“After a Shadow,” is a short story written by Timothy Shay Arthur, an American author best known for his moralistic tales and temperance literature.
The story explores themes of contentment, the pursuit of happiness, and the dangers of chasing illusions instead of appreciating the present moment.
Here is a retelling. Enjoy
“Arty! Arty!” called Mrs. Mayflower from the window one sunny June morning. “Arty, sweetheart! What’s he up to now? Just look at him, Mr. Mayflower!”
I leaned out of the window, excited to see what my little prodigy—my firstborn—had discovered this time. Arty was barely a year old, a blossoming flower whose petals were just beginning to unfurl, giving us hints of the beauty and joy he would bring. He’d managed to slip away from his nanny and was toddling off into the bright sunlight, his tiny figure casting a long shadow ahead of him.
“Arty, sweetheart!” His mother’s voice floated after him, gentle yet concerned. But baby Arty was on a mission, chasing after something that had caught his eye, oblivious to the world around him. Every little thing was new and fascinating to him, a wonder that demanded his full attention, drawing him further from our watchful eyes.
“Go after him, Mr. Mayflower!” My wife’s voice had a hint of worry now. “He might fall and hurt himself.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. In seconds, I was out the door and hurrying down the sidewalk after my runaway son.
“What’s up, buddy? What’s Arty chasing?” I asked as I caught up to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm to slow him down. He squirmed a bit before stopping, leaning forward to grab at something on the ground.
“Ooh, Papa, look!” He glanced up at me with a puzzled expression, clearly frustrated that whatever he was after had slipped away.
“What is it, little man?” I followed his gaze, trying to see what had captivated him.
He bent down again, grasping at the air, and looked up at me, his face a mix of confusion and curiosity.
“Arty!” I chuckled, scooping him up into my arms. “You’re chasing your own shadow, silly boy!” I held him close as I headed back to the house, feeling his tiny heartbeat against my chest.
“After a shadow?” I said with a slight shake of my head as I handed Arty over to his mother. “That’s how life begins—and how it ends. Poor Arty.”
Mrs. Mayflower laughed, her joy ringing out as she kissed and hugged our little shadow-chaser.
“So life begins—so it ends,” I muttered to myself as I left the house and walked toward my office. “Always chasing shadows. We miss out on the real, solid joys of today because we’re too busy reaching for illusions that always seem just out of reach. We never pause, never enjoy the moment, always rushing forward. Oh, the foolish heart—forever trading the real for the unreal!”
I tend to get philosophical sometimes, letting my thoughts wander and find deeper meanings in the little things. But does it really make me any wiser? We might see ourselves clearly in the mirror of truth, but we quickly turn away and forget. It would be better if we remembered what we saw, if we held onto the image that reflected our reality.
By the time I reached my office, the lesson of the shadow was already fading, lost in the daily grind. I buried myself in emails, invoices, accounts, business plans, and profit calculations. The steady, predictable rhythm of my well-established business wasn’t enough for me.
I wanted more—faster. So, instead of calmly focusing on the tasks at hand and finding satisfaction in a job well done, I spent most of the day scheming to push my profits beyond anything I’d ever achieved before.
“Mr. Mayflower,” said one of my employees, interrupting my thoughts as I worked at my private desk. “We’ve got a new client from out West, a Mr. B—- from Alton. He’s looking to place an order for a thousand dollars. Do you know anything about him?”
The interruption annoyed me. What was a new customer and a thousand-dollar order to me at that moment? I had tens of thousands in mind.
“Mr. B—- from Alton?” I said, pretending to recall something. “Does he seem like a trustworthy guy?”
“I don’t recognize him. Mr. B—-? Hmm. Does he seem legit to you, Edward?”
“Yes, sir, but it might be wise to get a credit check.”
“I’ll handle that, Edward,” I said. “Sell him what he needs. If something’s off, I’ll let you know in time. I’m sure it’s all good.”
“He’s already placed an order with Kline & Co. and wants his goods sent there for packing,” my employee added.
“Ah, I see. If Kline & Co. are selling to him, we’re probably fine.”
I turned back to my desk, my plans, and my calculations, forgetting all about Mr. B—- and his thousand-dollar order. The future seemed so clear and promising. As my thoughts spun plans for success and I imagined myself moving forward and achieving results, my enthusiasm grew. I became impatient to set things in motion, feeling as if tomorrow, when I could finally act, would never arrive. A single day stretched out like a week or even a month.
By six o’clock, I was no longer in such a good mood. The excitement of my calculations was starting to wear off. Some factors I hadn’t considered at the beginning were now becoming apparent, complicating my grand vision.
