The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XLIX, Issue 42, 26 October 1922, Page 3

The Storyteller

(By Mrs. J. Sadliee.)

.A-liee Riordan

CHAPTER IX* —(Continued.) “Well, when I heard of his strange request) I went up myself to the garret where he lay, and represented to him the inconsistency of his conduct; but I could not get him to listen. I proposed to send for Mr. Reed ‘No! — No!’ —he wouldn’t hear of it. ‘What good could Mr. Reed do an unhappy sinner like him?’ I then offered to have Mr. Harley come in and read some chapters in the , Bible for him, and that we would all pray with him and for him, but he snapped at me as though he would have bitten my nose off. ‘ I don’t want your prayers, ma’am they’d be no use to me now' — for readin’ the Bible, its little comfort that would give me. No, no ; it’s too long I’ve been schamin’ on you; but now I can schame no longer. For the love o’ God, mistress dear, ... will you send for a priest ?•Father Smith, or any of them that speaks English, Oh, wirra, wirra, Mother of God! pray for me that I may live and have my speech to confess my sins afore I lave the world. I know I’m not worthy; but then I’m sorrysorryto the heart for listenin’ to them that put bad in my head. Och, Mrs. Harley, dear! if you have any pity in your heart, send off, quickquick.’ This w r as the way in which he continued to talk.” “But did you comply with his request?” interrupted Mrs. Finlay, as she wiped away the tears which she could not repress. “Oh, of course, I did! You wouldn’t have had me make the poor unfortunate man’s last moments miserable. But there was some difficulty in finding a priest, as there are so few in the Seminary, it seems, who speak English; and you would really have thought that Tom was losing his senses, so great was his fear of dying without a priest. With a view to console him, I took up the Bible, and told him I was going to read something that would give him comfort, and help to prepare him for death — meant, I said, the justification by faith alone. “ ‘ Justification here or there,’ says ho, ‘ I want the priest. 0 Lord! 0 Lord! what will I do at all? Death is on me an’ how will I face the judgment-seat with all this load of sin on my miserable soul.’ “But, Tom, my poor man, you believe in Jesus Christ, do you not? “‘I dooh, God knows I do!’ was the answer. ‘I b’lieve all that the Church teaches. Oh, sweet Saviour! didn’t I b’lieve all that I ought to b’lieve when I was only a gossoon in Ireland; didn’t I larn it all at home with my poor ould mother, that had more religion in her little' finger than these grand people have in their body an soul? Go away with the Bible, ma’am; I know it’s God’s book, but it can’t hear my confession, nor give me absolution; nor it can’t put the blessed oil on me, nor give me the Holy Communion.’ ” “Well,” cried Mrs. Finlay, anxiously, “did the priest arrive in time?” “Why, yes, he did, just when the unhappy old man was at the height of his delirium delirium it must have beenl heard a stranger’s foot on the stairs. Tom started, and clapped his hands and shouted, ‘ Thanks be to the Lord! here comes his real minister!’ and I hastily withdrew by another door, having no fancy for meeting one of these gloomy' Jesuits, who can work up people’s minds to such a state as I have described. He stayed with him for about an hour, or an hour and a half, and by that time all was ended. Poor Tom ! I had better hopes of him! Isn’t it a strange thing that you can’t depend on the conversion of these Papists?” Mrs. Finlay laughed at the earnestness with which the question was put. “Not at all, my dear Mrs. Harley I I have long since made the discovery that they are never really converted, that is to say, brought over to Protestant views of religion ; some of them may appear to be so, from one motive or another, but as soon as ever they find themselves in danger of death it is all over with their Protestantism; one who has been a Catholic seldom or never

