The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 22 January 1914, Page 5

The Storyteller

THE ROCK IN JUDGE CAREY'S HEART

To the people of Glen Maryhis former home and mineand to his acquaintance in the large and central Kentucky town where he had won honors, Judge Carey passed as a self-sufficing, unsociable, if not surly man; hence ft caused no little surprise, in which 1 was a sharer, when, on hearing of my presence in W 7 , he invited me to accept the hospitality of his home during my stay. How much the memory of two old farmhouses, separated from each other by a long verdant valley, had to do with this unexpected departure from the habit of years I shall not attempt to determine ; suffice it, my visit was made pleasant by him and his widowed sister, while the glimpse 1 was permitted to have of the inner nature of the man showed one who, if strong in his loves and' hates, was also strong in his Christian forgiveness. bn his desk, among law books and piles of paper, stood a cross cut from common stone, but with a chisel that "was wielded by a master hand. The slender* cross rose like a white thought from the stone base, and when I remarked one'morning upon its beauty the Judge tapped thoughtfully on his desk, and smiled sadly. It is one of Hart’s compositions, soon after Fame found him,’ he said. ‘We called it The Triumph of Religion. You see,’ pointing them out, there is the withered rose of love, the broken lily of honor, clasped in the poison-vine of hate, which, destroying everything else, is here destroyed by religion. A beautiful thought ? Thank you, young man. Rut it is inline, not Hart’s. Hid you ever associate inanimate things with important actions of your life ? The rock from which that cross was cut was from the farm in the Glen. Old Tim Dolan -used to call it “the wedge in Jack Carey’s heart. I wish, that he had lived to see what it became.’ I was left to speculate over the history the few words suggested until the following afternoon, when he judge . invited me to visit with him his newlypurchased farm a few miles out of town. I love farm, life,’' he said, as we walked that bright, November afternoon through a field which was being ploughed for the spring planting. .‘I love the smell of fresh earth as I have never loved the smelHoJ musty law books.’’ - -v v ?;'• Why, then, I asked, - * did. you abandon agricultural pursuits for your profession ?’ - He „was ' : on the - point of - replying • when he caught

sight of. a plough , that was standing-in an unfinished furrow, where it' had been left by one of the men the day before. The judge crossed to where it stood, and, drawing the shining steel from the black soil, laid the plough the ground. When he rejoined me I fioticed that there was a change in him. All the joy this stepping uack, as it were, into the old life had brought was gone, and the sadness of loss and pain was on his face. ‘ I do not like to see a plough standing like that in an unfinished furrow,’ he explained as we retraced our steps. As we reached the brow of the hill he paused, and pointing toward a house that was nestling among its orchards, he said: . ‘ That always recalls the old home. That piece of landscape was an important factor in determining my intention to purchase this farm. You asked me a while ago,’ he continued, taking a seat by me on the new sledge left by some careless farmyard in the field, ‘ what made me abandon farming and adopt a profession. It was hate. Hate mapped out my life—and spoiled it.’ ‘ I cannot agree with you that it has been spoiled,’ I said, remembering his long and honored career. \ Yes, spoiled,’ lie insisted. Life is not to be counted good and useful by the honors we have striven for and gained, nor by the amount of work accomplished, but by the spirit which actuated us. Given a wrong motive, (he results are evil for themselves, though circumstances may have shaped them into benefit; for others. Ho you remember the stone cross on my desk. Let me indulge in an old man’s privilege and tell you of its associations with my life. 1 It was- such another autumn .as this has been,’ he began, ‘ the heavy, cold rains of October retarding the Indian summer, which came and lingered with ns during December. As the boys have been doing here, I was turning down a field of bluegrass for the next year’s crop. I had promised myself to finish the work before Christmas, and, notwithstanding the many allurements which the season brings in the country, I had followed my team faithfully through the brief mild days. As the sun went down one evening and I turned into a new furrow I looked over the unploughed part of the field and I knew that the close, of the next day would see the work completed. The horses were pulling well when they were rudely brought to a stop by the ploughshare coming into sharp contact with a rock. I made an effort to force it up, but it was apparently embedded deeply in the earth, and as the horses were tired I unhitched them and started for home, leaving the plough standing in the unfinished furrow. ‘ In those days we had Mass rarely at Glen Mary, but word had been received from our pastor that he had secured the services of a young priest who would be with us for the first time on Christmas Day. The information naturally threw the rustic congregation into a state of excitement. The young people instantly called a meeting to arrange for the proper* reception of the priest and provide ample decorations for the little church. When I reached home that evening my sister met me with the information that I had been called upon to furnish and deliver the cedar needed for the decoration. This command -for my services had been' issued by Helen Goodwin. Helen knew that I would not disobey her, and it was only Helen who could have taken me from my unfinished field. My sister further informed me that George Anderson had returned from the East, where he had been attending college. He had likewise been studying music, it appeared, and lie had secured' the -loan, of an organ from one of the Protestant churches, and was training a hastily, formed choir. We were to have our first High Mass, on Christmas Day. Helen Goodwin had a sweet, fresh voice. She had sung my heart away two years before, and I was saving my money to make my first" payment on the home I fondly hoped would, be ours. ‘ Tim and I 'secured, an abundance of cedar and holly the next morning and started for the village. As- we drove up to the Church George Anderson appeared ; at the . door with Helen’s bright" eyes; peeping, over his. shoulders. I believe that he was honestly glad : to see me, after the years i away from us, but before I

