The Hartford herald. [volume] (Hartford, Ky.) 1875-1926, 1875-11-03
TOM
.'If There are any Angels BnOw that
Tom Will See 'em...
From the Detroit Free Press.l

From the Detroit Free Press.1
Plain Tom. 1t might have been more
than Tom once, when he was a babe, and
lad a father and mother, some one to
care Tor him, even if they had but little
love for him. After they died; after he
vas turned out on the wide world to
fight his own way; to hunger for food to
yearn for sympathy and kind words, his
name was tom" 1t was name enough
for waif a ragged hungry boy who re-
ceved more kicks than pennies. and who
used to sit on the post office steps and
try to remember when any one had
spoken kind word to him.
The boy sometimes wondered and
pondered over the words sympathy"
mercy" and charity" He heard peo-
pie use them-the same people who
cuffed him about and were content to
see him in rags. lie thought the words
must mean something away off-some-
thing he could not grasp then, but might
approach when he had grown to mans
estate. IL TOMS voice had sadness and
sorrow in it as he cried "shine" or if it
had exultation in it as he shouted morn
ing papersl" no ore in the busy throng
seemed to notice or care. He realized
that he was standing up single-handed to
battle against a great world, and some~
times when the world struck him down,
the boy crept away into an alley to sor-
row and grieve that he had ever been
born.
They found bundle of rags in pub
lie hallway yesterday morning. The old
janitor pushed at the bundle with his
broom, and growled and muttered over
its being left there by some vagrant. The
bundle of rags was Tom. The janitor
bent over him and pushed at him again,
and called to him to rise up and go about
his business, but the bundle did not
move. Tom was dead. One arm was
thrown around his boot>box that it
might not he stolen while he slumbered-
the other rested on his breast, fingers
tightly clenched, as if death had come
while the boy was resolving to carry on
the unequal battle against poverty and
cold world TO a bitter end.
There should have been sadness in the
hearts of those who lifted up the body
and sent it away to be buried in Potter's
field, but there was not. They were men
to be sure, but they could not understand
how it made any difference to the world,
whether it had one waif more or less.
They could not feel the heart-aches Tom
had felt--his speration--his grim des-
pair-his bitter crushing everyday sor-
rows. They could have at least ancov-
cred their heads as the body was lifted
up, and said to each other: He was
brave to fight such a battle" But they
did not. There would have been no
word, no eulogy, had not another waif
passed the door by chance. He saw the
body, recognized it, and as he let the box
fall TO the flags that he might brush a
tear from his eye, he whispered:
IF there are any angels l know that
Tom'll see 'em."
And no man shall dare to take from or
add to the simple, fearful eulogy. There
will be shallow grave which "ill soon
sink ont of signs and memory, and scarce
a month will pass away before even the
lads name will he forgotten by the
world--the world which prides itself on
its charity and mercy, and which let
poor Tom stand up alone IN his battle
for food and raimeut and a place to rest
his feet, let him creep on to die alone in
the shadows of midnight, feeling IN his
young heart that every mans hand was
against him, because he was a wait, a
ragged, hungering. orphan.