The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 24 June 1915, Page 3

The Storyteller

THE CLAIM TO THE RECTORY ‘ I heard of it yesterday,’ said the youngest sister, timidly. v- ’ The elder Miss Minters unfolded her knitting. ‘ Straighten the tidy on your chair, Priscilla.’ Then she went on thoughtfully: ‘ You have known it a whole day ?’ The round, soft cheeks of the other flushed. ‘ Mrs. Conley told me,’ acknowledged the younger woman. ‘ You should have conferred with me, Priscilla,’ remonstrated Miss Minters. ‘ But, Cynthia,’ the speaker’s eyes rested lovingly on the angular, unemotional face of her sister, ‘ I knew it would only bother you, and I do hate so to bother people.’ Through her fifty years of life, this hatred of bothering people had become an obsession with Priscilla Minters. ‘ It doesn’t “bother” me,’ returned her sister. ‘lt doesn’t, Cynthia?’ ‘No. It necessitates a call on the Bishop, That is all.’ ‘The Catholic Bishop?’—the tones were full of wonder. ‘ My dear Priscilla, since I intend registering a protest against a Catholic priest’s occupying our beloved father’s former rectory, it must naturally follow that it is a Catholic Bishop whom I shall visit.’ Priscilla rocked a while in silence. ‘ But we don’t own the rectory. What will you say?’ she finally asked. A slight smile hovered around the corners of Miss MintexV long, thin mouth. The fingers were now busy with her knitting. ‘ I shall simply register my protest.’ ‘Cynthia!’ The other’s plump body straightened resolutely. ‘ Times have changed since father died—’ Her sister stopped knitting. ‘ There must be a reason back of what one says,’ the younger sister added lamely. ‘You have imbibed the modern ideas to a great extent, Priscilla. In fact one could almost call you a Modernist,’ Miss Minters replied. . ‘ I am not a Modernist, Cynthia.’ The younger Miss Minters knew as little of the term as did her

sister. ‘But I do know that Catholics are not all bad.’ Again the knitting ceased. . ‘You know one Catholic, Priscilla, I - know none. From our earliest years, however, we have heard sufficiently of them and their doctrines.’ Priscilla was uiuisually bold to-day. ‘ Cynthia, we never heard they were bad.’ ‘ If you define the word “bad,” child, you will say that it is the opposite of good. I am not saying that Catholics are wicked, but they are not up to my standard of goodness.’ The other puckered her brows. ‘ Because they are gaining so many converts to their Church —is that what you mean, Cynthia?’ The elder' Miss Minters was beyond the blushing stage, but she was, nevertheless, slightly ruffled. ‘Don’t be absurd. I dislike seeing so many souls led astray from the path of righteousness.’ That is the same thing,’ answered Priscilla. Seeing the growing displeasure in her sister’s face, she went on hurriedly: ‘What is the right path, dear?’ ‘I do not know, but it isn’t the Catholic way surely.’ This unconsciously humorous statement elicited no direct response. ‘Didn’t father once mention a Catholic priest as a friend of his?’ ‘ Priscilla !’

* I think he did, Cynthia.’ C ' ‘.lf so, he erred.’ - ' • ’ -It was the first- criticism of her: father Miss Minters ; had ever made, and her sister sat up aghast. '' t O' Cynthia, Catholics are not all bad ! Mrs. Conley' is ? the dearest little woman, so kind to everyone, and so willing to help everybody ! Her children, . too, are lovely.’ - , . ‘ Mrs. Conley also has erred.’ ‘ But what do you know of the Catholic Church, Cynthia ?’ * ‘ Priscilla ’ (the speaker’s voice teemed with impatience), ‘ this conversation must end! Ido not wish to show any ill-will, but I see plainly that certain things must be impressed upon you. First of all, the Catholic Church has been the tabooed subject within our household for years. Yes, I know I said we had heard enough concerning it; but father, in his great charity, would listen to no derogatory remarks against any sect or person. But the words unsaid are those that speak the loudest. I have always realised that if the Catholic Church had not been established here father’s church would have flourished to a greater extent; and I know that he,- too, realised this. You must admit, Priscilla, that losing one’s parishioners to a church that practises idolatry, and— ’ r> ■ Her sister interrupted

‘But ’ ‘No defence, please ! So long as I know that father thought as he did of this religion —’ ‘ But you don’t know !’ - ‘I know ! And what is good enough for father is good enough for me.’

