The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXVI, Issue 6, 6 February 1908, Page 3

The Storyteller

SISTER BEATIGA

_ Two non-Catholic young men were about to enter a train for one of the suburbs of C— — . As "they passed through the train-sheds they observed that the paycar stood at the terminus of one of the tracks, and" near it two Sisters waited for the men who would give them a bit ""of money- ... Ladru Cheneworth, -one of the young men, seeing the Sisters, remarked to his friend : 1I- say, Andrews, doesn't that sort of thing pro\o'e you ?•' ' What sort of thing ?' queried his companion, i

' Oh, these" women begging the hard-earned money from the men they get a ohance to take it home to their families. I think it ari outrage.' • Well, Cheneworth, you know I'm not a Cat&olic, but I have an immense amount of respect for those women. They don't beg, for themselves, you know.' 1 Oh, well, they get it for those lazy priests, then - — more shame to them. I don't like 'em, so there' ' Excuse me for seeming persistence, Ladru, but these Sisters are asking money for the Thorny Crown Hospital, and a grand place it is too, as I happen * to 'know.'

' There, thare, Andrews, you're a first-rate cha-p, all li^ht, but you can't defend the ' crossbacks ' v t,o me ; lye no patience with them nor any of their institutions. -Have a cig/ain T And they entered the smoker aad settled) down to their papers. September is a miosnth of soul soothing .mornings,, and this one was characteristic. The sky was opalescent, reflecting as in a mirror the splendors of approaching

autumn.

The road, white and beaten by hoof and wheel,

lent the needed note of austerity to the soft-toned landscape. The red of a cardinal 1 s wing - glinted for a moment in the sunlit upper air, and then- disappeared ' in the gloom of a nearby forest.

Almost imperceptibly one standing near this forest would have heard a' foreign note mingle with the tones of this nature symphony. It was the rhythmic jise and fajl of a . horse's feet, and presently ' horse and rider would have come into view. The man was young and handsome His hair of raven glossiness met a brow of snow, underflushed by the qoiick play of 'the rich red biOod. of perfect health. His brown eyes were alight with the contagious happiness of the morning;- and his unbearded lips and chin were clean-chiseled and forceful. He rode- with, his hat in one hand, his reins held lightly in the other. Evidently there was a perfect understanding between horse and rider. Then came a second sound, rude, rasping and discordant, the bugle of a motor car abfcmt to turn the bend of the roadway. Instantly the horse became restive. He shied and backed and from the docile, obedient servant of the young man, he suddenly changed into his unreasoning, fearful master. He pranced, snorted and cavorted for an instant, and l then, as ihe great car came like a fiery-nostrilled demon around the curve, he reared, and with a mighty tremor of fear, stumbled backward and fell over the embankment, burying his rider under him. The next moment the car sped by, but its occupants had seen the, catastrorhe, and the machine was soon brought to a standstill. One of • the men swiftly alighted and ran to the edge .of the incline. * Come qiuick, uncle Joe ; the man is under his norse. The two men who were riding in the tonneau hurried a own. the bank, and, after hard work, succeeded in disentangling the horse's feet from the. reins, so that -he could rise and release the man. Blood flowed fre'elv from a temiple \yound ; there were several 1 surface bruis s, and he "was unconscious. nf *T, By Geor ?% it's Ladru Cheneworth, '- exclaimed one oi the men. { Poor chap — ' ' OhJarlie, reverse the - machine ; you've got' fcxjcive iSI featica, one of the most competent nurses in the so full of reserve, powr and bravery. An hour after worth's,bedside and strove to arouse him sufficiently £ h-r^7- hIS me^i Ci 55 ci.e i. ? hen ' s «<*denly he sprang from Ms cot in a wild delirium, and grasping Sister Beat?

ca by the shoulders, pushed her slowly toward the low Ftench window. With the strength of fear she contended every, step, willing, to die, ifc need be, rather than f'Ugihten' by a scream the patients just beyond the partition oil theneworthi's private room. At -length, with a mighty wrench, Ctoenewortii lifted'- tne nurse to the window-sill, but by a superhuman effort she caught at the casements on each/side and held on. For several seconds she did this, then, suddenly releasing her hold on the window's sides, she pushed -him back with all her flvce. The quiche mo\einent had a miraculous effect ; the young man's muscles "relaxed ■; his feet slipped from the s^ill, and suddenly, faint and white as death, he fell backward into the room. I Stepping instantly to the house telephone, Sister Beatica, trembling in- every limb-, called to someone to help her patient into bed,- sinnply saying that he had got out in his delirium. ~

What man would have done likewise ? Woman, so often called the l ' weaker vessel,' sometimes exhibits such strength, both of mind and body, as to effectively set at naught the appellation. No vocation of modern times affords such possibilities for the development of absolute fearlessness as does that- of professional nursing. Sisier Beatica might well have called assistance, but her first thought was for her patient— he might go to the window again and be dashed to an awful death. Truly and without controversy this noble nurse was a sister of God.

