The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 12 February 1914, Page 5

The Storyteller

WILLIE’S WAY

Willie, Will—ie!’ Mary Smith raised her head and looked in the direction whence came the clarion call. It was a typical New England homestead-—white, angular, solid—-with the inevitable green blinds, and doorway exactly in the centre of the house. A straight, green lawn fringed by a scrambling hedge, ran in front, while in the rear of the house was a large, white barn, with a red door that stood partly opened. Will — ie — Will —ie — e.’ The girl in the doorway shaded her eyes with her hand as she called again insistently. ‘ Come—ing, coming.’ Mary jumped back as a small figure, until then hidden by the hedge, sprang up—close at her elbow. She had a swift impression of stray brown locks on a high forehead, big brown freckles, and still bigger and browner eyes that regarded her intently, yet not boldly. Hello (she ventured that trite expression usually employed to draw the young into conversation). ‘Hello!’—the boy returned quicklygiving a hurried glance towards the house—Mary’s followed his the girl had disappeared. ‘Are you going to teach Miss Brown’s room the weary youth demanded. ‘ —yes.’ The suddenness of the question jostled her. ‘ Thought so!’ the questioner exclaimed, as he took to his heels. , ‘Well, of all things if that wasn’t the greatest!’ the girl ejaculated and walked away. ‘lf that is a sample of my friends, I guess I will give up now. Gracious! but it was amusing.' He must have been watching me as I came along.’ ‘ Who lives in the big, white house just at the end of the road-—before you strike the sign that reads: “ Bolton 10; miles, Whitfield 20 miles, Hillsboro’ 32 miles” ? ’ Mary, inquired. Mrs. Dale, her new boarding lady, laughed. • ‘The selectmen got Abe Slocum to paint those signs a couple of years ago, and the town’s been chucklin’ since. From the time you strike the Dinsboro’ Turnpike ’ — Mrs. S. Dale indicated the region mentioned with a wild wave of" her arm—‘ ’till you lose the last sight of the town at Bolton Bridge—Abe planted the same sign. Reckon Abe hadn’t done any ’rithmetic in years, and ho wan’t Consarned about doin’ any more.’ Mary forced a laugh. A day and a half had given her a surfeit of loquacity. , Mrs. Dale detected the false note and 1 hastened, Guess you asked me a question. Perhaps it’s Lizzie Black’s house you mean she lives -’ Has she a small boy—a lively little fellow?’ Mary interrupted.

‘ Land—no—you mean the Boylesthe widow, she was a city girl. -.Her husband’s deadhe used to run the store —Ins father before him died. - She sorter keeps to herself—lives there with her little boy.’ ‘That’s the one I mean, I guess.’ ) ;’ ■ i? Yes. They’re Catholics.’ I here was a note of inquiry in the tone. Mary opened her mouth to speak—then shut it slowly. ‘ A shadow fell across the window near which the woman stood. Mrs. Dale peeped out. ‘My ! If that ain’t Mis’ Perkins goin’ ’round to the back door.’ Mrs. Dale hustled away and Mary fled up the narrow stairs and found blissful silence in the shelter of the best front bedroom. She closed the door, and casting a sweeping glance around, catalogued the details of her domain, as she had done twenty times previously. The braided mats — an everlasting circular collection of rows illimitable, innumerable— on the white, well-scrubbed floor, a bed with snow coverings, a low bureau over-run with wonderful crocheted tidies a white wash-stand, and two chairs— straight and another rocker, at the window—but worst of all, the yellow butterflies chasing green flowers over the walls. Mary groaned and wondered if Miss Brown, her predecessor, had died of green wall-paper poisoning or yellow horrors. Then she remembered hearing that the lady in question had married. Anything to escape these butterflies, I guess,’ Mary murmured cynically. She walked over to the window, looked down at the road covered with a thick layer of yellow dust—and turned away disgustedly without once raising her eyes to see the trees drooping and bending under their heavy tonnage of green foliage and gracefully revealing tiny interlaced bits of the clear blue sky above. ‘ It’s horrible, horrible. I hate it all— hate hate it! and I’ll never be able to stand it for a whole year,’ she said between her teeth. The tears of vexation streamed down from her flashing grey eyes. Fqr a few minutes the dark head was bowed and the tall, youthful figure lost its usual self-reliant, proud air. Soon the girl brushed aside her tears, and paused to consider the events wrought by the retrograde motion in the wheel of fox tune. % Aunt Anna’s sudden death had placed her alone in the world, and unhappily not very well fitted to earn the living that circumstances now made imperative. •- ‘ I almost wish I had taken Aunt’s advice and accepted old Bernard with all his money when he proposed at the mountains last summer!’ the girl exclaimed aloud. ‘ But why didn’t I V Her cheeks tinged to a dull red. ‘Only Joe Harvey—how Aunt discountenanced him ! Bernard was too much in evidence, and Harvey thought I— ’ she sighed. ‘ Now it’s all past and gone. I’m Max-y Smith, ex-society lady—now a country school ma’rmeven that is due to George Dalton’s kindness.’ Mary smiled as she thought of that wisely known successful lawyer whom Mrs. Dale and Dinsboro’ still recalled as a freckle-faced stub-nosed, aggressive boy. A loud knocking of what proved to be the broom on the stairs "caused Mary to open her door. ‘ Your dinner is ready, Miss Smith.’ Dinsboro’s patent dinner gong is at least unique, if not musical, thought Mary. ‘Coming, coming,’ she called. At the re-occur-rence of the word, the face . of the boy flashed before her mind, and she smiled. 4 *** * * * Miss Brown’s ‘room’ filled with thirty young personsassorted sizesvarying from bright-eyed, little girls stiffly starched for the firs’ day of skule ’ to long-legged, gawky youths * kept back ’ through several —presented a remarkable spectacle to Mary’s anxious eyes. All, however, appeared eager to make a -good impression. . ’ There was a strange mixture of elements in the atmosphere; a great deal of anticipation, some lurking

