THE CABIN IN THE VALLEY

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXVII, Issue 1, 7 January 1909, Page 3

THE CABIN IN THE VALLEY

(Concluded.)

'On Christmas eve!' he said. . < On Christmas eve!' she murmured.' \On the eve that Life came, he looked in the face of -death:' . s To-day he gave me life.' 'I fully believe it.' ' Helen, what can we do ?' • Nothing ; what is there to do ? - You and I are of the younger generation — : have different. ideals. About us are primitive emotions. About us, in these mountains, rage" passions as simple and as mighty as the earliest^ of men must shave experienced before years brought civilisation. Barney * Delaney represents this emotion .and this, passion, subdued by the religion of Christ.' ' 'The religion of Christ!' echoed her brother. .'There is, then, such a thing? Argue it out with me — I came home to you, Helen, to argue it out. For I have put you upon the one hand and her upon the other. ' I must see with your eyes or with hers. , With her eyes and believe and take her into my life^to bless it — oh, I know it will be to bless it! — or with yours and disbelieve and „ put thoughts of her away for ever.' Again that radiant light welled up into hej* face and shone from it, and, seeing it this time, he marvelled. cOn Christmas eve,' she said, ' since that -happened, I lose myself in contemplation of another sight.' She put her cheek close to his. ' Life, a tiny, flickering flame, came to that cabin in the valley — and death snuffed it while it fluttered. Life lingered on in her until death came again, and she joined her little .babe. Ah!, but Life > ■ comes again — a Life no death can conquer. , .Can you see it if I picture it for you? A strange man clad in strange garments, holding up his hands — and in them \a Child— a _ ..Child I wish I could describe that" Child, but I fean "» not, can "not ' Her voice drifted into the silencgp^tnd .*' her brother, much moved, -though' he could- not have told why, held her fingers^ tightly. ■< - •> - „ , , ' 'Where was death, my brother, is .Life, and it is calling us. In the person of that Child, Life is calling us. I know where it is to "be found, and my heart responds to its pleading. Does yours?' ' "*""*- i '•■ ~jC~ 'How can I tell?' - - — '. ' Come with me^/then", and -seeT' '" - " - * .-,.-*■ 'Where?' he asked. ->-• »"'- , -""'.- ' -•-> -- *•.>.. ' To the cabin in the valley, where the Catholic priest offers the Sacrifice at midnight.'. The clock in the hall began to strike once more.- Both waited until it sounded' out the hour of 11. 'It is late,' said Michael Jordan, and involuntarily his glance took in the room and' the glowing fire. ' The journey ' ' We read that the Mother of the Holy One travelled a far distance on this night, and laid her Babe in a mangier, "because there was no room for -them in 'the inn.'" '• ' ■ ' I will go, Helen. \ She turned her face upon him. 'To argue against her you " came to me ? Brother, is there not enough disbelief in,,the world? , Oh, is there anything, anything all around us but that one thing — disbelief? And when we" find the freshness of morning, the spring of eternal joys and can say with heart and soul alive, "rejoicing, "I believe!"- have we not worshipped at the source of that Life which comes to us this night?' * And again her tones -thrilled -him,- and again he knew not why. He felt that she-, was leading him to heigh cs hitherto unsealed, even attempted. He -was consent to be led, content to follow, for "the sake of that within him which responded to her exaltation. 1 ' The one room of Barney Delaney's cabin looked meagre and spare and. bare enough. The table had been moved aside. Big branches of evergreen were fastened rudely to the walls — the only attempt -at decoration — arid from the window the lamp shed a feeble light in the room itself, and directed the steps outside of those who were coming to midnight Mass. Once, indeed, this little rooii had been more comfortable and more homelike, but of all those things which Nora Delaney had treasured, her husband had kept none. Nob an article, howe.vef, simple, was loft, to remind him of her existence. > No reminder was needed; the absence of them perhaps made his grief less -poignant. . - At the farther end, away from the door, an altar had been erected, the candles were lighted, the priest's" vest-

