The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXIV, Issue 2, 10 January 1901, Page 23

The Storyteller.

THE DOCTOR'S COMPROMISE.

When he had asked his fjiend to undertake the case of the young lady_Buu>ri:iK ftu.u In ;,,- t n,ul! 4 F.ither Ky>i !<HJp <m«peotf»d the turning-point he was elFec ing in that one's life. The next day he met him at the lm-piul *» oah.i u:A gcitlc with the parienrn as ever, yet with a preoccupied, almost absent-minded expression upon hia features. The spring parsed away, and as the early summer came on the doctor bepan to feel uneai-y. He was much preoccupied at times ; he waa less genial than he had been, too, but a uot unbecoming gravity had settled over lam. He became more thoughtful, but he guarded his thoughts, and even Father Ityan had no inkling that the patient he had visited on that April night was responsible for this change. Such was the fact, however. After returning from her he had felt a preat longing to visit the home of his boyhood, to look at tho old house in which Le was born and lived a happy childhood, and to ccc thp graves of bis parent?. Often he would call \ip the wrrds the girl had said, words which seemed to have once bren s-aid to him . ' Willie, let's go down by the stone wall and gather flowers for the May altar,' he heard as distinctly as upon that nif-hj, over a month ego, and they made him thinK of another stone wall where he used to pick violets with — why, with his little neighbor next door. How tangled it all seemed to him ! Hia mind was made up. He would go back to his old home and see the places again, and — her. The doctor's decision surprised himself, and he laughed like a boy at it. Yep, he would take the vacation he had not had since entering upon his profession. Father Ryan was not taken by eurprise, for he had been watching his friend daily. He promised himself some interesting developments of this vacation. When he bade the doctor good-bye he banteringly told the doctor not to fall in love while away. He had touched the mark nearer than he knew. It was a very dark night when Doutor Felton came home to hia birthplace. In the neat new station he looked around as it he expected to meet old friends, and when it occurred to him that 1 7> years must have lifted them out of his recognition he laughed quite sadly. Everything around him was new. The station he was in looked familiar, but that was not extraordinary, because it was just like many others built by the same railway company. Tho hotel he waa directed to was also smart and new. Indeed he expected to find an fntirely renovated town next morning when he awoke. That nijjht he went to bed filled with happy anticipations of meeting old friends an 1 «chool c unpaaious. And pleat-ant it would be to vit<it the old home and then into the house next door where Bbc lived as he usr-d to when they were boy and girl. lie awoke early and eaprerly drcwd. Then he went out to see the place btt\ ro the people bejjan to f-tlr about tho streets. It happened to be Sunday morning, and as he went out everything waa very quiet. The hotel was in a nu-v part of the to*n, the modem appearai co of which attested its quite recent growth, lhtre were moro factories than there had boen, but as he went along he recognised the old landmarks. Returning to his hotel he met a rural-looking person who casually asked him if ha was a 'stronger.' Nothing loath to enter into a conversation, the doctor told him he had been absent from tne plane a long time. •Wall,' interjected his questioner, ' the taown has eha T i*'e>l mightily to you, I guess. Them new fact'ries is caufeiny; it. S,»tu<j b.w the summer resjrt folks 11 tight shy of the place naow ; but th. y wunt ef some of us hey anything to say. Enterprise's ull right when it dun't epile biznes", but when it comes to changing a picteresk nnrae that the Injuns giv the place it's runniu' too t.ir. Thet's what them boomers did. Why, they led a tatwumeetin' and changed the name to Brast-ville, because they 'lowed it would draw trade. But we warn't goin' to lose the humiutr people, and so another taown-meetin' was asf>era bled, and we put old Hill Johnson chairman, so's the name became, Mattatuck agen. Tho fact'ry people nwar thct it wouldn't have been done if some of tho farmers hedn't filled a {rood many voters with hard cider thet day. But I'll swan thet's none of u.y bizness.' ' What do you pay, sir ? l>id you really change the name cf the place to Brassville \ ' ' Thet's what tlu-y di.l, but we bet them and chat.pei it back agen.' The farmer curious-ly whkhed the look of peipl-xity that overspread his questioner's face. Hut tho other B'uilm and commend d the farmers for thtir shre s\ driest*, and aa he wtut into breakt.et the rural Yankee chu- kled out • ' Swan it. was a good joke "bout the hard eid-r ' It was no wonder the doctor was ho deeply f, r if Brassville ftiid Mattatuck were one aid tbc same, then he had uc)%n >winjr'y visited his old home that April ni^ht, und the joung lady he had operated upon lived there. He speculated wheth<T she hud entirely recovered, as he hrn not heard of her pin* c. And so he sat in the hotel window revolvia^ tne v- xed problem in hid mind. Presently bells bepran to ling and peop'e were passi 1 pr by on their way to church. Father Ryan's letter had come In m Father Berkely, iie reflected. Father Bfrkely had been pari-h pru st when his Father lived, and his father's freud. It would do him good to ccc the kind old priest, now, and so ho decided to join th 3 crowd of church-poirs thatfiilid the street. The little churoh had m t changed much, buh the faces were Btrange ones, fii ass was almost a forgotten tact with him, and he determined to stay in the rear i>f the church tint he might better see the lace of Father Berkely and try to tell wbo were present as the congregation came out at the end of the services. He remained

