The Bishop's Shadow   By: I. T. (Ida Treadwell) Thurston (1848-1918)

BY

I.T. THURSTON

Author of "Boys of the Central," "A Genuine Lady" etc.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY M. ECKERSON

"This learned I from the shadow of a tree That to and fro did sway upon a wall, Our shadow selves our influence may fall Where we can never be."

CONTENTS

I. LOST A POCKETBOOK

II. NAN'S NEW HOME

III. AN ACCIDENT

IV. TODE MEETS THE BISHOP

V. IN THE BISHOP'S HOUSE

VI. TODE'S NEW START

VII. AFTER TODE'S DEPARTURE

VIII. THEO'S SHADOW WORK

IX. THEO IN TROUBLE

X. A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT

XI. THEO'S NEW BUSINESS

XII. NAN FINDS FRIENDS

XIII. NAN'S DEPARTURE

XIV. THEODORE GIVES CARROTS A CHANCE

XV. A STRIKE

XVI. CALLED TO GO UP HIGHER

XVII. FINAL GLIMPSES

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THEODORE BRYAN, SIGN POLISHER

"HE'S AWAKIN' UP, I GUESS"

ADRIFT AGAIN

"OH, HOW PRETTY, HOW PRETTY IT IS!"

"STOP THE CAR!"

THANKSGIVING REUNION

THE BISHOP'S SHADOW

[Illustration: Theodore Bryan, Sign Polisher]

I. LOST A POCKETBOOK

It was about ten o'clock in the morning and a northeast storm was raging in Boston.

The narrow crooked business streets were slippery with mud and thronged with drays and wagons of every description, which, with the continual passing of the street cars, made it a difficult and often a dangerous matter to attempt a crossing.

The rain came in sudden driving sheets, blotting out all but the nearest cars or vehicles, while the wind seemed to lie in wait at every corner ready to spring forth and wrest umbrellas out of the hands of pedestrians at the most critical points in the crossings.

Two ladies coming along Causeway street by the Union Depot, waited some minutes on the sidewalk watching for an opening in the endless stream of passing teams.

"There! We shan't have a better chance than this. Come on now," one of them exclaimed, stepping quickly forward as there came a little break in the moving line. She stepped in front of two cars that had stopped on parallel tracks and her companion hastily followed her. Just then there came a fierce gust that threatened to turn their umbrellas inside out. The lady in front clutched hers nervously and hurried forward. As she ran past the second car she found herself almost under the feet of a pair of horses attached to a heavy wagon. The driver yelled angrily at her as he hastily pulled up his team; a policeman shouted warningly and sprang toward her, and her friend stopped short with a low cry of terror. But though the pole of the wagon grazed her cheek and the shock threw her almost to the ground, the lady recovered herself and hurried across to the sidewalk.

It was then that a little ragged fellow of perhaps thirteen, slipped swiftly under the very feet of the horses, and, unheeding the savage shouts of the driver, wormed his way rapidly through the crowd and vanished. As he did so, the lady who had so narrowly escaped injury, turned to her friend and cried,

"Oh my pocketbook! I must have dropped it on the crossing."

"On the crossing, did you say?" questioned the policeman, and as she assented, he turned hastily back to the street, but the cars and teams had passed on and others were surging forward and no trace of the pocketbook was visible. The policeman came back and questioned the lady about it, promising to do what he could to recover it.

"But it's not probable you'll ever see a penny of the money again," he said. "Some rascally thief most likely saw ye drop it an' snatched it up."