dies protesting against Popery; death tears off the mask of hypocrisy, and lays bare the real belief.” “Why, how strongly you do talk!” cried Mrs. Harley, “one would really think you were more than half a Romanist yourself. But, apropos to that, have you not got a little Catholic girl here of 'whom Mr. Finlay has great • hopes? He tells me ■ she is much too keen-witted and intelligent to remain long in such spiritual bondage. “Yes; I have got a girl here named Alice Riordan • a very pretty and a very engaging little damsel, and what is more, she is discreet, modest, and obedient.” «, “Dear me, how fortunate you are! I hope sincerely you may soon get her brought over to true religion. - “I shall .not try to do so, my good friend;” was the quiet answer. ■ . - “No! and why not, pray?” “Because, by, so doing I should but spoil a naturally good and, lovely disposition. As I told you a while ago, I have no faith in conversions from the Catholic religion it is all a sham ” “Really, Mrs. Finlay, I am at a loss to understand—” “Remember Tom Carney, my dear madam,” said Mrs. Finlay, archly; “I could not presume to succeed in such an attempt, when even you failed; though I know you did : at one time believe Tom to be a good Protestant. But I had forgotten to ask—how do you like your new seamstress?” ' Mrs. Harley bit her lip, and blushed deeply. “Oh! I was obliged to part with her; I found she did not answer me at all.” •- -“Why, - how was that? I thought you valued her so highly that she was to be brought forward at the next . Bible meeting as a witness against Popery.” “Well, so she was,” said Mrs. Harley, struggling with her embarrassment, “but—she left us rather suddenly, and we have not seen her since.” She then took up her parasol, and moved towards the door, and Mrs. Finlay was too well bred to push her inquiries any further. That very day Mrs. Dempsey came to see Alice, and from her Mrs. Finlay learned that Margaret had not left Mrs. Harley empty-handed, “for,” said she, “before she went, she emptied some of the good lady’s drawers, and took their contents with her.” “But where in the world is she gone to, poor unhappy girl?” “Oh! she’s gone to ‘ follow the drum,’ ma’am,” replied the dressmaker; “the st Regiment- is gone to the West Indies, and poor Margaret with them. Captain Tandy kept her reading books that he selected for her in the library, until he quite turned her head, and then took her away with him; the Lord preserve!us all in the state of grace, for when once we lose it, and cast it from us, there’s no .saying what we’ll come to.” “Very true, Mrs. Dempsey, very true,” said the lady, thoughtfully. “But how is Alice getting on, ma’am?” “Oh, fully as well as I expected, and perhaps better, too,” said j Mrs. Finlay; with a bright smile. “You see I’m not afraid of making you vain, Alice.” v “But I’m afeard you’re saying too- much for me, ma’am,” said Alice, her face covered with blushes. “I’m doing as well as I can, but not half as well as I’d wish. The mistress is too good to me, Mrs. Dempsey, an’ even Miss Cecilia and Mr. Archy— they’re all so kind that I don’t feel myself amongst strangers at all.” “And your master, Alice?” said Mrs. Finlay, with a meaning smile. . _ . ' ,■ “Oh! well, ma’am, the master’s not bad either; he’s a -real gentleman, I’ll say that for him. If he’d only let me - alone about my religion, I’d like him far better than I do.” Mrs. Finlay laughed, and pushed Alice over to Mrs. Dempsey. “There, , take .her home with you; I’ll lend her , to you till Monday morning, so that she may be near the church to-morrow, and go to see her father in the afternoon.” While Mrs. Dempsey was thanks, Alice ran V off to change her dress and put on her bonnet, and returned . in a few minutes, looking as neat, Mrs; Dempsey said, as vr; if /she had. just come out of a bandbox. : ' ■ • ’ ; ' ; On their way into town Mrs. Dempsey told Alice that • she began to have better hopes of Ellen, since she had heard of Margaret’s woful misconduct. “I have got her

to confess at last,” said she, “that the way of sincerity and of obedience is the best after all, and the safest both for time and eternity. The girls, too, particularly Susan, are all doing pretty well, so that I have a great deal of comfort now, compared with what I had.” Alice was very glad to hearv this, and when she shook ; hands with Ellen, she could not help telling her how rejoiced she was on her account. What was her surprise when Ellen burst into tears. “Why, what in the world ails you, Ellen?” ■ “Did my mother tell you about the fifteen pence?” .. “Well, no; what about it?” “Ah! Alice, did you never suspect anything of who it was that took it?” “Maybe I did,” said Alice, with a smile, “but I never spoke of it.” “I know that very well, Alice dear — God forgive me, it was I that took it to pay the man in the library; and besides, I used to have to give Margaret a penny for every book she broughtlme, and I cribbed it all from my poor mother, little as she has to spare.” “Never mind, Ellen, never mind,” said her mother, kindly; “I hope the like may never happen again, and you know I forgive you from my heart; so don’t think any more about it. Thanks be to the Lord our God for the great change that has come over you in so short a time. It’s to the prayers of Our Blessed Lady that I set it down, for I prayed to her hard and sore to intercede for you and obtain your conversion. But come into the workroom, Alice, while Ellen is getting our tea ready.” The girls were all delighted to see Alice, and made as much of her as though they had not seen her for months. Everyone was anxious to know how she liked her new situation, and when she told how kindly she was treated, Susan cried out: “I told you so, Alice; didn’t I, now? Why, I declare I think you must have found a lucky cap somewhere. My stars! you ought to thank God, anyhow!” “So I do, Susan,” said Alice, as she followed Mrs. Dempsey to the kitchen, where supper was just ready. (To be continued.)