‘ Cynthia ! Why, you never go to any church !’ The thin lips of the elder woman trembled, and the small, sharp eyes suddenly filled. ‘lt isn’t like you, Priscilla, to taunt me. How can I go when I do not believe?’ ‘Oh !’ The other sprang up hastily and threw her arms around her sister’s neck. ‘ Forgive me, love ! I never knew ! But do not grieve so, Cynthia, dear ! I am not sure that I believe either.’ And there in the old-fashioned sitting room, with the late winter’s sunshine showing no mercy to their thin grey hair and wrinkled cheeks, the two sisters clung to each other.

The older was the first to speak. ‘ I think I shall go to the city to-morrow.’ Priscilla kissed her. ‘ I shall go with you.’ ‘On the 9 o’clock suburban?’ asked the other, vaguely childish. ‘Yes, love ! And you can tell the Bishop that, being the rector’s-daughters and once having lived in the rectory, we would like him to rent other property for his priest to live in.’ ‘ I couldn’t stand it if I knew a Roman priest was occupying father’s study—a priest!’ shuddered Miss Minters.

The brown eyes of her sister softened. ‘Let’s not talk any more about it. But, dear, do not believe that the Catholics are idolaters. Oh, really they are not ‘Priscilla, why argue? We will need all our reserve strength in the meeting with the Bishop. Why—why, you know he was once a piiest ! _ ? ‘ Yes,’ returned the other, ‘ he was once a priest. But her accent of the word was different. Perhaps little Mrs. Conley, who was ‘kind to everybody,’ had whispered - something good concerning the priests of her church to the younger Miss Minters. At half after 8 the next morning, the sisters were seated in the suburban station. Cynthia had ever firmly reminded her sister that it was always best to be ready and waiting at least twenty minutes for anything, as t the composition of one’s nerves demanded recreation before the excitement anticipated was entered upon. Nevertheless, Miss Minters was nervous. Priscilla gazed at her anxiously. .... ' i S ‘ Cynthia,’ ' she exclaimed, you might have Wrlt * Underscoring is never permissible in correspondence.’ her sister replied dryly. Priscilla understood.

Attired in the cloaks and bonnets :of thirty years • ago, the * two presented |an interesting picture; for the - careful observer. . That the 'attention, they attracted - never broadened into smiling curiosity or sneering com-: ments showed clearly that, in their case as in nearly : every other, character ever mounts above the convention ' of clothes. The Misses Minters themselves had watched the growth of fashions, but their limited income and : their loyalty to the ancient seamstress of the village prevented any change in .their fashions. / /To-day’s-elastic dress mode demands something more than. ja, three hundred dollar annuity and . a non-progressive 1 aged dressmaker. • -

‘ What shall we do if the Bishop is not at home?’ asked the younger woman. ‘Wait for him.’ -

‘We should have brought some lunch, then, Cynthia.’ * Miss Minters opened a faded black reticule. ‘I have twenty cents above expenses. We can buy our lunch.’ The Bishop, however, was at home. Directed by a uniformed station agent, the two sisters - had- no difficulty in locating the episcopal residence. ‘lf you do get turned around,’ the young man assured them, ‘ ask any one you meet. Bishop Lawson is the boss—the big stick—of this town all right. Everybody knows him.’ Disgusting language !’ murmured the elder sister. An almost indiscernible smile twitched Priscilla's mouth. ‘ That’s the way they talk on the streets nowadays, dear !’ she whispered. ‘ What do you know about the streets?’ Priscilla knew very little, so she evaded the question.

A short walk brought them to an unpretentious brick residence standing next door to a large, stately church.

" ‘ It has a cross on top, so it must be a Catholic church,’ Priscilla said.

The other woman sought to appear uninterested, but she missed nothing. The carefully swept walks and neat grounds, the shining windows with their modest but immaculate curtains, the general air of cleanliness and friendliness of the house appealed strongly to her. does it, love?’ said Priscilla, nervously pressing the bell.

Miss Minters frowned. ‘ Don’t forget you are a rector’s daughter,’ she reminded her sister. The door was opened by an aged Negro. ‘The Bishop, ma’am? Yes, ma'am, he’s in. Como right this way, ladies.’ . The two followed him into a well-lighted Colonial

hall. ‘ If you sit in this here room,’ the man said, ushering them into a small apartment, ‘ I’ll go see when his Lordship can come down.’ - . ‘ Tell him the Misses Minters, of Shelbyville, desire to see him,’ Cynthia crisply announced. The whit© head of the Negro bobbed serenely. . ‘ Makes no difference ’bout the name, ma’am. Bishop Lawson sees -everybody who needs him.’ ‘ Hem !’ responded Cynthia. ‘Thank you,’ said her sister. When the man had left the room, Priscilla gazed curiously around.

