And Tiny, looking at the boy, seemed to read his heart, and he said, laying his hand on the poor fellow’s shoulder, “Be always as patient, and gentle, and believing as you are now, and you will have bread for them and to spare, without fear.”
Then came an old, old man bending on his staff, and he spoke out sharply, as if he were half starved, and all he said was, “Bread!” and with that he held out his hand as if all he had to do was to ask, in order to get what he wanted.
For a moment Tiny made him no answer, and some persons who had heard the demand, and saw that Tiny gave him nothing, began to laugh. But at that sound Tiny rebuked them with his look, and put his hand into the purse.
The old man saw all this, and he said, “I am tired of begging, I am tired of saying, ‘for mercy’s sake give to me,’—for people don’t have mercy—they know nothing about being merciful, and they don’t care for mercy’s sake. I don’t beg of you, Mr Poet. I only ask you as if you were my son, and that’s all. Give me bread. I’m starving.”
And Tiny said, “For my dear father’s sake take this—God forbid that I should ever be deaf when an old man with a wrinkled face and white hair speaks to me.”
Afar off stood a young girl looking at the poet. Tiny saw her, and that she needed something of him, though she did not come and ask, and so he beckoned to her. She came at that, and as she drew nearer he fancied that she had been weeping, and that her grief had kept her back. She had wept so violently that when Tiny spoke to her and said, “What is it?” she could not answer him. But at length, while he waited so patiently, she made a great effort, and controlled herself and said, “My mother!”
That was all she said—and Tiny asked no more. He knew that some great grief had fallen on her—that was all he needed to know; he laid his hand in hers, and turned away before she could thank him, but he left with her a word that he had spoken which had power to comfort her long after the money he gave her was all gone—long after the day when her poor mother had no more need for bread. “When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will lift me up.” That was what he whispered to her as he left her.
And thus he went through that crowd of miserable people, comforting them all. But it was remarkable how much more value the poor folks seemed to put upon his word than they did upon the money he gave them, much as they stood in need of that! I wonder if you ever thought about the wonderful power there is in words?
At length, when the purse was empty, he stood alone in the midst of the circle of rich men who had given him the silver to distribute as he would. Then the man who handed him the purse went up and said to Tiny, “Poet, come home with me. You are come at last! the city ought to be illuminated—we have stood so long in need of you, expecting you.”
So Tiny, believing what the rich man said, went home with the stranger—and for a long time he abode in that house.