could analyse my feelings I glanced at Helen. I observed the .comparison she was mentally and perhaps unconsciously making between him and me. I dropped his hand,- while my heart grew cold. ‘“Tim,” I said, “unload the cedar and take the ■waggon home.” “Aren’t you coming?” he asked. I shook my head. “But the ploughing?” he said. Let it wait,” I answered, and then I suddenly recol- • lected how I had left my plough standing caught on the rock in the unfinished furrow. Whether George Anderson knew of the tie that existed between Helen and me I do not know ; but this I do know—no demon could have tortured me as finely as he did that day. I had not wit enough to hide my pain, and my suffering afforded infinite amusement to the boys and girls. But I worked with the best of them. I wreathed the cedar, hung the festoons, but all the time hatred against the man who was helping me to beautify the House of God was growing more intense. 1 was forced to admit that there was that in . him which would have attracted me to him under other conditions, and I could understand how his personal magnetism could affect a girl like Helen, who I knew did not love me with the depth with which such a nature as hers was capable. ‘ Those days and evenings they were constantly together, It is -true that every minute was needed for practising the Mass music, but to my jealous heart it appeared that she avoided me and sought my rival’s society. When I. did see her alone late Christmas Eve I upbraided her for her conduct. Angry words followed. She asked me for a release from the engage’’ment between us. I instantly gave. it to her. ‘ Memory has never let go the scene that little church presented that Christmas morning, with its lights, its decorations, her sweet voice - flooding the church, and the priest’s unfamiliar tones coming from the sanctuary. The priest was a man of remarkable nervous energy, with direct, soul-searching eyes. By chance, for I was in no frame of mind to seek the society of anyone, I had met him on Christmas Eve—met him alone. What attracted him to me I never knew, but he evinced unmistakable signs of interest in me. When wo parted, such was his gift I knew my heart was a read book to him. I was not surprised .that he chose for his sermon the following day “Christian Forgiveness.” But hate was wedged more securely in my heart than was the rock in the field, and while the preacher pleaded I sat staring at the stove, whose heat was so intense that the outside of the pipe for a yard glowed like flames. I recall that I vaguely wondered why John Moran, who, on other occasions, gave the stove his careful consideration, did not open the door. But John Moran, who had never known hate in his life, was sitting with his eyes fastened on the young preacher, while the tears coursed down his weatherbeaten old face. ‘ After Christmas the winter set in in dead earnest. 1 do not care, even 'at this late day, when, my head is white and my step slow, to recall the time that followed when the knowledge was thrust upon me that I had been so little to Helen Goodwin she could so soon and _ so completely forget me in her new love for another. Then came the determination to break the ties that held me to the old place and hew out for myself a way to fame and fortune. ‘I did not abandon home seek those gifts in a helter-skelter fashion; but putting youth and love and everything else but hate and honor behind me,, I began to study law, though still performing my duties on my father’s farm. . When March came, and the ground had lost its frozen hardness, I hitched my horses to the plough, and, lifting it over the rock, I finished my \ furrow. I planted the field and worked it, but the ' .. rock lay unmoved. I studied and read at odd intervals and lived as completely to myself as though I were in a hermitage. • The fund I had started to make the first payment on* the home for me and Helen grew. It was now : to be devoted to ,my law education. My father, seeing my ambition and not divining my motive, aided me, and in another year. I was attending the university at Lexington. I graduated with con-