in his fieat as the people filed out after Mass, and it gladdened him when he found himself able to recall many faces. And as be studied the pacing congregation he felt himself absorbed in a tall, beautiful girl who came down the aisle alone. Those blue eyes he could not forget. It was the girl whom he had attended. He left the church and watched her as she came up to some friends and went off chatting with them. But the little girl who used to be his neighbor— she of course was a young lady now— he hadn t seen an; ji;e who rcenabled her. Hip interest, however, wbb now centred in the young lady whom he had watched come down j * „' course he v.-culd 1-ke to visit Mb one-time playmate and talk over their early pranks. It would be pleasant", but not ju&t the same as he had imagined it during the last several weekH. The churchyard was but a short walk away away and he bent nn steps in that direction. He stood over his father's and mother's grave full of melancholy thoughts. Had he been what hia mother would have so loved to see him, a good man ? Would his father feel proud of him were he now alive ? There oame baok to him those words heard in delirium : 1 I know you'll be a good man, and have the priest say to you, as Father Berkely says of your father, that he is a Christian Catholic gentleman.' They rang through hia head, and he dropped to his knees there on his parents' grave and prayed. Father Ryan's rationalists young friend was converted. Aa ho leit the churchyard his heart was lighter than it had been for many a day. How foolish he had been, how specious his reasoning he now clearly saw. But he didn't care to think long about the past ; he was too much absorbed in the present for that. Redirected his bteps to that part of the town where his home had been He could see the hills beyond and between the greening trees glimpses of houses came to him. He wondered if his father's house remained the same ; if there remained there now any of the pretty vines his mother s care had reared. But what if it were so, what pleasure could he now derive from it ? Strangers owned the place. But he wanted to see it all, and at least speak to the people that lived there. VV ben he came to the part of the town in which he was born he was delighted to see that the distorting finger of ohange had not touched it. It was as of old. As he climbed the hillside the first that came into view was the home of Mrs. Sayton. There were the old buttonball trees be and Mary had so often played beneath. And as he came near he saw between the roadside and the fence a little oluster oi the sweet-william. How well he remembered the watoh he and Mary kept on that sweet-william, and her triumph when she first discovered it in blossom. If Mary could only be the girl he had seen that morning coming out of church ! He had passed Mrs. bay toil's, where everything was almost as he recalled it 15 years ago and had neen no one. But he would call there later, and so he went up the road to where he was born. It waa with mixed feelings of joy and regret he opened a gate that creaked a little. But everything seemed as of old. There was tho Fame old-fashioned garden, not neat and well-kept, to be sure, but tne hoi'} hocks and popp es and dahlias were there just as they had tieen in hu mother's time. The people who lived on the premises tin st b j shiftless, he thought, as his eye fell on the vestig< s of decay. The walk waa rotting, and some of the window-panea were mis-ir-ar from the hou«e. He went up and knocked at the door that < pened where his father's library used to be. No ona cnue torp'in, and alter waiting a long while it occurred to him that the people iui^ht be at church. Then he turned the knob, and t<> bis surprise tie door opened, showing him an empty room. The h >u-e \va> v i"ant. Entering, he went from room to room, picturing to himh'jlf lio.v they bad been long ago. In his own room he stood i.y a wiutiovv overlooking Mrs. Sayton's house. As he turned to leave this b<nne one en ering the gate caught his eye. 'The girl I saw in church thin morning ! ' he unconsciously exclaimed. 'Coming to f-ee Mary I suppose. I may as well go in also and see my old friends.' In his hat,te to reach the house he had not reflected how he would introdrce himself. He was admitted by the young lady wbora he had seen opening the gate. She brought him into a well -renumbered sitting-room, and at his request went to find Mra. Say. on Why bad he not taken pains to ascertain his patient's name, 1 c afkect himself. But they were coming towards the room, and as he lifted his eyea eagerly to meet them he saw before him the di-tracted mother of several weeks before. ' The doctor ! ' ehe cried in astonishment. He a i.h quite as much disturbed at sight of her, but collected himself to inquire for Mrs. Ssyton. ' What ! you Mrs. Sayton f Oh, ye*, one changes greatly in bo maDy yoars. And may I ask who this young ln<iy is ? ' 1 Why, that is my daughter.' ' What ! Mary ? ' escaped his lips. The mother was about <o answer, when Mary herself, nnable to ur de'-tand these exclamations and remarks, begged to know what it a)i meant. And when she wag informed by her mother that 11 ■- v, us the man whose skill had saved her life, she tharked hi.- .-•• Mncerely that he felt amply repaid for all that he had done. •Doctor, you saved my life, and I can never feel sufficiently gr.ih :ul,' ehe was paying. ' But you,' returned he, ' have done me a greater favor, for you hive brought me back to my faith.' And he told them his whole story bo well that Mrs. Sayton's eyfs grew a little misty. To think that this brilliant youn^ man was the little fellow who had lived next door, Mary's phymato and her dearest friend's son, made her feel like a mother towards him. So the d<xjtor received a royal welcome, fit, as Mary laughingly declared, for any prodigal son, Weeks slipped quickly away, and the doctor was enjoying himpelf gloriously. It waß pleasant to meet old friendo, especially Binre they were both proud and delighted with his achievements. And Mary waa the same chetrful. jolly girl he had played with 15 years ago, although no one could be more stately and dignified