fear, and considerable speculation concerning the strength of the new teacher’s arm and the limits of her patience. Mary realised all this, and for the, first time set the proper valuation upon the unfailing shrewdness and keen observance of cliildhood. From Willie Boyle who sat in the front seat regarding her with an expectant —Mary’s gaze passed over tlic different faces, and it was then sue felt the first thrill of awakening interest. Towards the close of the session, the gilt of good behavior wore off a little and many whispers, but no serious disorder marred the placidity of the first day. Still, Mary was glad when it was over, and she found herself treading the road that led from the school to Mrs. Dale’s house. She had not gone far, however, when she came upon Willie Boyle sitting on the top-rail of a low fence, his cap on one knee and his speller and arithmetic in their shining, new, black cambric covers, lay in the long grass at his feet. ‘Hello!’ ‘Hello!’ He balanced himself securely on the rail and smiled. That smile lingered in Mary’s mind as she continued on her way. It was so like someone’sshe chaslll away the silly thought. > Next^ evening the same incident was repeated, and Mary felt called upon to ask — ‘ Won’t you walk along with me, Willie?’ ‘ No, m’am,’ was the unexpected reply. Curiously Mary enquired, ‘ Why not?’ ’Cause Johnnie Hale walked home with Miss Brown last year and they called him teacher’s net, but,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘ his mother made good doughnuts and he used to bring them to Miss Brown ’cause she liked them With a violent effort Marv checked the laughter that was choking her. ‘Does your mother make doughnuts?’ she asked mishievously. ‘ No — Melissy docs,’ he answered quite seriously. ‘ Who is Melissy ?’ Mary pursued, anxious for more fun. ‘Who is Melissy?’ The boy looked up at her, puzzled that anyone should ask such a foolish question. ‘ Melissy is Melissy —Turner. She lives with us and helps my mother.’ Mary laughed. ‘ You’re a queer little lad.’ Willie regarded her earnestly for an instant. Was that remark intended for a. compliment or a dismissal ? Evidently he interpreted it as the latter, for picking up his books he retreated swiftly over the railing and across Ave Slocum’s cow pasture. After that, no more did Mary find him sitting on the railing when she passed on her way from school. In the schoolroom he was keen, quick, alert in lessons, and sometimes in mischief : yet a real treasure contrasted with his thick-skulled older neighbors; but as far as cultivation went, he was elusive. (September passed, and the weather—warm—made the children restless indoors. Mary was weary and sad. On this particular Friday night when she turned the key in the schoolhouse door she wished that something—would happen to break the awful monotony surrounding her. She took the long way home, around by Main Street ; and as she passed the post office Willie Boyle came out holding a letter in his hand. ‘You’re lucky to-day, to get a letter,.’ Mary remarked. ‘No, I expected it. Tie always sends it,’ was the disconcerting reply. ‘lt’s from my uncle to mother and me ’ .'V ‘That’s nice.’ Mary was secretly amused when Willie walked along with her. Evidently he had forgotten all about Johnnie Hale of doughnut fame. But soon she became aware that there was something on his •j. mind. •' 'V; . \ ‘Do you know Latin ?’ he finally broke the silence. ‘Yes—some,’ Mary added, wondering what was coming next. - . yf * . 1 1 do,’ he said quite solemnly Mother taught