siderable flourish, went back to the Glen, and entered upon the practice of law, with the inevitable result of becoming a politician. I stood for election to a minor office and achieved a flattering victory. The next time it was a step higher, with a similar result. . * I still kept up some of my farm work, for my father was dead, and my mother and sister looked to me as the head of the house. The field I had ploughed that memorable autumn was now a waving meadow, and when harvest time came I purchased a mowing machine. The first few rounds of the field were made, but as I was entering on a new swath, crash came the long, slender blade against the hidden rock. Tim was with me. “Ah, Jack, had you gone back to your ploughing that day you’d have lifted the rock and avoided all the trouble,” he said. I knew the meaning that lay under his words, for he saw deeper than the others who were nearer to me. “And it’s so easy,” he declared. -He took a fence rail and placed it against the rock, and while the other men busied themselves with the broken machine he worked with the rock, and soon it lay over on the new-mown hay. “Let it stay there,” I said, as he was preparing to roll it away. “Jack,” the old man pleaded, “take that wedge out of your heart before you strike and break it against something that cannot be mended. My boy, don’t wait for the justice of God to work it out.” I silenced him, but his words never left my mind. ‘ In the meantime Helen and George became engaged. He taught school in the Glen and stood so high in the community that when he offered himself for election to the office of County . School Superintendent he was elected. As my sister had married I had left the Glen, and was then filling a position of trust in the State. When George Anderson’s papers were presented at Frankfort for examination the correctness of which would decide his eligibility for the office to which he had been elected by the people, and which he was eminently qualified to fill, I was one of the board of examiners. ‘ It was then my white honor struck and broke against the rock of hate. George Anderson was debarred from the office. ‘ Success and wealth were mine, defeat and poverty were his; but she loved him so well, she would share his ill-fortune with him. They were married and left the Glen. All I - had now was hate. I would have clung to and found consolation in the practice of my religion; but the religion of Love has no portion for the hater of his brother. ‘ In the course of years the priest who had officiated at the Glen that Christmas morning came to the hospital in this town broken down in health and prematurely aged by his hard work in the mountain missions of the State. I took him from the hospital to my home as my honored guest, and soon he became the best-beloved friend of all my life. The rest began to restore his shattered health, when at this juncture I was smitten with a deadly contagious disease. My servants abandoned me, nor could all my money induce them to return. I was alone save for the priest and the physician. For long weeks I waited at death’s door for the lifting of the latch, but over me, begging my life of God, hung my priest friend. Slowly I came back to life, and the first words that greeted my ears were those telling me the , priest was dying. I begged to be allowed to see him, but he had been removed to the hospital and my request could not "be granted. With his last breath he sent me this message. ‘ You were not fit to die, with hatred of your fellow-creature in your heart. In life I was powerless to make you-thrust it outshall I fail also in death?” ‘ And then my heart was smitten, and I saw how small a thing in reality was the cause that had made me to give over the kingdom of my soul to a monster, the destruction of which had called for the life of my one, my heart’s friend. . v. * One day, some years afterwards, a client's, business took me to Cincinnati. The man for whom I was looking to give me necessary information lived in = the tenement district. As I was searching,, for. his home I observed a group of women and children about.;. an

