“Is it Tim?” asked a weak voice.
Tim threw himself on his knees by the bedside, and kissed the sweet, wan face with the tenderness of a mother. For some minutes only sobs were heard.
“You told him, Miss May?”
“No, Jerry. We hurried so there was no chance. But I will tell him every word.”
“O, Tim, you didn’t think I was a thief? It broke my heart to go. It was father. He got out some way, and had been watching us. He came that night when we were so happy counting our money, but he didn’t dare offer to take me away then. The next morning he walked in with a paper, which he said was a warrant for me, and that if I dared to say a word he’d send me to the Refuge. I picked up my things—I was so afraid of him—and then he wanted the money, and swore if I didn’t get it he’d murder me. I told him I wouldn’t; so he tied my hands and bound my mouth, lest I should scream, and then he hunted everywhere; and O, Tim, he found it! He took me right out of the city with him to a vile den, where they wanted to make a thief of me.”
“O, Jerry, dear, don’t talk; it takes away all your strength. God knows I never could have a hard thought of you now;” and Tim broke down.
“Just a little. I couldn’t get back to you. They watched me, and beat me until I was sore and stiff; and there I staid until only a fortnight ago, when one night I gave them the slip. I wanted to come back and tell you how it was, but the way was so far, and I was so tired, so tired! Then I fell down in the street, and a good woman picked me up and brought me in here, where it’s so nice and clean, Tim, and such a quiet place to die in! And then I don’t seem to remember much until yesterday, when Miss May came in, and this morning, when she brought her father. And then I wanted to see you, to tell you—Tim, if I could live and earn the money—you were so good to me—so good. Tim, if you could hold me in your arms again! Miss May said I would find mammy in heaven; that God cared for poor little boys. Does He, Tim? I like you to tell me. And will you come and let me be your pardner again? Is it very far? Kiss me, Tim. You know now I wasn’t a thief. Miss May sang something yesterday about opening the starry gates—”
“At the portals Jesus waits;
All the heavenly host, begin;
Open wide the starry gates,