A Complete Story

New Zealand Tablet, Volume L, Issue 29, 26 July 1923, Page 11

A Complete Story

Alpha and Omega (By Agnes Egerton Castle, in the London Month.) The little Belgian child was making her First Communion in our oratory, while our dear old neighbor, the Sun peasant woman, lay dying i idler- cottage at the bottom of the lane. The beginning'of one life and the end of another, both visibly, and each in its own way blest ! In these awful times—surely the days foretold when the aevil shall be let loose — is good to rest the soul upon such recollections. It is a great feast in Catholic .homes when a child is deemed fit to receive the mysteries. We are always very glad v hen our own little oratory is the sanctuary for such a touching, pretty, and holy ceremony. Yet this day it uas not all joy, or rather. the joy was not of this world; little Helene took off the black she was wearing for her soldier father, for the first time since his death, on the morning of her First Communion. The clay before she went with great conscientiousness through the pious humiliation enjoined on Catholic children in preparation for the coming of the Prince of Peace. She sought each member of the household in turn, and asked forgiveness for “All the times I have been naughty and given you pain.” < • When she came to her little brother, just six, he broke into a passion of sobs, ’declaring that never,, never had she done anything wrong; never, never had he been angry with her! He was found some time afterwards, still weeping, and could only explain that.it was because “ c’etait iron beau I” Far other tears were shed in the tiny house that evening. Helen© found her mother in bitter grief, and questioned her with almost kindred anguish ; for she is a child with a capacity for love and sorrow beyond her seven years. ?u'as fu, Hainan, qu’as Oh! why do you cry?” Then the poor young widow lamented out of her bursting heart: To think of the happiness your father would have bad to-morrow! To think that he will not be with us!” ‘•Oh, but Maman !” exclaimed the child fervently. Papa is certain to be there; more certain than anyone else. Since he is in Heaven. It will be quite easy to him. Of course he will be with us. If it Intel been the year before, when he was at the front, then indeed we should have had to do without him.” Blessed little consoler! —who could grieve as those who have no hope, with the voice of such perfect faith in her ears, with such shining eyes, radiant through tears, upon her ? •. \Helene has the looks of a Botticelli angel; with an aureole of silver fair hair flying out from her sweet forelead in those delicious natural crinkles which the painter loved to draw. Her eyes 'are a golden hazel; they light up the whole small, pale, delicate face, with its pointed chin, and tender guileless' mouth, always open as upon an eager word. To see her wreathed with white roses, the mist of her white veil floating about her, in her quaint, rather long filmy white dress, made us think of angels again,—and yet of humanity too, in a peculiarly touching aspect; childhood at its most appealing, motherhood at its ten derest and most desolate! They were so proud of her, so pierced with pain, those two stricken figures, .the mother and grandmother, bowed behind her, in the immense crapa wrappings of Belgian mourning ! They wept pitifully while the child knelt, wrapt in a perfectly unselfconscious, exquisite simplicity of piety and joy, gazing up at the Roman crucifix above the Tabernacle; seeing only in that image of sacred agony, “le bon Jesus qui aime taut les petits cnfants.” . On the wall at the back of the little congregation a deep black-bordered notice asked for prayers for. the Lieutenant de Guides , mart pour la patrie, in the thirtythird year of his age. , Yes, he was- there,” said the widow afterwards, wiping her -poor swollen eyes to smile down upon her’ little gill. Yes, ma aherie, he was there. JeVdi biensenii.” o “Martian,” said the First Communicant as she drove

