The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 17 April 1913, Page 5

The Storyteller

A PROVIDENTIAL HAPPENING Father Mullin had but little time to think of the beauty of the country, though the hills, through which he often had to drive many a weary mile, were exquisite in the variegated greens that clothed 'the incommunicable trees,' and that sense of mystery and loneliness that haunted all the forest paths. Exhausted by hard work and privation, as he was, and, with a natural delicacy of constitution that had led some wiseacres to declare that he would never live to be ordained, it would have been quite possible that he gave more thought to the rough hills, roads, and the scorching yellow sand, through which he had to urge his horse painfully. But, in fact, the burning, eager heart of the man was as little concerned with one as with the other. The beauty, if it appealed to him at all, must have appealed subconsciously; and as for the weariness, what did that matter, in comparison with the souls that might be saved but that were perishing all around him, exposed to innumerable hostile influences. For there he was, entirely without resources, making a < hand-to-hand fight against the proselytisers, or the advocates of agnosticism or indifferentism, who were ■ making use of every material advantage to draw away , from the fold the children of the faith. Money was to them all in profusion, whilst he, who re- ,,! gained for himself* not one cent of his salary and reduced his own personal needs to a minimum, was abjectly poor, deprived of everything material that could assist his work and enable him to sustain that long and cruel warfare. With the exception of a handful-of Irish people and a few,Mexicans, from over the boundaries of the State, practising Catholics there were none, though there were plenty of people with Catholic names, some of whom even acknowledged to

having been born in the faith, or to be, at 'least, sons and daughters of Catholics. Most of these could not be persuaded to accept Father Mullin’s ministrations, even when they were literally thrust upon them, and their children swelled the schools arid ’ Sunday schools of whichever one of the denominations could offer them the greatest advantages. To such a pass had the need of priests, of churches, and of schools brought that extensive portion of the Lord’s vineyard. Amid the sluggish indifference of Catholics, and a hostility on the part of non-Catholics scarcely credible to those who inhabit the more civilised portions of the country, in loneliness and isolation, in a daily routine of hardship and privation, which he felt most sensibly when it extended to the service of the altar, or when it directly interfered with his work, Father Mullin spent the days and the weeks and years with never a thought behind him to the comfort in which he had been brought up, to the love and devotion of his family, in which he had been an idolised youngest son, and the circle of friends who had predicted great things of his future. He had managed to get the four walls of his little church roofed in, at the cost, on his part, not only of financial strain and anxiety, but of hard manual labor as well, for to his impetuous nature it had been impossible to stand by and watch other men toiling or, to see the pittance he had managed to scrape together being expended by delay in construction and by the employment of more workers. So he was to be seen helping to haul pulleys, to lay foundations of brick and mortar, or to drive in nails or pins. His long, slender, delicate hands, that had occasioned many prognostics as to his health, were now roughened and browned and toil-worn. ' b He had then erected a church, as it were, with his heart’s blood, for he had faced insult and calumny, and, in a few instances, even rough usage in collecting the sums that were needed, besides having written scores of begging letters to the North. Of these latter but few indeed had met with any response. People whom he knew—as the popular expression puts —to be rolling in luxury’ had not deigned to write a word in answer to his appeal, nor to send even a small gift, a dollar or a half-dollar, nor even the cents which, as the priest reflected, multiplied, would have put him beyond worry. He had waited, he had gone to the post office, a distance of some miles, every day with the hope that some one would respond— friends, college mates, millionaires, philanthropists. For to him, who was giving his youth and his manhood—the remnant of his strength—for that sacred cause, it seemed edible that no one would respond to that cry from the darkness of these God-forgetting regions. His own father and brother, both in very moderate circumstances, had sent him all that they could —they and a very few others. For the rest, blank, dreary silence. And yet some of the names which the priest had written so confidently on the outside of the letters, belonged to those who were reported in the papers as piling up millions, as building superb residences, as the owners of motor cars or boats, or even of aeroplanes, or as giving inordinately large subscriptions to objects that were doubtful, if not positively harmful to society and to religion. ‘ Dear God,’ Father Mullin murmured to himself, after one of his futile journeys to the post office, ‘ I wonder if they’ve got the faith at all, when they won’t contribute one of those dollars, that they throw away so lightly on all sorts of things, while souls are perishing here for what they would spend on cigars or the theatre.’ It was the groaning of his anguished heart, as a lonely and dejected figure he pursued his homeward way, and looked up to the stars above him, as if in their clear radiance and in the infinitude of these worlds unnumbered he might find some answer to his query. Though his very soul within' him was, wrung with the bitterness of the thought that God’s glory was lessened, and His redemption in many souls made void for the want of those material advantages, that long, steady gaze up into the firmament seemed to calm and soothe his troubled mind.