The bright landscape I’d imagined was growing hazy, clouds forming here and there, breaking up the scene and making it less appealing. I was no longer soaring on the wings of imagination but instead was back on solid ground, realizing that progress, when it’s real, is slow and difficult.
I had the afternoon paper in my hands, skimming the headlines without really reading, half-heartedly searching for something to hold my attention, when a paragraph in the business section caught my eye. It sent a chill through me, directly affecting the scheme I’d been so excited about. My bubble of optimism burst.
“Have the goods we sold to that new customer from Alton been delivered?” I asked, suddenly focused on the real issue at hand.
“Yes, sir,” one of my employees replied. “They were sent to Kline & Co. earlier today. Mr. B—- said they were packing up his order to ship it out today.”
“He must be trustworthy if Kline & Co. are dealing with him,” I said, though my voice betrayed the doubt creeping in.
“They’re only selling to him for cash,” my employee said. “I talked to one of their salespeople this afternoon. He didn’t know much about Mr. B—-, said he was a new customer who made a modest cash purchase but was shipping out large quantities—five or six times more than he bought from them.”
“Is that so?” I exclaimed, suddenly wide awake to the situation I’d let a shadow obscure.
“That’s what he told me,” my employee confirmed.
“That doesn’t sound good,” I said. “How much did he buy from us?”
The sales log was checked. “Seventeen hundred dollars,” the employee replied.
“What? I thought he was only going to buy a thousand dollars’ worth!” I said, surprised and worried.
“You seemed so confident about him, sir,” the employee said, “so I encouraged him to buy more, and the total just kept growing.”
I checked my watch. It was almost 6:30.
“Edward, I think you should head over to Kline & Co. and see if they’ve shipped B—-‘s goods yet. If not, ask them to hold off tomorrow morning so we can verify things. If B—- is running a scam, we need to act fast and save our stock.”
“It’s too late,” the employee replied. “B—- came in just after one o’clock and paid with a check for the full amount. He was supposed to leave on the 5 o’clock train for Boston.”
I turned away slightly, hoping Edward wouldn’t notice the anxiety on my face.
“You look awfully serious, Mr. Mayflower,” said my wife as she noticed my mood that evening. Arty was resting his head on my chest, and she looked at me with concern. “As serious as Arty looked this morning after his little shadow chase.”
“And for the same reason,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm and steady.
“What do you mean, Mr. Mayflower?” She looked more worried now, sensing something was wrong despite my efforts to stay composed.
“For the same reason,” I repeated, trying to sound brave. “I spent the whole day chasing a shadow—a mere illusion of profit—and now, as the day ends, I not only lose that shadow, but find myself off course and stuck in a mess. I called Arty a silly boy this morning and laughed at his mistake. But instead of learning from it, I went out and wasted my day chasing shadows of my own.”
Mrs. Mayflower sighed softly, her eyes drifting away from mine and settling on the floor.
“I think we’re all chasing shadows in some way,” she said. “We’re always reaching for things that aren’t real, things that seem so appealing in our imaginations. It’s the same for me, and I sigh every day over some disappointment. But often, we lose both the illusion and the real joys of today. When night falls, our fantasies fade, and we regret the real happiness we could have had.”
“Will we ever learn?” I asked.
“We’ll never find happiness unless we do,” she replied.
“Happiness!” I said as my thoughts began to clear. “Isn’t that the shadow we’re all chasing, in our blind, frantic rush?”
“Happiness isn’t a shadow. It’s real,” Mrs. Mayflower said. “It doesn’t exist in the future, just out of reach, but in the present moment, if it exists at all. You can’t catch it by chasing after it—that’s just an illusion, something that glitters but isn’t real.
No, happiness is a state of being, and it comes to those who live each day with peaceful acceptance and trust in the One who provides all good things. It’s there for those who are ready to receive it in every moment that comes.”
“Who lives each day like that, with peaceful acceptance and trust?” I asked, looking away from my wife’s calm face.
“Few, if any,” she said softly. “And few, if any, are truly happy. The ordinary duties and everyday things in our lives seem so plain and unremarkable that we ignore them, imagining something better. But in doing so, we miss out on the happiness of today, always waiting for a tomorrow that never comes.”
I sighed and fell silent, lost in thought. When the sound of the tea bell brought me back to the present, Arty was fast asleep on my chest. I kissed him as I passed him to his mother’s arms.
“Sweet boy,” I whispered, “may this be your first and last time chasing a shadow.”
“No—no! Not yet, my darling,” Mrs. Mayflower murmured, holding him close. “Not yet. We can’t bear to lose you to our world of shadows.”
Also Read: The Story of An Hour