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Thurston, I. T. (Ida Treadwell), 1848-1918

"The Bishop's Shadow"

His eyes filled with tears, and he reached up
one skinny little hand and laid it on the rough, strong one of his
visitor as he answered,
"Oh, you don't know--you don't know anything about it, Tode. I don't
b'lieve dyin' can be half so bad's livin' this way. She wishes I'd
die. She's said so lots o' times," he nodded toward his aunt, who was
one of the women in the room, "an' I wish so too, 'f I've got to be
this way always."
"Ain't ye never had no doctor, Tommy?" asked Theo, with a quick catch
in his breath as he realised dimly what it would be to have such a
life to look forward to.
"No--she says she ain't got no money for doctors," replied the boy,
soberly.
"I'll"--began Theodore, then wisely concluding to raise no hopes that
might not be realised, he changed his sentence to, "I'll find out if
there's a doctor that will come for nothin'. I believe there is
one. Can ye read, Tommy?"
The sick boy shook his head. "How could I?" he answered. "Ain't nobody
ter show me nothin'."
"Wonder 'f I couldn't," said Theo, thoughtfully. "I c'n tell ye the
letters anyhow, an' that'll be better'n nothin'."
A bit of torn newspaper lay on the floor beside the bed. He picked it
up and pointed out A, O and S, to Tommy. By the time the little
cripple had thoroughly mastered those three letters so that he could
pick them out every time, the women had given up their quarrel.


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