me. I’m going to serve Mass with Eddie Jordan for .Father Young.' , Where when?’ ;:3 V ' ‘Down in the Town Hall—next Sunday at eight o’clock.’ ‘l’m glad \you’re going to serve. Glad to have Maes, too.’ Then she began to ponder over the quantity of truth in her last statement. Religious advantages or disadvantages had not formed a strong consideration in her coming to Dinsboro. Of course she had wondered if she could get to Mass, but there the matter ended. There’s no church here,’ Mary said musefully. ‘ No. Father - Young said—if we’d only grow he might try' to build a church. There are only a few people.’ Willie looked at the girl seriously. ‘ You’ll make one more.’ The grave, little face before her stilled the laughter on the girl’s lips, but the thought lingered in her mind. Not a very important or worthy addition,’ she murmured in an undertone. At Mrs. Dale’s gate they parted. ‘ I'll bo looking for you Sunday, Willie. I’ll see you.’ All right. Good-bye!’ ‘Good-bye!’ Mary turned back to glance at the little boy as he went slowly along, lost in dreaming of the glories of serving his first Mass. The world is a strange place,’ she murmured, ‘ and the joys and sorrows of childhood are not the least of its problems.’ ***** Next Sunday convinced Mary that Dinsboro Catholics must increase in numbers before a church could be built. The priest, after hearing confession in full view of the little throng waiting in respectful silence, went to a temporarily arranged altar and began to vest for Mass. It was then that Mary noticed Willie, with towheaded Eddie Jordan, standing close at hand. ‘ Willie’s eyes were shining like twin stars as he watched with eager interest every movement of the priest. p. Soon Mass began, and Mary forgot Willie—forgot everything. She had assisted at Mass in massive cathedrals and costly churches, but never before had she realised the full significance and sublimity of the holy sacrifice. - . Hitherto religion had been a dormant element in her life, and Mass-going subservient.to the weather—occasionally to pleasure. ■ She recalled that Aunt Anna had been religious ‘in fits and starts’—fashionable fits and society starts, to be sure. Once Mary remembered Aunt Anna had attended sermons all during Lent because they were given by a celebrated preacher —a convert over whom society had gushed and raved. But here all was different. Mary saw the faithful few who had held to their priceless treasure for years. Her thoughts flew fast, and hardly did she know till the little flock began to disperse. Coming down the steps she spied Willie, and for the first time saw his mother —a small, slight woman with a certain noticeable passivity, of manner. ‘Teacher, this is my mother.’ Willie thought he had successfully fulfilled the introductory honours. ‘ Very happy to meet you.’ Mary took the frankly extended hand. 1 Willie has talked so much of his new teacher I feel as if I almost knew you.’ , . Mary smiled in reply, and Mrs. Boyle hastened to anologise. ‘ I should have informed you, about the Mass, but I did not know that you were a Catholic. Your name was ’ ' ‘ Non-committal,’ the girl interposed, and reddened at her own words', conscious that her manner had been so, too, at times.'. .• ' • ._ • . V Well, it’s hard to tell,’ the woman noting the . girl’s blush was a trifle confused, ‘ names are uncertain nowadays!.- ' I . ‘Yes; but Willie told me about Mass, so it wag all right.'

