The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 13 June 1912, Page 5

The Storyteller

THE TRIUMPH

When Maurice Ahern died of pneumonia shortly after Christmas, he left a widow and a young son behind him. One would say Mrs. Ahern was fifty and young Maurice fourteen. They were well off enough while the elder Maurice lived; but God took him, and then the two had to make out for themselves.

Shortly after the funeral Mrs. Ahern went up to the Great House to see the Master/ Sir Robert Ferendale. Her husband had been his sheep-tender shepherd in pastoral phrase—and she wanted to know if she could still keep her little house and tend the sheep. The ' Masther ' was not such a bad man, but his sheep must be thought of. 'My good woman, I should like to help you, for your husband was a faithful servant; but surely you can not take care of all my sheep?' 'Your honor, I am not manin' my self, but the little boy.' 'Your little boy take care of my sheep? In the washing season ? In the shearing season ? In the yeaning season? And the old sheep to be sold off? And the new ones to replace them ? Impossible ! Your son is the merest child.'

' Yes; but, your honor, he used to be about with his father a great deal mornin' an' evenin' when he was home from school, an' he does b» very knowledgeable.

' Mrs. Ahern, I really am afraid to trust my sheep to so young a boy.' ' Wisha, couldn't your honor .give him a thrial ? Your honor wouldn't lose much by that.' ' Very well, my good woman I'll give him a trial,' the man of acres and sheep replied promptly, knowing very well he could not lose much in the brief space of six or seven days. The mother brought home the good news, saying, as she hung up her winter shawl: Maurice, agra, the work is hard an' you must be up early an' late. But you'll have three sthrong min to help you as your father:—Gcsd rest him !—had before you. An' you know more about the sheep than they think you do. An' God, who left you without a father, will give you His hand to guide an' help you.' But little Maurice had high hopes for a day ahead; and the prospect of sheep-tending in cold and heat, wet and dry, early and late, scattered his hopes like chaff in the wind. He wanted to go to college did not know when or —to study law, and then to be an attorney, and later a councillor. He had a schoolmaster who rose above the birch and the beating system of those days, and spoke to him in a kindly, human way. All of them are risen above the system now. But one must praise the. man who is ahead of his time; for his light is a light unto others, and opens pathways to fairer vistas. Maurice was a sensible lad, however, and took the present for what it gave, and let the future wait for him away in the years. He was already in the ' second stage of sixth' class in the national school, and spoke English with remarkable accuracy. ' Mother, I was thinking of something else for myself, but I see I must put that by for the present. Tomorrow morning I'll begin tending the sheep; and, as I have a little time now, I want to see Mr. Crimmins, the teacher, after school is let out.' ' Yes, Maurice. An' be back for supper, an' go to bed early; for there's a long, hard day ahead of you to-morrow.'

The lad promised and passed out of the house. John Crimmins, the school teacher, was a bachelor of forty-five, who lived in a neat cottage about a quarter of a mile away from the school house. Old Mrs. Doyle, a woman of sixty-four, who was all alone in the world, kept house for Crimminsand kept it well, you may be sure. She had a motherly way with her,' and looked upon the teacher as a son, and John looked upon her as a mother. It was a pleasant arrangement for both of them, and made life run smoothly enough. When Maurice reached the cottage, Crimmins had just got home from school. He was most friendly in his greetings to his promising scholar, and made him forget as much as possible the gap of distance between them. When one is full of a subject one comes out with it quickly, and Maurice was full of fading visions and dying hopes. ' Mr. Crimmins, you have been very good to me all along, and you have helped me in a hundred ways.' ' And, Maurice, I have told you a hundred times not to mention goodness or favors from me to you.' ' Well, I can't help it this once; for lam going.' 'Going? Where, my dear?' ' To leave school.'

' To leave school ?'

