry eyes of the priests. At last their Master had declared himself before the nation. All the city had heard the royal acclamation. The promised reign of the house of David was about to be restored in Jerusalem. Already they felt themselves to be princes and governors in a kingdom of unimagined splendor. Peter, the Galilean, as he followed with the others after the pale, potent worker of miracles, who was also a King, became aware of a determined clutch upon his abba, and, looking down, beheld with amazement and displeasure the small, pinched face of Tor. “I have nothing for thee, beggar,” he said quickly, and pulled his garment impatiently away from the child’s clinging touch. “Nay, but I am not begging,” said Tor, in nowise abashed. “The man—yonder—is he thy Master?” “What is that to thee?” frowned the future prince of Israel. “Get thee gone, the King is passing.” “The King—thy Master—healed me but now of blindness,” persisted the child. “What is his name? Nay, I will not loose thee till I know.” “His name is Jesus,” said Peter unwillingly. “Now begone.” “I will not,” said Tor positively, “for I also have chosen him for my Master.” But he loosed his hold on the man’s garment and fell back a few paces. “I shall follow him,” he told himself simply. Just what he expected from his new Master Tor could have told no one. He did not put the question to himself. He was again both hungry and thirsty; but he had cared little for either hunger or thirst in his evil past. Now he tightened the rags cheerfully about his middle in the old familiar way and trotted noiselessly after the little group of men, in the midst of which walked his Master. The child was trying dully to recall what the Galilean had said concerning this man on the day he had delivered him out of the hand of Chelluh by the Damascus gate. The thought of Chelluh brought a new purpose uppermost. “When I find a convenient season from following my Master I will return and beat the blind beggar even as he beat me,” he promised himself, with a new and savage joy in his restored sight. “He that hath eyes is truly a god, and to know this one might well be blind for a season.” His new Master, surrounded by his little guard, had passed quite out of the city by this time, and all were walking swiftly on one of the level Roman roads which bound Jerusalem to its heathen Emperor. Tor followed unperceived in the gathering dusk of evening. After a little the party reached a small village, entered it, and paused before a large and beautiful garden enclosure, where they were evidently expected, for they were immediately admitted and the doors shut fast behind them. Tor marked the place well, then, not knowing what else to do, he returned to Jerusalem, found Baladan, and spent the night in one of his old haunts near the Damascus Gate. When the child awoke in the morning the marvelous events of the previous day floated before his wide eyes like the misty fragments of a half-forgotten dream. “Was I indeed blind?” he asked himself; “or was that also an evil dream of night?” Baladan’s anxious whine recalled him more fully to his waking senses, and he sprang up to find Dan shying olive-stones at him from a neighboring wall. “Sleepy-head!” quoth the gamin, discharging another volley of stones. “Look you, lad, there is much to be seen in Jerusalem to-day—if, indeed, the man restored thy sight—the passover pilgrims are coming in by thousands. I have already begged breakfast for me and for thee.” “I can see as well as ever,” said Tor briefly. “But I must first find my Master. Give me the loaf and I will go.” “Beggar!” cried Dan, tossing his comrade a fragment of a loaf and half a dozen olives, “what hast thou to do with a King? Come, we will lead a merry life this week; the pilgrims are laden with goods, and one with light fingers and lighter heels need lack nothing.” The boy snapped his brown fingers and executed a sort of savage dance in the exuberance of his spirits. “He said, ‘Do not beat thine enemy; but if thine enemy smite thee, let him smite thee again, if he will,’ ” said Tor, munching his bread reflectively. “There is Chelluh; he hath beaten me, not once nor twice only, but many times.” “Who said ‘Do not smite thine enemy’?” demanded Dan, staring. “My Master said it. He said it to the Galilean, not to me. I will, therefore, beat Chelluh; also I will steal his money and give it to my Master.” “My Master—my Master!” mocked Dan. “How dost thou know that the man will have thee for a servant?” “I do not know; but if I will serve him, then will he be my Master whether he will or no. And I will serve him. I have said it.” “How?” persisted Dan. Tor stared about him reflectively. “I will bring him blind folks to heal,” he said at last. “I can do that.” “Thou art a rare fool,” said Dan conclusively. “I am off for the pilgrim encampment outside the walls. Look you, beggar, when thou art through with serving the King, thy Master, thou wilt find me there eating the fat and drinking the sweet,” and with a laugh of scorn the boy darted away. Left to himself, Tor sat for a long time deep in thought; an astonishing picture had presented itself to his mind, born out of the unseen whence cometh every good and perfect thing in all the visible world. The child seemed to see himself leading his old master, Chelluh, to the healing King, and Chelluh, restored to sight, crying, “Hosanna, hosanna in the highest!” Far off and faint upon the morning air a voice arose, rising and falling in dolorous monotone. Tor knew it. It was the voice of Chelluh begging alms. He arose and ran with swift feet to the place which he had hated and avoided even in his dreams, and there in the familiar angle of the wall sat the beggar, shaking his empty cup, the sun falling full upon his evil face. Tor stood quite still and gazed at the blind man with his Christ-touched eyes, and for the first time in his short life, loving pity for another welled up within him. “Master,” he said, in a low voice. Then he drew nearer, and spoke in a louder voice; “Chelluh.” He would call no man master save one. The blind beggar beat upon his cup with his horny knuckles. “Who calls me?” he asked, scarce believing his truthful ears which told him whose voice had spoken. “Who calls me?” he repeated, trembling. “I choked the little dog to death, yet it is his voice that speaks.” “Thou didst not kill me,” said Tor. “I am alive, and see once more. Yesterday the King, my Master, healed me.” “Lies!” mumbled Chelluh, shaking his great head,—“thou wast always a liar.” “This is no lie that I tell thee. Wouldst thou receive thy sight also? Come, I will lead thee to my Master. He will heal thee.” Chelluh reflected for a moment. Physically he was stronger than the puny child. Yet he distrusted his words. “Thou art plotting mischief against me, gutter rat,” he growled, “I know thee.” “If I plotted mischief I should have come upon thee suddenly, and run away ere thou wast aware of me,” replied Tor. “I am no man’s fool, but I serve a new Master, one Jesus. ’Tis for my Master I do this. He heals blind folk, therefore I fetch blind folk to him to be healed. Thus I serve my Master. Wilt thou come?” Chelluh rose slowly to his feet. “I will come,” he said; “but if thou hast lied to me, little dog, thou knowest the strength of my hands, and shalt know again. This time I will kill thee beyond a peradventure.” Tor shuddered at the familiar clutch of the knotted fingers on his slender shoulders. Yet he walked bravely forward. “So I serve my Master,” he said aloud. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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