when the oocasion required. Ho was not allowed to give up his uedioal work entirely, as she pressed him into the service of charity, and even Mrs. Malone'a 'always ailin' ' complaint was relieved. So he prolonged his stay several weeks, putting off his departure notwithstanding the letters that requested his presence in the city. When summer drew to a olose, however, he was confronted with the necessity of returning or finding some reasonable excuse for remaining. This was the state of affairs that troubled him as he came down the road towards Mrs. Sayton'a house one afternoon. To go away meant a great deal now, for he had come to appreciate the life of this quaint, half-rural, half-urban town, and he certainly would miss the pleasure of meeting Mary every day. As he opened the gate and saw her on the verandah reading, he quickly determined that the latter could not be. He had confided almost everything to her lately, and as he took a seat near her he spoke of an intention of buying his father's house, as it was for sale. 4 Oh, won't that be nice I ' she exolaimed in surprise. ' You can fix up the place and make it as pretty as it once was. But what are you going to do with it ? ' The doctor had not oaloulated upon such a question, and so was nonplussed. • Well,' he ventured, ' I might use it for— er—er— baohelor's hall.' •But what good would that do you, since you must soon gobaok to New York V she mercilessly pursued. 4 What would you say if I give up living in New York ? There are many whom I might benefit here. As for money, I have^ enough ; and ambition— well, there are several qualities of that.' 4 Oh, I see you haven't got over that bad habit yon had, when a boy, of doing what you please regardless of consequences.' ' I wish you had the habit of talking to that boy you had when a little girl. Do you remember what you said to me on that day after my father's burial 7 ' 4 No. What was it ? I have forgotten it.' ' And you said it again that night I attended you.' 4 Oh it is hardly fair for you to remember what I said while out of my mind. Nevertheless, what was it ? lam curious to learn.' 4 You were speaking of me, and you said— well, yes— and,' overcoming his confusion, 'you said, "I love you." Won't you §ay it again, Mary ? If you only knew how your words changed my life I For after that night I was a different man, and finally they broaght me back to my faith.' It was a sweet blush that suffused her face, and an arch look lighted up her eyes as she softly answered : 4 Well, since my words did so much for you, it is easy enough to say them again.' It was the prettiest wedding that the little church had long witnessed. There were pleasant friends and the loveliest flowers, and I am told that the happiest one present was Father Berkely himself, whose face was radiant as he joined his dear children in marriage. At the wedding breakfast afterwards Father Ryan, who had, of course, come np to see his friend's happiness, announced that there was a promise to which he felt bound to hold the doctor. ' What ia it 1 ' several asked. The young curate then told how they used to dissuss religious matters, and how the doctor had promised to devote himself to his poor if converted otherwise than by scientific means. ' And you will all admit hia conversion was due to the influence of early recollections.' 1 You are not altogether right, however, Father,' said the bride, coming to the rescue, ' for how would the doctor have heard those words of mine which so affected him were it not for his scientific operation upon me ? ' 4 Ah, Father, you can't take me back to New York,' Dr. Felton laughingly said. 4 But you were right, and I was right, bo let's call it a compromise.' ' A happy compromise,' said the wedding guests.— Catholic Home Annual,