passion

ments lay across one of the stools. A bare place indeed to welcome the coming of the Child of Bethlehem, the LifeBringer — as bare as was the" manger which held His tiny form ' ' Father Maurice, the missionary, / awaited his penitents in the inner room. They came out of it a little shamefaced^ some of them. His own countenance was overcast, saddened. When all the confessions had been heard the priest emerged and proceeded to don his vestments. He turned — a splendid figure, his ascetic features, once, indeed,«strikingly handsome, now worn- by sleepless nights and fatiguing days. He gazed silently at the forty or fifty souls kneeling before him. Faulty, impulsive, headstrong, passionate, but still his people, through the bond of faith uniting him and them-. ' My. brethren,' he said, in a low, tired voice, ' before beginning Mass in honor of Him who brought peace upon this earth, I want you, each of you, to search your souls. Oh, try, at least try, to welcome Him with some faint reflection of that joy that was Mary's and Joseph's. Children of the Peace-Bringer, how have you set out this day to welcome Him who brings you peace?' He turned 1o the altar, Barney Delaney, who served him, beside him. There were many there to whom the words seemed as so many darts of .flame. Introibo ad altare Dei, he began, as the cabin door swung inward, and two figures, swathed in furs and great coat, entered, kneeling at the farthest extremity of the room. The Ma^s proceeded. No masic, nj burst of choral ecstasy, no pomp, no ceremony — nothing to denote the majesty of the Guest about to visit them. At the communion all but the twj late comers presented themselves to receive. The Mass was over, the prayers said, the candles extinguished. The man and woman arose' and advanced somewhat hurriedly toward the priest. He looked up with surprise into Michael Jordan's face, listened to him a moment, and then, nodded in assent. Michael Jordan turned toward the men, who stared at him wonderingly, and his keen eyes surveyed them. * % 'I am old Mr. Michael's son,' he said abruptly. ' V have not been here in eight years — fully' that. ■ By happy chance I have escaped the hands of those who woutd injure -me I have never injured you, and you hold ii your memory a grievance I deplore. To-night my sister told me a sad and pitiful story. I don't know how you have been hurt by my father,.' but none has -suffered more than Barney Delaney. I ask you, Barney Delaney,' he" turned to him, cto forgive me and mine any injury we have done you. lam not defending my father, nor . am I criticising him. He has been a good father, a good man — I respect and revere him. You love the mountains • — you are sons and daughters of the mountains; you would stifle in the cities. Theie is that much difference between his belief and yours as lies between mountain and city. But you must know that npt all 'the Jordans are bitter against that which they~do not comprehend.' He held out his hand. Not for an instant did Barney Delaney hesibate. It was a glorious chance to put infc-» practice the lesson Father Maurice had just preached — tho lesson of love and humility. He placed his toil-worn fingers in those shapely brown ones and their eyes met. A murmur went through the room. Father Maurice, stood by, glad with a great gladness. He knew that now he need dread no further act of violence, for these men respected bravery, and old Mr. Michael's son had shown himself a brave man indeed. 'Is there no one — not one — to follow Delaney's example?' he asked. ' * Again the murmur and again the stir, then one sturdy fellow after the other advanced toward Michael Jordan. He shook hands with all, and wished each ' in turn a merry Christmas. ' Father,' said the young man, when .the cabin began to empty, ' I don't know what I believe or why I believe it, only I am certain of one thing— that the Child of Bethlehem came down" this night into youi^ hands.' He hesitated. 'I'm not sentimentally inclined, my sister can '"vouch for that, but I would like to do something to show my gratitude for one resolution that I have been enabled to make — to look into the claims of the Catholic faith, and - if I can accept them; -to ask it to accept me.' ' I will leave that to Barney Delaney here,' said FatherMaurice with a smile ; 'it is not my doing. - Under God, it is Barney Delaney's.' ' No,' said Barney huskily, ' 'tis a sign from heaven ; 'tis a sign that God forgives me the black heart I had when Noreen died ; 'tis a sign that I can go to my darling with clean hands ' His voice broke. 'He turned aside. And now Helen Jordan looked at the priest with shining eyes. 'Perhaps it is a sign,' she said; 'a sign I have been - praying for. I have' not been satisfied to^ come to God .alone — I wanted a companion. He will come, too, this.

brother of mine; he will come. And before we go — your blessing, Father?' The following Christmas eye old Mr. Michael's son travelled that way again. Erected close by the cabin in the valley was a pretty little chapel — his gift as a memorial of Nora Delaney. He and his sister Helen were baptised, and received the body and blood, of the Child of Bethlehem at the midnight Mass. And the next day he was united to the gentle woman he loved, before the altar which faith had raised, their union sanctified by blessing of the Church, in the presence, of all the children of the Churcn in that region. , ■ , "Was it their prayer which brought about; the miracle — or the prayers of the new-made wife — or the prayers of the son and daughter — or of the priest — or of Barney Delaney? , Rather, let us be content to think with Father Maurice' that it was through the prayers of Nora Delaney herself, bright spirit, -that the seeming impossible' took place. For old Mr. Michael himself- knelt in the, first pew\ — Benziger's Magazine. , , ' .