The weekly register. [volume] (Point Pleasant, Va. [W. Va.]) 1862-1909, 1882-04-19

II hung on the bare, cracked wall
opposite little Dicks bed, with out
stretched arms and agonited, droop-
ing head, seettling as if so'rowing for
the misery and wtetchedness around.
"ohl" sighed Dick to himself, as he
crept into his straw bed II don't
like II. 1t makes iiie feel bad in my
cart"
When the white dawn stole in, in
the early morning, and Dick shiyer-
ingly put on his tattered clothes;
and woke his mother to another hard
days work, there, still in the dim
light hung the dead Christ. It was
only by running out into the frosty
morning, and selling his papers, that
he could forget about the sad face,
and think Or somethins ID One Of
the Sisters Of Charity had left it
there after nursing his mother
through long fit Of illness. I,
1t was an image Of the Christ, she
said, that had been crucifed, and she
had tried to describe the Passion to
him; but he did not understand. He
only knew that some one great and
good had been put to death, tond he,
little outcast ragged Dick, was in
some way vaguely responsible. It
haunted him, that thought.
But outside in the streets, with the
February sunlight shining in his
bright eyes and on his curly hair, he
forgot all about it, and only thought
Of the fun it was to jump on street
cars that were going fast, and watch
his papers disappear like snow be-
fore the morning sun, For some
reason people bought papers ffbm
Dick. His bright face looked so ex.
pectant, so persuasive, and he had
such a business-like air about him
altogether. He meditated occasion.
ally on the brilliant prospect of one
day becoming a street car conductor,
and punching the fares with that
severe, cynical aspect that tiiade
them appear SO grandly Indifferent
to mankind.
Very soon The days grew longer
and brighter, until the March winds
came rushing down the blind alleys
and broad thoroughfares, sweeping
all before them. But never a bit
did Dick mind. His eyes shown
like stars, and the warm blood danced
and circled under his brown skin,
until he looked like picture of an
old-time painter called Titan. Did
you ever hear of him?'
One Friday he stood on the corner
Of one Of the avenues, trying TO sell
his last paper and listening to the
iron music ola bell far above his
head. By and by people began to
flock into the church, and be watched
them curiously, wondering what
they did in there, when the bells
stopped and the doors were shut.
Dick" said a voice right near
him, chow is your mother3"
"Hol" exclaimed Dick, with u lit.
tie surprised start, looking up he
met the kindly but somewhat stern
eyes Of Sister of Charity.
"oh, she's first rate" he answ wetea,
recognizing the friendly face at once;
"she's washin'."
"And you,' asked the Sister, Glow
are you getting along2'
"sold all 'cept one this morhin','
replied Dick, with sunshiny smile
want il?" a,g
Certainly not" she answered Sc.
verely. Ess,
"Do you know what day this ISL"
Dick shook his head in the mega
tive.
"lt is Good Friday; and II you will
put your paper down there under the
steps, you may come to church with
me-"
Dick obeyed meekly. He was too
much overawed not 10. do as she told
him, and following her intothe dim.
Iy-lighted church he knelt down in
the dusky pew, land gazed around him
with curious eyes.
The church was draped in black,
and over the alter hung au immense
cruclfix. From region far above
his head sotrowfnls wailing music
crept down through the heavy air,
and died away, as it seetted to him,