away, tired and peacefully content, back to her own small home in exile. “ Martian , will you always kiss me so much each time I go to Holy Communion? Because it will always be just as beautiful.” , But while we were glad with the child, we did not forget the old toilworn life that was ebbing out in the lane at the foot of the garden ; and, when the little one had driven away in her bridal white, we met again in the oratory to pray for the passing soul. She was not of our Faith, and we could not kneel about her bed and see the solemn rites administered which are the consolation of the flock of Peter in their last agony. But while we said our own prayers, we knew we were in communion with the mourning family in the poor room, for their belief as as fervent and guileless as little Helene’s own; and their love and sorrow such that we, who so well know what love and sorrow mean, could not but be linked hit them in their trial. We had known Mrs. Heather ever since we bought the house on the hill-side; And we had seen with concern how in a few years illness changed her from a stalwart buxom matron to a dwindled old woman. Valiant to the very last, she would crawl out of bed to carry on her work; and we would find her, panting, beside a. pile of the most snowy linen, being one who “would not like to miss my washing day.” It- was not that there were not plenty of willing hands to help her; for never have wo seen more tender affection lavished upon anyone; and from her tall, handsome, greybeard husband to the youngest grandchild, she was the single thought of that humble home. But she had all her life “put out her hand to strong things”; she could not give in to weakness. A two-storied cottage, facing the great sweep of moor, this home attracted our attention on the first walk we took down the lane. The little place was so bright, so tidy, so well tended. The very strip of turf that ran along the road, outside the clipped laurel hedge, was as smooth and close-mown as a college green; the garden had plots of flowers, all through .the different seasons, which we never ceased to envy; a clump of lilies, sheaves of carnations, the biggest pansies, incredible .sweetwilliams; hut the sweetest flowers that bloomed there were of spiritual growth: Faith, Love, Devotion, arid, when the time came, a most fragrant Resignation. , “I am quite prepared, my dears,” sire told Tier daughters, when it grew clear that tire long struggle was nearing the end, and the “Reverend” had been sent for to “read” beside her bed. ' ' She died the day of little Helene’s First Communion, surrounded by her family, except a soldier son, ill in hospital; died, lying against her old husband’s heart, smiling, and, as she said herself, “Quite content.” Just before drawing her last breath she looked at each of her children in turn and lovingly spoke their names: “Milly, Bessie, Tom,” and the rest. When she had smiled upon the last quivering face she said, with a little sigh, “Heaven at last,” and so, quite certainly we believe, went there. Old Mr. Heather, the Broom Squire as wo call him, since he lives by the trade be plies with heather-brooms from the moor, was heart-broken;. in this instance the phrase, often so idly uttered, applies in its utmost symbolic meaning. They had never*been separated. He was forlorn, as a lost child ; he mourned passionately as a bridegroom mourns bis bride. When he cam© out from behind his stack of broom twigs to grasp our hands the day after the funeral, his fine old face worked; be could not speak. He went back to his task, the tears pouring into bis great grey beard. “You must have been a. very handsome couple,” we said to Mrs. Heather one day, admiring the undimmed vivacity of her brown eyes. Mrs. Heather had a little self-conscious smile and conceded, “Veil, Mr. Heather was counted very fascinating!” We . are glad to think now that wo had. made such friends. In those last weeks, 'when she lay propped up on the narrow little black horse-hair sofa, fully dressed, with, always, a spotless apron just tied on, she would he cheered when we visited her; and the ’Broom Squire used to watch ‘for us down the lane and rush; in to tell her we were

coming. We only knew afterwards what store she used to set by these visits. And how she used to say: “There’s our young lady,” when the child of the Yillino went by. Never would any of us have gone by without going in had we known. ' The soldier son, knotted about with so much red tap© that the official untying of it successfully prevented him from being able to receive his mother’s death-bed blessing* arrived in time for the funeral. It was his hands which used to keep the little garden so exquisitely neat and gay. A silent, earnest, steady, hard-working lad, he enlisted early in the war, and, unwilling to give in when the exposure of camping out brought on the first illness of bis life a violent attack of bronchitis—lie struggled to drill and march with the rest, until, literally, his heart gave way. (It is perhaps irrelevant to these pages to state that, discharged from the Army a confirmed invalid, the War Office does not consider his case one deserving a pension.) It was a very grand ceremony, that funeral. “I’d like her to have everything of the best,” aid Mr. Heather many times, and his wishes were carried out The soldier slept with his father that night, to keep him company, and fought through a heart attack unaided rather than disturb the old man from his uneasy slumber. It is pitiful to see the poor fellow crawl about the roads, scarce able to draw a breath but Mr. Heather and the family have accepted this further trial with the uncomplaining and uncomprehending stoicism of their class. It is much to be feared that, such its these (the real salt of our English earth), bear many hardships and the injustice which causes them in too fine a spirit. Old Heather finds comfort in his toll of daily strenuous Moik. Despite his age his figure remains as straight as a sapling He would be a splendid model for a painter as lie stands by the stack of purple broom-twigs. There is something of an antique and forgotten nobility about the severe lines of Ins face, in contrast with the childlike simplicity of his kind blue eyes. He is one of a generation fast passing away, and he can neither read nor write, other 1 never had any book-learning,” said he to us, the other day. ■ , ’ said And 1 don’t think you seem the worse for that said we. ’ tint ,1; + b f , agrC f d: , and *>«=», “It’s not the learning his heart 1 ’“lt’* “w ’ a “ d With a gr6at gest,m struck ins heait. Its what a man has here”