It was not until school was over that she learned the
reason of little Phil's conscious silence; and next day, when she met him
with his father on the street, she tried to atone for her former ignorance.
"Are you Phil's father?" she asked, stepping toward them.
Tim Shartow, who was believed by some to regard neither God, man, nor the
devil, grew strangely embarrassed as he took her hand, after a hurried
inspection of his own.
"Yes'm," he answered.
"I am to be his Sunday-school teacher," she went on; "and of course I want
to know the fathers and mothers of my boys. I hope Phil can come regularly.
We are going to have some very interesting lessons."
"I guess he can come," answered his father. "It's a better place for him
than on the street, anyway."
This was faint praise, but well meant. Gertrude smiled her appreciation,
and in that brief meeting won not only Phil's lifelong regard, but, had she
known it, that of his father as well; for thenceforth Tim Shartow felt that
he had two friends in Bethlehem Center of whom he need not be ashamed.
His other friend was the Rev. James McKenzie.
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