When Cheneworth's first conscious glance brought him the knowledge that he was in a hospital, he was amazed ; and when the second told him it was a Catholic institution, he was an^ry. Why had, his- friends brought him here, of all places, ha whom " they all knew \as ' opposed ' to everything remotely or intimately assor-i-ajbed-' with the Church ?v? v No one but the nurse was in h^s room at the moment, and his innate chivalry forbade his being rude to one of her sex. Inwardly chafing, he lay for a few moments looking about him. Sjowly, in spite of prejudice and its blinding effects, he acknowledged that the place was immaculate in all its appointments— the dainty bed linen, the plain, clean walls," everything was spotless. * His gaze coming back from one of those reconnoitres, fell upon the little glass-topped table near his bjgd, and on it, arranged in graceful fashion, was a bjbuquet of exquisite orchards— beautiful, inanimate birds of paradise. Surprise, then pleasure filled him, and," overcome by curiosity, he addressed the Sister '

-'. ' Nurse, may I ask who sent the flowers ?' - ' I brought them this morning, thn'nking;. you might like them.' She answered without turning: from ths stationary washstand where shte was sterilizing a glass and spoon. -' ' She thought I might like them,' Cheneworth mus(d. ' H'm— she doesn't know me. Well, it was a kind thought, and I'm grateful to her, even if she is a Oath — At that moment. Sister Beatica turned toward him. -. Instantly there leaped into Cheneworth's eyes-an~ex-pression of intense surprise. In all his life he had never seen such a face— so spiritually beautiful, so sweet and gentle, so saint-like.

God forgive me,' he murmured. • And this is the sort of woman I have maligned all these years. She's a saint, .and I— Heaven help me, I'm a sinner of the deepest dye.

«„» A " * hl f sur ged through his mind as Sister BeatihV If i footsteps crossed the- floor, and then, telling ~J£*w lot wa t time for h is medicine, laid an arm S™ V<? k Of^ hlm and P lacod the medicine to his P•« henewo rth swallowed in silence. ™nr«ii? WW e PU + t a * r anid on each of m^ shoulders and raise* yourself, so that I can turn your pillow.' w fl « Q ni?? ly ¥ ° b€ye ' d her ' and in a m «ment his cheek Sove to Jft O^ C °° 1 1 Hnen - CloSing his eyes h9 strove to hide the unmanly moisture gathering across

HPh P ™JJ eek afte /t. his release from the hospital, where offic^ofhisTctor 0 " COt ' Chenew °^" called at the "»«" Wa «" ? VY ° U n«w*,l^ hl lidi.d.n'AI i di . d . n 'A Come> to see y° u Professionally; I hE£dP*is « iSn v s^etMng 1 can do for that b-letsed, Sister Beatica who nursed me up at the -ThorIwtfT^™ sure she deserves the very best I can give hpr. And, the truth is, doctor, I've always been ILe Wnrff 1 Zl 7 eryt^^ g Cat^ Olic ' I want S £?e? c some, amends. What could I do for her, doctor ?' . ' Nothing.' _ i M. Nothing ? Why not ?' *. You blessed innocent ! Don't you know that no

Catholic Sister would accept any gift for herself, even in return for the greatest service ?' ; Why, I supposed they received at least a part of the money given them by workingmen and others.' '.Not a penny, Chfeneworth. it is all for the Church and her many beautiful charities. No Sister' accepts a cent, for her'seif. You certainly are i^normt of the Ghua-oh. But, while we are on the subject, h want to tell you that, it is only shore of miraculous that Sister Beatica did not lose her life at your hands that first" night you were ,at the Thorny Crown ' ' My God, doctor, how ?' The good physician then related to Cheneworth the story of that desperate struggle on the window-ledge Long ere he finished Cheneworth 1 s ' face blanched and his fingers clutched into - the flesh of his hands till . the s blood came. „ . . „,-,. ' Oh, doctor, doctor, can't I do something to let her know how sorry I am-oh-I didn't know ; I couldn't f o Tv? h 1 '?1 ?°" s ?' But ' tho wav x maligned her Older, that sisterhood of holy saints, as. I now J. now them to be-can't I do something, doctor ?' - Cheneworth., old man, rm~awfiilly sorry for you L+Tn ly + . am 'J? ul fo« -could no more do anything , for Sister Beatica than for a saint in Heaven.' •/ Well, doctor,' said the young v.man,- life-lone Dreiudice combating his enlightened intellect 'at everf word, can— l— do— anything— for— the— Church ?' +i + Yes i- you , can ' aild I>n tell y° u wl iat you may vdo that, indirectly, Sister Beatica may be helped-heltped because you will be aiding her beloved work—' • rr- h ™* LS lb £ rsrsr 5 dott " * lose ever y friend I have!;' -eautiS 1 6 S° rt ?' hIS andsome fa <* with the leautiful light of a noble enthusiasm.. ' Endow a ward in the Thorny Crown Hospital, and give it your name.' l „ [ 1 I'll do it, doctor, if it takes my last penny ! When can we set about making arrangements ?' ' I can sefe you to-morrow evening, Cheneworth • till then I must bid you good-bye; for this is going to' be a very busy day. ' Good-bye, doctor. To-morrow evening a t eight ' and wan from his late illness, but with J smile Spoil his lips, he passed out into the September sunshino m sadder, but a wiser, man.-' Extension.' sunsmnG > - l