‘ God forgive me,’ he said within himself, 1 for

judging others! lam sure there isn't one of those people ; that is not ’ weighed down with calls upon him lor the homo needs, and for objects of every sort. At worst it , can be only thoughtlessness,- and because he can’t realise how much a lew dollars‘means to a missionary priest.’

And after all, as he reflected, he should be glad and proud that he had been able to raise the walls of the church at all, even if there were a heavy mortgage to pay upon it, and even if the interior were as yet like the merest barn, where the Lord of glory, to Whom all the kingdoms of the earth were as grains of sand, had to be called down in an abject poverty worse than that of the stable in Bethlehem.

The altar was the rudest kind of temporary one some rough planks he had helped to put in place himself —and the lights, nearly all candle-ends, which he had been delighted to accept from a priest nearly as poor as himself, and the few vestments so shabby and patched—why, scarcely could he comply with what the the rubrics demanded! The veil of the tabernacle was the merest apology of cheap, tawdry stuff, and the cruets—.

He had a minor anxiety on his mind just then, and this was the approaching visit of the Bishop to administer Confirmation to the children. Kind and sympathetic as that prelate was, since he himself had been a missionary in the South and West and knew what it all meant, still he and the priests who accompanied him had to be fed and entertained in some sort of way and it seemed lamentable that they should find scarcely an appliance at all for divine worship. At least the floor and all else were scrupulously clean, scrubbed as white as snow by the vigorous arms of a poor Irishwoman, the mother of a considerable family, who would not accept one cent for her labor. ‘ls it I take money,’ she cried indignatly, ‘for cleaning the house of ' God, when there’s poverty oi the place and yourself. Father dear, as we all know, next door to starving? Ah, then sorra on me, if I couldn’t do that much itself for my God!’ The tears came into the. priest’s eyes, and streamed down his white worn cheeks, as he contrasted that reply and the generous ardor of that woman, to whom the money he offered would have been quite a godsend, with the subjects he had lately been considering as he walked home from the post. That cleanliness, then, for which Mrs. Fagan was responsible, would be the chief adornment for the Bishop’s visit cleanliness—and, to be sure, there were to be armfuls of beautiful flowers which the neighboring children had promised to bring from the surrounding fields and woods. How good it was, too, to see those little ones, so long strayed children of the flock, enrolled even in that humble way in the service of the sanctuary, and thus made to realise in a personal sort of way the Presence upon the altar. Father Mullin, too, had set them all to praying, and had prayed harder than ever for some, weeks previous, that some help might come, if it were only to embellish the interior of the church and to help him out of the little difficulties connected with the visit of the Bishop. He told himself, as he pursued his way to the shack that had been run up for him as a residence, that the saints were wont to count upon the abundant treasures of Providence for all .needs, and that though he was no saint, in his humility he said at least he could put in practice some of their lively faith and literally visualise these treasures celestial.

Not very far from his dwelling he suddenly met a carriage, within which were two women, being driven up the hilly ascent from the station, probably to the little hotel at the crossroads. They were looking about them with interest and curiosity as upon a scene entirely unfamiliar. One was a woman well advanced in ears, with snow-white hair gathered smoothly about her face, and wearing, like her companion, a widow’s dress. The younger woman, who answered to the description of ‘ fat, fair, and forty,’ had a bright, alert countenance and a pleasant, smiling expression. She glanced at the priest—a pitifully shabby figure he was—in his, suit of rusty black and a hat that had seen much wear, relieved only by the immaculate whitenessdue to Mrs. Faganof the cuffs and Roman

collar; It was this latter article of attire that caught those observant eyes. The lady said something to her companion and, both bending forward, bowed respectfully to the dpsty and footsore priest. This occasioned some surprise to the -driver, a dapper, wiry little man, who could scarcely restrain his curiosity until the priest was out of hearing: ‘ I- thought you told me,’ he said, ‘ that you didn’t knoW no folks ’round here?’