‘ Oh! did he? Mrs. Boyle was surprised. Willie, pleased at being mentioned m the conversation, flushed all the way up his high forehead and under his straight brown hair. • ‘ Willie also says that if Dinsboro would grow they might build a church.’ Mrs. Boyle smiled. ‘ Yes, but we grow so slowly. ears bring no increase or change; but now they are speaking of putting up a cotton mill over near Bolton Bridge. That might bring Catholics ’ ‘Yes, 1 have heard Mrs. Dale speak of that proposed mill.’ You’re staying at Mrs. Dale’s?’ * _ Yes. Mr. Dalton, a friend of my aunt and a native of Dinsboro,, sent me there.’ ‘ You must miss the city. It is so quiet here. I suppose you’re lonely.’ ' Mary recalled Mrs. Dale’s volubility. ‘ Sometimes ; not always.’ I'd like to have you come and see us.’ ‘ Thank you.’ v Mary went up.the path to the house, while Mrs. Boyle and Willie continued on their way. Mrs. Dale was standing on the parlor threshold when Mary opened the outer door. You’re out early:’ then realising her remark was ill-advised, ‘it’s a real nice morning.’ ‘Yes: it is a nice morning,’ Mary replied stilly. I’ve been to Mass down at the hall.’ Consternation and surprise were visible on Mrs. Dale’s countenance. Is that-so?’ she murmured, recovcrng her breath. i ‘ Dalton, Mrs. Dale will swear that there is mischief left in you yet.’ Mary threw her hat and coat on the chair in her own room. . Unconsciously the girl’s thoughts drifted back to the little woman she had just left at the gate. Soon she decided that she liked her, but Willie ever so much better. When the weeks wore on and he braved public opinion and, took several long walks in the wood, she liked him still better. She wondered at his strange mixture of innocence and shrewdness, and his knowledge of Nature was ever a revelation to the city girl. Soon she grew accustomed to his swift questionings and his peculiar faculty for giving candid replies. Many times Mary paused and wondered at herself when she remembered life in the past, and what it was 'now. What made, her so contented with her humble lot ? Then from her heart came the answer—peace of conscience renders life easy in any sphere. It was a December morning. Rain, frost, snow, hail—each had don© its work, and icy jewels glittered and hung resplendent from every bare tree and shrub. ‘ Pretty cold out,’ Mrs. Dale exclaimed as Mary rose from the breakfast table. ‘ Yes, but too beautiful to stay indoors. I’m going to get the paper.’ Mrs. Dale eyed the window, on which Jack Frost had written a remarkable fantasia. Paper?’ ‘ Yes.’ Mary went out of the room. ‘ Papers—life or death. City livin’ must have the papers, to chuck -away ’fore they’re half read.’ ♦ Mrs. Dale soliloquised as she began to pick up the dishes and carry them into the kitchen. Mary walked briskly, and soon reached the ‘ sf,ore.’ Just then Willie Boyle came out. ‘ Good morning!’ . . * 6 .‘ Fine morning! Did the papers come?’ Yes. He’s come too,’ Willie said briefly. He! ..Who?’ V.; < ‘ I ‘Uncle Joe. He’s going to stay until Christmas; perhaps New Year,’ Willie announced. ’• 1 '■ * Isn’t that lovely Mary felt that she must say something to add to his merriment, although she did not experience his joy. ‘ I’ll wait till you get your things,’ Willie volunteered . Mary came out in a few minutes, carrying several bundles and the, morning paper in her hands. ; v ‘ Let me carry your things.’ ' ■ . Mary and the bundles changed hands.

‘ Did you notice the trees, how beautiful they are?’ Mary asked, when they started along. ‘ Yes. You ought to see our hedgethe red berries and ice. Melissy said it was the prettiest ever.’ If the sun keeps on getting hotter everything will be dripping.’ But if the sun didn’t come out nothing would shine. It wouldn tbe half so nice,’ Willie observed, • Mary laughed. ‘ That is so.’ . * bay, do you know what my Uncle Joe said last' night?’ Willie asked suddenly. ‘No, What did he say ?—that you had grown tailor, bigger since he saw you last?’ No no. Willie shook his head. ‘lt was about you.’ ‘ About me Mary was surprised. ‘ Yes. He said he thought Mary Smith was an awful pretty name.’ ‘lndeed!’ Mary commented. ‘I suppose you agreed with him.’ ‘No, I didn’t. I never thought anything about names being pretty or homely.’ Mary laughed. ‘ Always tell the truth, Willie. It may bring you fortune, but it will never bring you friends.’ What do you mean?’ Willie raised his eyes suddenly and ran forward a few steps. ‘lf he isn’t comihg now !’ b ‘ Train was late : had to wait for the papers,’ Willie called excitedly in the loudest tone his youthful lungs could demand. ' , Mary stopped short. Joe Harvey came quickly towards them. He did not appear to hear the boy’s words. His eyes were fixed on the girl’s face. Quickly recovering from his astonishment, he extended his hand. ‘ I did not know it was you.’ he accent on the last word brought a deeper glow to the girl’s cheek. ‘ Neither did I know you were Uncle Joe.’ Mary was slightly embarrassed. Guess you know each other,’ Willie ventured disappointedly. ‘ Guess we do, Willie,’ Harvey said gravely, putting his arm affectionately around the little lad. The years have sped quickly, and to-day in Dinsboro’s new church Mary Harvey looks up at the altar, sees Willie saying Mass: then, kneeling beside her’ Joe, with his whitened hair, and Mrs. Boyle, with her faded, happy countenance. Mary’s eyes rest again on the young Levite at the altar, and she thinks, ‘ To-morrow you’re leaving for distant mission fields, Willie ; f but if you only knew your labors as missioner began the dciy you brought me to Mass in Dinsboro’s Town Hall.— Pilot.