The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 17 March 1910, Page 403

The Storyteller

STORY OF A ST. PATRICK’S CROSS .' . Tl , da Y, was gloomy and threatening, ‘What : a typical March day!' said young Mrs, Loughlin, glancing beneath the curtains of a dressing-room window, which was now further muffled by the haze of the warm . atmosphere within. 1 , Only a sense of maternal duty assisted the lady in this her unaccustomed effort at early rising, for, notwithstanding all the luxurious accessories of fleecy gown and furred S l l °n? wraps/ her Pagination persuaded her that the “ 1 the outer world must certainly be noticeable within the shelter of her luxurious home. The gilded timepiece on her dresser told her that it still lacked some minutes of seven, and she had promised— fact, proposed—that at seven o clock she would be ready to take the nurse’s place by the bedside of her own small son, now convalescing from a tedious illness. ‘Miss Keating had been so selfsacrificing while dear Gerald really needed her Mrs Loughhn explained to her husband, ‘that I could-not but oner to do this when she spoke of wishing to go out early this morning, and yet being unwilling to have Gerald perhaps wake up during her absence. , . ‘ I should think Winnie or the new maid could have taken her place if you had arranged it so,’ remarked Mr Coughlin, accustomed to his wife's partiality for late rising , x ‘They were going out, too; I forgot to ask them why,, but i know it was to church, and I am sure I heard them pass downstairs before daylight. This is not Sunday. What is it, Jim ? With her hand on the door knob Mrs! Loughlin waited her husband’s reply, and in the instant’s pause realised, too, that she was perhaps breaking a settled rule of her married life, which was never to recall to ms-mind the religion or religious observances he had apparently committed to oblivion since their wedding day. . His hesitation in answering her question was no affectation. - ' The Hon. James Loughlm, 1 - capitalist and politician, had managed to forget many things with which Jimmie Loughlin, the bright-faced Irish immigrant of twenty, years before, was pleasantly familiar. . ‘ Let me see—yesterday was March the 16th, was it »°. t ? , This is the 17th. Oh, this is Patrick’s Day— Irish holy day the girls like to go to church, I suppose.’ , . I should say they did,’ thought Mrs. Loughlin, as she hastened through the dim hallway to her boy’s apartmentthey must dike to, or they would never venture out such a morning as this.’ Pretty Miss Keating, the trained nurse, was a Catholic, too, and always during Gerald’s illness arrangements were made for her attendance at Sunday Mass. Now she stood outside the door of the sick room, drawing on her warm gloves while she waited for the mother’s coming. ‘I am sure he will not . trouble you any,’ she whispered. ‘He may not wake before I come in, but I thought it was best to be certain.’ ‘Oh, of course. I shall enjoy sitting with him now that lam really awake. But must you go to your church this cold morning? Would not the afternoon do? I can take your place then just as well.’ ' Thank you for the offer. , It is not at all compulsory for us to go to church to-day; but father and mother they are both dead , now,’ said the pretty nurse, sadly diked to keep this day as it was kept in their old home. They always went to Mass, and took us, too, and now I like to offer a holy day Mass for them.’ Mrs. Loughlin did not quite understand, hut she said no more, only when sitting idly beside the sleeping child, whom even the rustling of the morning paper might disturb, she continued the train of thought started by the simple evidence of her employee’s devotion to their parents’ faith. Why did it mean so much to them and apparently nothing to her own husband? Was it because worldly success and riches sufficed as substitutes ? Not in all cases, she knew, for there was their neighbor—Judge Grace—moneyed, influential, with the added prestige of descent and inherited position and he was the acknowledged pillar of that same little church frequented by Winnie, the cook, and Margaret Keating. Indeed, she had heard the former refer casually to Judge . Grace ‘.taking up the Sunday collection ’ there, and it was well understood that from his private purse were supplied the deficiencies of the church income; It was true, she reflected, that her Presbyterian father, whose helping hand had assisted