Neither we do,’ said the younger woman, while both smiled at his frank inquisitiveness. ‘ But .the gentleman we just met is a priest, is he not?’ ‘Yes; he’s the Romish priest, all right enough.’ He relapsed into silence a moment, after which he continued:

‘I don’t hold myself with.the stories some folks ’round here has to tell about the Papist preachers. I guess they ain’t one-half so black as they’re painted.’ ‘Black!’ cried the younger woman, in eager protest, ‘I should rather say not.’ But the man, paying no attention to her disclaimer, continued his cogitations :

‘ Now that thar young' feller,’ and he pointed backward with his whip after the retreating figure of the priest, he seems to me a decent sort of man, and harder-worked, too, fer no pay at all than any ..other Johnny in these parts. Not over strong neither, as I gather from his’ looks; ’pears to me as if he might hev some chest trouble. The Romanists round here they say that he’s jest about half starved ; he ain’t got no food to speak of, and he’s got a house worse than the pigs has got on some farms hereabouts. He’s a bright feller, too, and a terrible fine talker. I heard him once in the town hall. Why in tarnation he stops here I can’t by no means make out.’ The elder of his hearers, whose soft eyes filled with tears, listened silently to the speaker with an expression in which many emotions were blended; while the younger, pushing aside her widow’s veil with an impetuous gesture, cried involuntarily, while her eyes shone and her cheeks glowed, ‘Oh, I know; any Catholic would know why he stays herej’ The man stared at her, and then, as if dimly apprehending her meaning, continued: ‘ Anyhow, he’s sartinly drummed up a lot of folks that were, .1 take it, lapsed church members. He’d only about a couple of dozen when he begun here, but I guess now he’s got two or three hundred, maybe more. Some of them they sassed him when he went to see them, and asked what bizness he had to come nosin’ ’round their premises. But somehow or other he corralled them, and he’s took right hold of the children. He teaches them all the book lamin’ they’re like to get round here, Sunday and week-day, and fer as I kin see he’s done them a sight of good. They wuz a tarnation tough lot when first he come here.’ The man paused in his discourse to chirrup up his horse and to ask, moreover, a prudential question before proceeding with his narrative. ‘Be you,’ he inquired, with a glance at their attire, ‘Church, of England?’ The women shook their heads. Presbyterians, reg’lar Blue Noses he inquired further, naming the creeds which seemed to him most suited to their condition, and with so genial a smile as to bring a responsive laugh to the face of the younger widow. 1 ‘No, no! None of those things!’ she said. The man stopped and let the rains fall upon his horse’s neck.

‘You ain’t never,’ he cried, turning full around to have a good look at them and speaking in a hushed whisper, ‘you ain’t never Romanists?’ The horror in his tone was apparent, for he had been talking in a conciliatory tone about the priest, partly from a spirit of contradiction to the supposed opinions of his hearers, and to take a rise out of those two presumably orthodox churchwomen.

‘Wa’al.l never!’ he said, in frank amazement; but having presently recovered from that sentiment, he began to think that they might be profitable guests at this little hotel, whither he was driving them, and also sympathetic listeners. So he launched out upon

the subject of religion, saying that he himself had never joined no Church,’ and that he ‘hadn’t a mite of ill will agin the Papists, but X must say that those around than were a mighty beggarly poor lot, and that the church, which the priest had helped to build with his own hands, was about as poor as could, be, and Father Mullin ’most famished for want of nourishing food.’ In fact he gave & lot of information which set these two ladies who had come here through the apparent accident of missing their train, to hard and painful thinking. Through the man’t desultory talk they could see ail the pain and misery which had been heroically endured by that brave-hearted cleric whom they had passed on the road while reaching out after the lost sheep, that, according to the narrator’s story, were plenty as berries thereabouts. The man, warming to his subject, drew so lamentable a picture of the limits to which endurance had been stretched, as to make the listeners’ eyes fill with tears and their hearts fairly ache. Their Catholic intuitions, too, supplied details which the man could not give, the necessary shading to the outlines of such a picture. * And now the Bishop he’s coming here in three days’ time, and I guess the priest is worried more’n ever, how he’s goin’ to feed him while he stays. He hates like pizen, so they says, to ask them poor Irish, cause he knows mighty well that they hain’t got nuthin’ and alius puttin’ their hands in their pockets, as it is. Ef I wuz that priest, why I’d wire the Bishop to stop at home, and I'd jest run for it. , He cud get a better job than that up north, even at the preachin’ let alone, ef he cut the tails of his coat short. A hard-workin’ feller like that, he could git payin’ work anywheres.’ The priest was in conference next morning after Mass with Mrs. Fagan, at his house, where she was to do the extra cooking required for the coming of the ecclesiastical magnates, as well as such ‘ chores ’ as might be required. .She was willing to supply not only her labor but anything that she could spare from her own scanty store, besides procuring some contributions from a few of the parishioners. But the results were not encouraging, and the good woman was almost in tears, while Father Mullin was considering the necessity of drawing out a few dollars of the carefully guarded interest money to supply deficiencies. The two were startled by the sound of wheels coming up the mountain path, and the stopping of a vehicle at the door. The priest threw it open, in response to a light tap, and there in their simple but exceedingly handsome travelling costumes, which betrayed the fact that they were in mourning, stood the two women whom Father Mullin had seen driving on the afternoon previous. They introduced themselves as mother and daughter respectively, Mrs. Kelly and Mrs. Rollins, from New York.