The teacher waited for explanations. 'You know, now that my father is dead, I must fill his position or we must leave our little home. We can't do that; for we must live, and not beg. I learned a good deal morning and evening about taking care of the sheep from father. To-morrow I'll take uo his work.' r To Maurice's surprise and, perhaps, disappointment, the teacher had no regrets to offer over his stern fate. «. I '.£ vid , ently to take care of y° ur mother and to keep the little home is the present duty. And the present duty is the first duty, Maurice. Don't worry about the future; for the little service of to-day takes care of the larger service of to-morrow.' ' 'That's all fine talk,' thought Maurice; 'but fine talk; never gets one a schooling.' \

The teacher had more to add:

' Maurice, keep up the studies—the Latin, the reading of English authors—and write a composition sometimes. I'll help you.' And straightway this man of axioms wrote down a schedule of work for his shepherd pupil and promised to help him along. Maurice went off in better spirits than he had come; for, in spite of drudgery and long vigils, his dream was not blotted out forever, though it was far away. To tell of his daily round of keeping guard and count of the sheep, warding off disease, and fighting it out when it entered the fold his long walks from end to end of the wide estate; his watchfulness to protect the interests of his master; his tact in getting those under him to render full and careful service—to tell all this would be to repeat the story of many another lad born at the base of the mountain, who, because he longed for larger vision, could not be gainsaid, and climbed to the summit. There were, in his watch, periods of lull, when he sat under a tree and pored over his Latin, or worked a problem in mathematics, or read the books loaned to him by his teacher. There were many occasions, too, when the teacher himself happened along and removed difficulties from before the active lad, or showed him new ways. It was like fighting one's path against a high wind on a treeless plain, this battling against circumstance. Maurice liked it, waxed stronger of purpose under the force of it, and saw his dream come nearer day by day. But for one opposing force he would have advanced so joyously as almost to forget he was a sheep-tender. Sir Robert Ferendale had three sons and as many daughters. Five of these children one may dismiss without a word or a nod, as they had no relations whatever with the young dreamer of dreams. The second son, who carried his father's name, was about a year and a-half Maurice's senior. Like his brothers and sisters, he had a private teacher, following the traditional ideas of 'gentleman born.' Probably he was clever enough—one is not concerned. Doubtless he made progress in his studies— is not so important. But what surprises one even now is that this young, pampered, petted boy, with the way of life rosy* before him, could stoop to notice with envy a lad who ran barefoot about his father's fields and wrestled with his father's sheep. Yet he did. The reason for his jealousy is simple enough. _ On three occasions his own father, in his. presence, praised the grit and serious manner of Maurice. Twice the talented young minister, an Oxford man, who occupied the manse close by the estate, spoke at dinner of the 'wonderful eyes of Sir Robert's 'shepherd lad.' A lady, whose nightly horse Maurice had held for a little, spoke of the ' remarkable working boy who took care of the sheep.' Then Maurice's talents were spoken of once or so, and Lady Ferendale said she wished Master Bob had as bright a head as young Ahern ' From then on Robert Ferendale, Jr., seemed to have but one aim in his young life— keep in the low dust Master Maurice Ahern, Jr., official guardian of his sire s sheep. It was an unequal contest, you may be sure Poor Maurice had to grin and be silent while the rich young gentleman raged and abused him. He might have inflicted bodily punishment on young Ferendale, for Maurice was known as a hard hitter at school But he had a mother, and it would be small satisfaction se\r5 e \r ? me J lme he were to say: 'Mother, I have made Master Robert Ferendale's face black and blue with my fists lam glad of it, too, although I must give up the sheep and get out of the house.' It was him tied behind his back, a brave opponent may smite him with impunity.. J Young Master Robert would say, as he galloped fug pony across the fields to where Maurice Was brand mg a sheep: a 'You insolent dog, don't you see you're in my way? Move off, you beggar!' * i 7 Maurice would move away a little, though there were acres of fields on either side of him for the youn! gentleman to pass. young