‘lsn’t it pleasant, Cynthia?’ _ . • It was , a south-east room, softly tinted in brown. Three rag rugs in the tan shades lay on the shining floors and the furniture consisted of a large library table a few comfortable chairs and a small desk. Against the wall hung Hoffman’s-Head of Christ ■ and an especially fine copy of the ‘ Madonna of the Chair. An ivory crucifix between two candlesticks rested on the desk, and on the table lay several magazines. ‘There isn’t any dust, anyway, grudgingly re-

sponded C^- esplte herself) laughed aloud/and; at Her sister, despite herself, laughed aloud, and at that moment the Bishop entered the room. Invplun-

tarily, the two • women Jarose. . . Bishop Lawson was - , an old ‘ man. J " Seventy-five ' years, - however, had hardly dimmed : the brilliancy of the dark eyes or bent the upright, wiry figure of the man. Below the remarkable thickness of the white hair the smooth face still glowed with : health and vigor. ' b - Oh!’ murmured Priscilla, her mirth suppressed. Cynthia bowed stiffly. Be seated, ladies!’ The Bishop spoke with a delightful Southern accent. ~ For the first time in many years, Miss Minters could not express herself. Priscilla waited a moment and thenplunged. . ■‘l didn’t know you were so old —’ she began ; .and then, horrified, looked frantically toward her sister. Bishop Lawson laughed heartily. ‘That’s good!’ he replied. Still, I really think you mean something more,’ he went on encouragingly. ‘ You act young !’ desperately swam Priscilla. But Cynthia had recovered. . ‘ It is not a question of age that we have come to discuss, Priscilla.’ ' She turned to the Bishop : ‘ I asked to meet you on business, sir-Bishop.’ A twinkle appeared in the Bishop’s kindly eyes. ‘Can’t one combine business and pleasure?’ Priscilla drew a sharp breath. It was not nice of Cynthia to be so short.

‘ I agree with you,’ said Bishop Lawson, still smiling. What can Ido to accommodate you?’ ‘We the the Misses Minters, of Shelbvville.’ His' Lordship’s white brows came together. Minters ? Your father —’ ‘ We are the Misses Minters, of Shelbvville.’ town.’ ‘And one of my best friends!’ The older sister fell back against the high back of the chair in which she was seated. The other leaned forward, her hands folded tightly across her heaving breast. ‘ I knew, Cynthia, that father spoke of a priest friend of his.’ The right hand of the Bishop shaded his eyes. ‘ John Minters was a good friend and a good man, God rest his soul !’ There was a slight break in the soft voice. ‘I am very glad to meet his daughters.’ Priscilla was crying now.

‘ Cynthia ’ ‘ We are—are glad to know you,’ the other replied. ‘ I think,’ said the Bishop, becoming reminiscent, ‘ that your father and I understood each other as thoroughly as two men can ever understand each other. We first met at college, and from that day we were almost as brothers. It is unnecessary to tell you what your father was ; but I can say that, were I to choose a companion for any ward of mine to-day, I should select a young man with a character as similar as possible to his. Our creeds were different, but if in God’s great mercy I x-each heaven, I expect to meet again this good friend of mine. John Minters served his God well.’

Cynthia’s eyes were moist. ‘ We never saw each other again after graduation/ continued the Bishop. ‘He entered an Episcopalian seminary, and I began my studies for the priesthood. Every month, however, until his death I had ' a letter from him. There was no one that knew more of your father’s hopes and joys than myself. I heard of his marriage and that two daughters were born to him. My appointment to the Bishopric came too late for him to > rejoice with me. How near together we might have been ! I have never yet visited Shelbyvillc. Your father spoke delightfully of his rectory. I should like very much to see this house of my friend. I often felt as if I had been there, so often did he tell me about it. It is still standing?’ 5 ‘ Yes,’ sobbed Priscilla. ' Cynthia’s thin figure straightened. >: ‘ It is concerning the rectory that we have come to you.’ '

