THE STORY-TELLER,

Evening Post, Volume LII, Issue 155, 21 November 1896, Page 2

THE STORY-TELLER,

I The Seventh Son* / f The kitohen next door to the forge waa pleasant enough, but its mistress would not hear of our remaining there while we waited for the pony to be shod. "Is it here," she said, "wid the bins atrayin' in an' out, an' Kitty washing the pigs' pitatiei, let alone the noise o' the forge that 'ud moidher you 1 It goes off me like water off a duck's back, but thin I'm used to it. "Tis like the tiokin' 'o the olook, that you often can't bear if you listen Tor it. I can't hear when the hammer's goin'. Gome right away up to the room an' take a glass o' sherry wine an' a bit of currant Oake." The room was half bedroom, half best parlour. The corner was occupied by an immense tent bedstead with a patohwork quilt. A table in the centre was covered with shiny American cloth, and solid old mahogany chairs seated in penitential hairoloth stood round the wall at exact distances from each other. A snowy white dresser full of china was a somewhat unusual item in such a room. " 'Tis fitter for the kitchen, maybe," said its mistress apologetically, "but the bits o' plates an' things came down to my mother from her mother, an' God knows how many dacenfc women called it theirs before that. I couldn't let it go to the kitchen, an' the dresser was handiest." We admired the china while we were unwillingly feasted on the " sherry wine," aud wished that we might dare offer to buy some of it.- " ' Thero wfes a statue of the Blessed Virgin in one corner, covered with gauze, starbespangled. The usual pair of vases filled with flowers stood before it, and a little wiok floating in oil sent up a feeble little flame in the sunlight. But quite away from the altar there hung in a space on the wall a picture of the Child Jesus. It was a little coloured print, such as would greatly attract simple people. The Child stood holding the world in His hand. He waa in plump boyhood, and the one little garment left the round pink limbs bare. We said it was pretty, and Mrs. MacLaughlin smiled well-pleased. 11 'Tis God Almighty," she said, '• but 'tis my little Stevie too, though God forgive me for sayin' the like." "You mean it is like a little boy of yours ?" • ' What else ? That's how I come to have it. I had him two years, an' then God wanted hhn an' took him. He waa the seventh son." She said it impressively. There is unusual virtue attaching to the seventh son. All the world knows he has the power of healing. " Six o' them I have about me, an' good boys, glory be to God. They've kept the forge goin' since the father died, an' they hand over the money to me regular every night. There's no drinlrin', or card-playin', or divilment at all ia them. Praise be to His name!" She smiled at us with an air of deprecation, as if she thought we might think her confidence fooliah. Then she went on in a lower voice — "An 1 yet my heart's more set in Stevie than in all six. A seventh son and he the youngest. He was two when he died, an yet, do you know, though it's long ago, the sight of a child of two goes to my heart." "How did you get the picture ?" " Well, I'll tell you. I was goin' along the quays of Dublin one day soon after God took him. The wind was in my face, an' 'twas a cold, bleak day, wid the sky all grey, and the gulls screechin' above the black water. Maybe 'twas the trouble in my heart made the day seem so cold an' lonesome. Well, I was facia' for home, an' my feet were as heavy as my heart, when all of a sudden I caught sight of itatlf tfaore in a window, an' my heart gey a great lep. I didn't see that 'twas the Lord at all ; I only saw 'twas Stevie, and I said to myself, 'Now, if I had that I wouldn't feel the hunger for his face so sharp on me.' Time an' aprain I dragged myself away, for I could badly afford to buy it at the time. But 'twas no use strugglin' on with the wind in my teeth and my feet like lead, whea all the time the picture was draggin' me back. At last I went, back and bought it. A thought came an' hit me between the two eyes that maybe if I left it there another 'ud buy it, an' I'd never get the ohance again. I came home a happy woman wid that at the top of the basket." " And you've had it ever since ?" "Excepting a week or two last Christmas was a twelvemonth. It fell down in '{he night an' made a terrible oration. The glass was broke on it. I knew it meant news from a distance, an' sure enough a week later in walked my Aunt Susy's second cousin's son from Australia. I sent it away to get the glass. It was the weary long time doing, an' I missed it terrible. But sure there it is as good as ever it was ; there's nothing in the place I wouldn't give for it." " Ton never had a daughter, Mrs. MaoXaughlin?" "Never a little girl at all. I do be missin' one In my old age, but sure if I had one maybe some boy 'ud be taldn' her from me. All the same it 'ud be nice to have boys coortin' about the place, maybe bringin' me in a little bottle of whisky in the tail-pocket o' their coats to get the good word o' me." < We laugh, as we are meant to, at the little jest, but the smile passes away from the old woman's face as the sunlight passes away from a brown pool. Her eyes fill suddenly as she looks up at the picture. " There are the little feet of him," she Bays, " an' the little fat legs aye, an' the 'wise eyes, an* the head o' goold curls. Not that I'd compare my obild to God Almighty's Child. God forbid! Still, when you look at the picture there you're lookin' at Stevie."— Kithaeinb Ttnan, in Westminster.