Again, young Ferendale might come upon him during the brief periods he snatched for study. ' You worthless brat; do you suppose my father pays you and gives you a house, in order to have you spend your time reading ? You ignorant peasant! I'd like to know what you want books for?' Maurice would put the little volume in his pocket and glide away to another section of the field. He might have stopped the persecution if he had complained of the pampered boy to his father; for Ferendale was a strict man, who would accept no nonsense from his children. But, with the instinct of his race against ' spy ' and ' informer,' be could never bring himself to lodge a complaint. All the same his young mind planned revenge, and his young heart longed for the day when his turn would come. When Maurice was in his eighteenth year, John Crimmins housekeeper died. Owing to the careful tutelage of the teacher and his own patient work, Maurice was ready to go away somewhere to begin his study of law. But he had not enough money to carry him through nor did he see any prospect of getting it. Then the unexpected happened, and John Crimmins offered the position of housekeeper to his mother, and told Maurice to make ready to cross the channel to take up the studies of his profession in England. Some days later Mrs. Ahern began her new duties. Robert Ferendale had taken up the study of law in a select school some time before. The years went their swift way, and fate or circumstances, or what not, at last brought Robert Ferendale Q.C., and Maurice Ahern, Q.C., into conflict. 11 former sheep-tender remembered the burning insults of days gone by, you may be sure for personal wrong sometimes leaves a deep, red wound that time does not heal. The trial in which they both appeared as celebrated opponents is so well remembered that one need only offer the merest outline. Smithfield was an 'emergency man,' placed over Ardee an T S h P ° 7 M tenants ™les ouS Ardee. The landlord of these tenants was an 'absentee ' who spent most of his time in keeping up Wiethe Hart of ff Cht \ and "r? *"?» f chance wh"h a * a. part of the pastime of the 'idle rich.' He save no thought to the struggling peasants who were* trying weight out a living and to hold up under the crush nf weight of the rents'. Probably the landlord did not know who they were, and did not care to know - He was a hard, bad spendthrift at best; and the agent he e 7 y Two°t COlle ? MS rents Was no befcter tha^Hm! self Two tenants were evicted for non-payment of rent, and this Smithfield, from somewhere, waT sent to ocupyone of the houses and take care of both firms An emergency man ' at his highest was a hateful beast, whose presence defiled the Abandoned hearth whose very shadow was unholy on the land Smith! field was the most offensive of a very offensive tribe £ :ndTy re t d old n fl P >° n < the r>° f •»- ™* oy and by told the two ' peelers' sent to guard him to go home, as he could take care of himself The" poorest beggar on the road would neither salute him nor answer his salutation. He drank freely and his" swagger rose to insolence. But the people had no mind bimg^s trOUWe *" ** Already, audit fin P One evening, Margaret Sheehy, a young woman of tLrTirr^e™/ h ° me h °™ *• &i Whf iht i fif e M nd ™ met h y Smithfield. She of her ex afd I 7 T T- fW the pri eless treasur * hour Iter WW 7tl \ nsensible on the road an nour later. When the people heard of the outrage their anger- leaped out in burning tongues of fire nIJ morn the police found Smithfield dead in the exact P dged W t\t e ht r d W V° Und ' With brofw iT ad - Mar g are t Sheehy had three with tS Led™ Tht ° nCe PlaC6d " Ud6r a " est " c^s circumstanSl J 5 ™ a great deal of talk a bout circumstantial evidence among the attornevs vrhinh the laymen could not follow. The i™S S'f ch the death of Smithfield. the arrest o-thJ tbT" brothers, and the great trial at LWick th \ Bh « 1 W w*. Young, rich, and brilliant Robert Ferendale O n was to prosecute for the Crown. Everybodyeip^