How the priest’s face brightened at the word. In the first place, the names suggested to Father Timothy Mullin home, where, not so long ago, he had been a fair-haired boy, attending St. Francis Xavier’s School. A lump rose in his throat, for who is there that does not feel the lure of the past calling, calling ! - Moreover, New York was, as he knew if only one could get its ear, the paradise of the poor and of the charitable worker, a city of boundless, munificent charity. Strange possibilities flashed into his mind. At least his present difficulties might be tided over, and he might be enabled to feed the Bishop and those coming with him if only— only he could make up his mind to beg. Beggin’ letters were another matter, and even begging from the pulpit, when there was any one to respond. But it seemed to him immeasurably more difficult to broach the subject of his embarrassments, and to demand help from these casual visitors even though, as he surmised, they should be of friendly disposition. Having invited them to enter, with a laughing reference to' the poverty of the place, he introduced them to Mrs. Fagan as his good genius and the providence of the parish. The latter, after a few words in response to the cordial greetings of the women, discreetly withdrew into the adjoining kitchen, while Father Mullin discoursed on different topics with his guests. But the begging, which he dreaded, and which

he yet felt it his duty to do, remained in the background as an unpleasant spectre until it was presently caspelled by the idndiy tact of his visitors, The elder began to speak,, her eyes dimmed with tears and in a manner so motherly and kind that the heart of the lonely priest warmed to her instantaneously: ‘ Father/ she said, it is something more than chance that has brought us here. We missed connection with our train, when on our way to visit my son, who is an engineer at San Antonio. But I had another son. He was about your age, and, like you, he had given up all things to become a priest. His seminary course was just finished, and it was his ardent desire to devote himself to the missions, these missions here at home, of which he had thought and read so much. Oh, he could hardly wait for the time to come, and for the consent of his superiors. 1 Then, all at once, he was stricken with pneumonia, and our dear Lord called him home.' The mother’s voice faltered and broke, but the priest who had been listening, with a new lightbreaking over his face, said; 1 And isn’t your name Kelly, from New York-? Your son was at the seminary class , and died soon after his ordination?’

The woman nodded, ‘ Yes, that is all as you say.’ ‘ Then your son was in class with me, and one of my dearest friends. We all looked upon him as a saint. How often we talked over these missions, where we hoped to labor side by side, or at least, heart to heart. What a blow it was to me when, made prefect in a short time, Father Kelly went to pray before the Throne of God for the missions that he loved.’

There was deep emotion in the priest’s voice; seldom was he so moved, for the strenuous life, the apostolate at which he had spent so many years, did not leave much time for sentiment.

‘Then,’ said Mrs. Kelly, going over to him and taking his hand in both her own, ‘ we can see now how providential was our* coming here through the mere accident of missing a train. My daughter, a widow like myself, is blessed with this world’s goods. She was devoted to her brother. From this time forth, you will take bis place in our regard. What we would have done for him, to help in his holy work, we shall do for you.’ ... ‘ The priest, fairly breaking down, sobbed aloud, laying his head upon the table, while, like an echo, came an answering sob, from the adjoining kitchen, ‘Oh, is that Mrs. Fagan?’ cried the 'younger woman, springing up and dashing away her tears, ‘ I am so glad you are not gone, for you and I will have to see, in the first place, that everything is ready for the Bishop.’ > ‘ My mother and you and I,’ the woman said, ‘ will be co-workers henceforward. For I know my mother has the same thought in her mind that, after a week or two at San Antonio, we shall make our headquarters here for the summer.’ —Anna T. Sadlier, in Extension.