'■-/ . The Bishop glanced- at he* in surprise. Perhaps these daughters of his old friend -were -in need of pecuniary . assistance V Every dollar of - his -own* was in circulation, but he must find some- way of helping them, he thought. ; 4 ; . •/ / • '■ 6 . ' The Catholic Church has leased it,’ went on Miss Minters.- . /-Vy'd

Cynthia, don’t'say any more!’ pleaded’ her sister. ‘ But I should like to be informed/ Bishop Lawson said. -

‘ I am sure that you must know, Bishop, that father disliked everything Catholic. If he were to know that his beloved rectory is to be used as the home of a Catholic priest, I think he would turn over in his grave. We aie here to ask you to seek another residence for your minister. Idolaters ’ .‘Cynthia!’ ■' e ‘Never mind!’ smiled the Bishop. ‘We are often called that. I didn’t know of this leasing, Miss Minters. My secretary has good judgment in such things, and 1 allow him to ( follow it. However; the first of the month report would have enlightened me. I see that you cannot reconcile yourself to the fact that I, a priest, was a friend of your father’s. You think he would wish me to veto the lease ?’ The older woman nodded her head. ‘lf I thought he did, I should do so. Even if, as you say, he disliked everything Catholic, don’t you think, since the Episcopal Church has ceased worshipping in Shelbyville, your father would have been too unselfish to wish to have untenanted a rectory evidently most suitable for any denomination V ’ Father was not selfish, but he hated the Catholic Church.’

The Bishop ceased to smile. ‘ Your father, I must tell you, hated no fellow-creature and opposed no denomination of Christians, least of all Catholics. It is too bad that this quality is not to be found in his daughter.’ Miss Minters sat stunned. Her sister listened in wide-eyed amazement. Why do you say your father disliked everything Catholic?’ asked the Bishop. ‘Did he ever tell you so?’ J ‘ No,’ confessed Miss Minters. ‘ But it is the duty of all good Christians to— dislike idolaters. Father must have hated them. I felt that he did.’ The twinkle was again shining in the Bishop’s eyes. ‘ lie pitied idolaters. So do I. You think we worship images?’ v ‘ 1 have heard so all my life.’ ‘ I wish you would come to my study,’ the Bishop answered.

lie showed them into a large room walled on two sides with bookcases. A simple desk, three chairs, some ferns and a statue of the Sacred Heart were its furnishings. But on the desk, among several other framed photographs, the sisters saw one of their father. ‘ Oh !’ breathed Priscilla. The Bishop watched them. ‘He was my friend. That reminds me of him. You cannot suppose I adore his picture? You would not want me to destroy it?’ He turned to the statue. On the pedestal below it a dozen roses filled the room with their fragrance. ‘Heis my best Friend. That reminds me of Him. The roses tell Him and others that I am thinking of Him. This is not idolatry?’ ‘ I ask your pardon !’ Cynthia extended a hand which shook nervously. ‘ I wish that you would consider my request unsaid.

God bless you the Bishop answered. ‘ I have something else to show you,’ he continued. From his desk he took a tin safety-box. In it were packages of faded letters. This (handing the envelope to Miss Minters) ‘ was the last from your father. I found it only yesterday while searching for something else. I will ask you to read it.* The woman gazed with tear-veiled eyes on the

familiar writing. - After- a moment she read as follows ; * ‘Friend of My Youth; This may, perhaps, bea line of• farewell. ; The doctors have said the final word : I s am.; to die soonto-night—to-morrow.: Thank God, Father Joe, lam not afraid to die! Ido not mean to say, that, I haye done all I might have accomplished. I can say only that I have made an honest effort to ,do my best. We have not fought over the question of religion, thank , God !. If my faith had wavered, Catholicism would have been my ,refuge. " On one point we have always agreed, you rememberas to the efficacy of prayer for the dead. When lam gone, do not forget me. And if at any time, Rather Joe, you can make a convert of an Episcopalian, do so. I would like to know that every .man followed faithfully the light vouchsafed to ’ him. " God’s blessing be yours, dear friend ! ’ ; ‘ Until we meet again, ' - * ‘ John O. M.’, Cynthia handed the letter to her sister. ‘ Thank you,’ she said to the Bishop, then sank into the desk chair, and, with her head in her hands, wept heartbreakingly. • ' Bishop Lawson went to the door. Turning, he said; ‘ I will leave you now for a while. You will have time to re-read your dear father’s letter. , My sister she will soon be here—lunches with me to-day, and I shall make arrangements for two other places. I would like very much to have the daughters of John Minters at my table.’ Softly he closed the door. Ave Maria.