that: he was a landlord's son. Young, brilliant, but not so rich, Maurice Ahem, Q.C., was retained by the defence. Everybody expected that, too; he was of the people, and proud of it. And you may be sure the people were proud of him. Now, if ever, his services would be needed. One might call up the fine rhetoric of Mr. Macaulay on his Warren Hastings' trial to describe the time and the scene, but one must surely be caught with the purloined property. At any rate, the court room held all it could hold, and out beyond it the streets were packed with people. In Robert Ferendale's opening speech there were finish of language, grace of gesture, and wealth of discouraging testimony. One does not remember, the points after so many years ; but a distinct impression remains that, the distinguished councillor had the rope around the necks of the Sheehy boys and it needed only the hangman to finish them. He was sarcastic, he thundered invective against a lawless people till one wondered if he would not hang them all ; he appealed to the jury to stand for law and righteousness as against cold-blooded murder in the broad highway. He wept some as he spoke of the blameless man away from home, rendering a legitimate service in the face of boycott and,intimidation. When he ended at last, many a man and many a woman said, ' God have mercy on < thim poor boys! Sure they're as good as dead an' gone!' There was a whispering among the solicitors and the white-wigged councillors, and many nodded, and many more shook their heads. Indeed, among the high and the low, it looked hard for the three Sheehy boys sitting silent and solemn on the prisoners' dock. And a man might cry a bit, and not be ashamed of it either, to see the crushed and broken parents of the three stalwart lads, and their sweet-faced sister close beside them. But often in the darkest hour the sun leaps out and scatters the clouds. Maurice Ahern, Q.C., rose with fine self-possession, and there was a very perceptible buzz of excitement in the court room. ' My Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury.' He seemed like a fine rider astride a horse that at a word would leap into space and annihilate miles by the minute. But he did not urge his steed yet. Rather he walked his charger, Language, with ease and grace, bowing and paying compliments as he went. My Lord and Gentlemen of the Jury: The distinguished counsel who has assumed the responsibility of the Crown at this trial has more than measured up to his previous reputation as a master in the craft of matching words. He is brilliant and resourceful, and has captivated the fancy of the jury and of the crowded court room ; and, I am free to confess, he has captivated me also. If matchless language and exquisite finish of voice were to decide between him and me, between the three prisoners at the bar, and the dead Smithfield, between guilt and innocence, the case might well rest here. But, Gentlemen of the Jury, there are issues that even eloquence can not tide over ; minds that beauty of language can not sing to slumber; clamoring rights that crushing invective and picturesque irony can°not hush into silence. Above all, there is a just God' (here the young councillor lifted his right hand high above him), whose truth is eternal and must prevail, who holds rich and poor alike in the hollow of His hand, and who will bring to light the hidden things of darkness.' Jj ' Then his charger cantered, and later galloped, and finally flew. How like a prophet was this man tearing to tatters circumstance after circumstance till there was not a shred of it left! How puny— mix the figure—was the polish of Ferendale, Jr., before the giant blows of this towering man! How every bit of adverse testimony fell into dust with the strokes of his sledge! How the jurymen listened, with extended necks and parted lips, as he sent home every telling -circumstance, every crushing weight that battered down the feeble breastworks of his . opponent ! There were .demonstrations and the court rapped for order. Suddenly he swerved from his thought:

' And who is this Smithfield ? "A blameless man," the worthy counsel says, "away from home, rendering, a legitimate service in the face of boycott and intimidation/' A blameless man ? Does a blameless man beat an innocent young woman into insensibility to steal away her virtue? Does a blameless man wait for an innocent girl on the highroad and beat her down in the darkness of night? Is this the worthy counsel's concept of blamelessness, of chivalry, of modern knighterrantry .'.'• ' ~ ' , '. He went on and on. At one moment men's eyea blazed fire, at another tears were streaming down their rough, weather-beaten faces. He made witnesses contradict themselves, and pointed out discrepancy after discrepancy in the testimony. Half of them were perjurers before he had finished the cross-examination, and the other. half did not wish to stand sponsor for what they had at first testified. Young Ferendale objected here and there as a matter of duty, but this man rider could neither be reined nor thrown. On he went to the bitter end, and closed with a peroration that put the court room into a frenzy of enthusiasm. '" The judge's charge was brief and, to all intents, a verdict. The jury filed out, and returned in just two minutes with the words 'not guilty.' The wild joy that followed one passes over as a matter of course. There are scenes and moments and feelings that always lose in the telling. Coming out from the court, a warm hand clasped the hand of the now imperishable Maurice Ahem. .. It was that of John Crimmins. Maurice, Maurice, I'm proud of you! It was a victory for ten lives!' Maurice returned the pressure of his old friend and teacher. 'My dear old teacher, my dear old friend, you share in the triumph ! It is yours as well as mine. And isn't it worth waiting for all the years?' — Ave Maria,