young James Loughlin to his sudden rise, might have refused his daughter to an aggressive Catholic, as was Judge Grace, for instance. In her heart she owned that it would , have been embarrassing during the days of courtship and engagement to introduce into the gay circle where she moved a lover of such straight-laced tendencies as Catholics must needs possess. ‘ Jim ’. had been simply perfect in this light, never mentioning religion that she could recall, and since their marriage he was equally satisfactory. Only once, she remembered, when Gerald was so extremely ill, the father had spoken some incoherent words, in which mention of his own sins and his boy’s , baptism were strangely mixed; but

then he was entirely unstrung by excitement and suspense, and Miss Keating had led him from the room, and talked soothingly to him in the library, while his wife stayed with the relieving nurse to await the great doctor’s verdict. With such thoughts tis these, that meant little and led nowhere, Mrs. Loughlin was engaged until \ the nurse’s pleasant voice sounded on her ear, and she roused herself to report that the little patient had scarcely moved during' the mother’s watch, and that his sleep was so tranquil she would not even kiss him lest it be disturbed. , A gloomy day of rain and chill verified the morning’s threat, and Mrs. Loughlin welcomed gladly that afternoon hour with her little son allowed her by the doctor’s rules. She found him bright and merry despite the weakness that still remained,' J and now quite busy arranging against the white counterpane and amongst the snowy pillows of his bed the many toys and knick-knacks with -which he had learned to while away the long hours of his unoccupied day. In a curtain alcove of the big room the nurse sat, arranging the contents of a neat portfolio, in anticipation of her nearing departure from the house where she had spent almost the entire winter. Miss Margaret gave me these pictures, mother,’ the patient announced gleefully, ‘ fast as she found them in her box, and I’m to keep them all, ’cepting just this one, and it belonged to Miss Margaret’s mother, so in course she must keep that.’ With the child’s instinctive delicacy, the little fellow lowered his voice while he drew the envelope and held it toward his mother. ‘ It isn’t just a picture, is it? ’ he said, in a puzzled way. ‘Soon’s Miss Margaret is through writing she will tell me about it.’ ‘ And she may tell me, too, pet, for I do not know what sort of picture it is. _ What is this, Miss Margaret? ’ Mrs. Loughlin asked, lifting between her jewelled fingers' the circle of stiff white paper, on which was laid a cross formed of brightly colored ribbon, outlined with shining beads. ‘ Oh! that,’ answered the nurse, coming smilingly forward, ‘ is something I meant to explain to Gerald; it is called a “Patrick’s Cross” in my dear mother’s time all the little Irish children wore such crosses on their shoulders on St. Patrick’s Day; this is St. Patrick’s Day,’ she added in an explanatory tone. ‘ So Mr. Loughlin told me this morning,’ said Gerald’s mother, still examining the Patrick’s Cross with interest. ‘ Perhaps he remembers —’ As she spoke, the heavy portieres that helped to exclude all household noises from this quiet room were parted quickly, and Mr, Loughlin stepped to his little son’s bedside. See, father,’ exclaimed Gerald, even while he lifted his face for the kiss of greeting, ‘ this is a “ Patrick’s. Cross.” The Irish boys and girls wear them to-day, Miss Margaret says.’ ' ‘I do not know that they wear them to-day, dear,’ corrected Miss Margaret gently; 4 they wore them when my mother was a little girl there.’ • ‘And what is their meaning? A badge of some sort?’ inquired Mrs. Loughlin, who, as a member of the most advanced women’s literary club in the city, was naturally keen on folk lore. " ‘ Well, a badge of Catholicity, I suppose we should say,’ Miss Keating answered, ‘The cross is the central idea. That was St. Patrick’s gift to Ireland, of course, and so while the men wear the shamrock because he used its leaf in explaining the Holy Trinity, the little folks wear the pretty Patrick’s crosses as a kind of pledge, I think, that they, too, would follow the faith he taught.’ - Perhaps for the moment Miss Margaret forgot her surroundings, and that while Gerald’s mother was not a Catholic, Gerald’s father should be one, a fact she had learned in the days of Gerald’s danger. At all events two auditors listened to her attentively now, the child with parted lips holding out an eager hand to receive the treasure from his father’s hold, the mother, fingering the Sencil on her dainty chatelaine, as though eager to note own this new item for her club paper. < But the father —the busy man who found it difficult to spare these few afternoon moments to the boy he idolized did he not relinquish the badge at once and proceed with his usual inquiries regarding the patient? His delay and silence attracted his wife’s attention. ‘ Have you ever seen one before, dear ? ’ she inquired, divining easily enough that her husband was easily moved. ‘I have worn such a Patrick’s Cross,’ he answered, not hesitating now, as he had done in the . morning when she questioned him about the holy day. ‘ It was pinned on my breast by a mother who would rather have seen me lifeless at her feet than know that I should live to deny it.’ . . There were tears surely in his voice, but the listeners could not see his eyes, for he rose quickly and passed from the room, laying the ‘ cross ’ gently on his boy s pillow. There was no use in trying to ignore the happening, so Miss Keating turned to the wife, who had also risen as it to fpj° am more sorry than words can tell,’ she said; ‘ but how could I foresee this?’ , . , „ ‘ There is no need to be sorry or embarrassed at all, ; Miss Margaret. Come to me when Gerald can spare you, and we will talk about it; tell him now something more of

the customs of his father’s country, for his father is so busy he had to hurry away to-day.’ In the library Mrs. Loughlim found, as she had expected, a distressed and unnerved man, in whom his associates would never have recognised the daring organiser of financial and political parties. ; ■ ‘ Tell me what this means, Jim,’ she said bravely, without any attempt to ignore the situation, and the man who had been so long sunk in the depths .of moral cowardice recognised the challenge and -rose to it. angels see me — pitiful thing— renegade from the faith in which I must always believe! I wore the Patrick’s Cross the childish pledge that Miss Keating speaks of — to-day when I touched those . faded ribbons they seemed like scorpions stinging me into remembrance *of my dastardly sin! Oh, what am Ito do?’ ‘Perhaps I am not competent to answer that question,’ replied the weeping wife, ‘ but I know where it can be answeredyou can go to church where Winnie and Miss Margaret go, and the priest there, who seems to solve all their difficulties, will help you.’ ‘ Oh, my wife! you do not even yet understand what a traitor I have been! When Gerald appeared almost lost to us, I vowed that if he were, sparedl should do something hardly know what, but I meant baptism for him in the Catholic Church. Miss Keating heard my promise.’ ‘ Let me call her, then—perhaps she can help us! ’ and at Mrs. Loughlin’s call the nurse came looking pale and disturbed for all her efforts to conceal matters from little Gerald. She listened to the wife’s few words of explanation, for Mr. Loughlin, with his head resting on the carved mantel against which he leaned, made no sign at her entrance. ‘ And now for my confession,’ said the nurse firmly. ‘I had meant to defer it a few days longer, but it may ease your conscience, Mr. Loughlin, to know that I saw to the fulfilment of your vow. Gerald was baptised during that dreadful spell of unconsciousnesss, on my assurance to the priest, whom I called in that day while Mrs. Loughlin was forced to rest, that you, his father, not only consented, but had promised to God it should be done From that hour I, for one, date his recovery.’ ‘Thank God! came from the lips of Gerald’s father, and then he returned to his wife. ‘ You will not blame Miss Keating for this, Louise?’ ‘ There is no room for blanje,’ was the answer; ‘ rather should I remember with gratitude that my boy was miraculously restored. Ido not understand the faith that is so much to Miss Margaret, and was so much to your mother, but I am satisfied to have our boy trained to it, if his father leads the way.’ And so it was that through a Patrick’s Cross of ‘faded green and tarnished gold one weakling was restored to the fold of his fathers, where entered with him the cherished darling of his home, and where, too, there came later for admission the wife, whom that Patrick’s Day experience changed into an earnest and conscientious seeker after truth. —Church Progress.