ambulance standing at a dark, narrow entry. As I approached some officials appeared carrying a litter, upon which lay a tall, still figure. I. caught a glimpse of the forehead above the covering,- and something in the soft, curling black hair struck me as familiar. When the ambulance moved away 1 questioned one of the women. That’s poor Mr. Anderson, sir,” she replied. 4 ‘lt’s the way with the poor; when sickness comes. God help us.” * .. , ‘ I quesioued her further and learned that the man’s name was George Anderson. He had held a clerical position and was doing fairly well until taken ■'sick. To live on his savings he had moved to that place, where rent was cheaper. Finally his wife was compelled to leave him and their small child, and look for work. She had secured a position as saleswoman in one of the uptown stores, but as the husband was growing worse the physician had ordered his removal to the hospital. The child was alone in the miserable room,, unattended except for the. care of the^neighbors.’ The judge paused for a long time, with his eyes on the white house that was nestling among its orchards. I did not look at his face, for I was thinking' how complete his revenge was. ° ‘ I think,’ he finally began, but I still held my eyes turned away, for an old man’s sorrow is like a knife in the heart of the beholder, ‘I think,’ he repeated, ‘ that I felt the hand of God falling on me in that moment like a rain of physical blows. I could not move, I could not speak as I stood there in the ruins of Helen’s life—the ruins I had made. When I regained my faculties the place was deserted, and I recalled that I did not know to what hospital they had taken George Anderson. I went into one of the houses, and its poverty and untidiness were like a legion of mocking devils to my overwrought soul. I remembered Helen s old home in the Glen, saw her in its sunshine and atmosphere, and then thought of her living amid such surroundings. ‘When I «received the desired information I sought the hospital and was 1 taken into the ward where George Anderson lay ; and looking down on the handsome face, wasted, it was true, by illness, but still wearing its old indefinable charm, and heard him calling Helen’s name in tones no woman could withstand, I realised that he, the inmate of a charity ward, with his wife toiling in a store, and their child alone in a poor, dark room, was more to be envied than I, rich in the wealth of the world and its honors. Then I realised that the hate which the death of the sainted priest had rooted out still lay on my heart, even as the rock was lying on the field, for I still remembered the man before me was my successful rival. But the grace of God triumphed. I ordered Anderson to be moved to a private room and sent a nurse to care for the child until the return of its mother. While the nurse watched I waited outside," until hurried steps on the pavement late that night announced the return of the. tortured mother. As I kept my watch I went over the past, step by step. If George Anderson had been permitted to hold the office of .Superintendent the chances were that he would have been re-elected several times. I calculated what he would have received , and saw that I had robbed the man of fully nine thousand dollars. When I added the percentage the money would have netted during the years it represented more than half of my fortune, for I had not been saving and was not as wealthy as was generally supposed. Still I had defrauded the man of that amount; strict justice demanded its payment. . ‘ When Anderson recovered ' I visited him, and - though it was as bitter as death, I made a full confession to him. But he was generous, and forgave me, and I knew the secret lay between him and me.’ The judge paused. * Where are they now V I asked. ' . , Where I knew their hearts always were— in the Glen. . Do you know what I did the day after I left Cincinnati?’ continued the judge. ‘I went down to the Glen, to the old farm, On© morning I took the

horses and sledge from the boy and drove over to the field. It had been planted in wheat the fall before, and the green hillside was refreshing to the eyes that early spring day. The rock still lay where I had, years before, ordered old Tim to leave'it. - I lifted it to the sledge and then saw that it had again began to sink into the earth, which was covered with innumerable dead roots of the grass which had striven to work up to life under that great weight. I dug around in the ground with my penknife and scattered on the bare place the seeds of wheat which I had taken out with me for the purpose. The rock I took home, and you have seen, in the cross on my desk, the thought the sculptor worked out at my suggestion. They told me afterward that the spot of ground grew a bunch of wheat so tall and thick that it was noticeable in the field,’ he finished with a short, mirthless laugh. And that spot in your heart V I half whispered the words. . ' ‘ Is the only tender spot in it,’ he said, looking away toward the purple hills. Catholic Telegraph.