A Complete Story

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 12, 1 April 1925, Page 11

A Complete Story

As St. Paul Came (By B. J. Murdoch, in the Irish Catholic.)

We were three and we sat before the little open fireplace in Father Robert’s study, watching the flames that flickered and purred so merrily before us. There was no light other than the dancing, flickering fire-flames, and it was pleasant to watch them as they fitfully illumined the different objects in the room. Now a sepia engraving of Hoffman’s Gethsemane flashed into bold relief, tinged a deeper red as the firelight mounted up the wall. Now an exceptionally large flame would throw its light over the wall to our right; then a black crucifix, the figure in white, or a steel engraving of the Madonna and Child, would stand out vividly. Outside the wind sighed and moaned through the leafless trees, blew the dry, powdery snow about the cold marble monuments in the cemetery, and whistled in through a keyhole. It was Sunday evening, and old Father Robert was enjoying a social hour after the rather fatiguing duties of the day. For some time no one spoke. The wind whistled and swished without, but our fire flashed its signals of warmth and comfort. The clock struck nine. Old Father Robert moved slightly in his chair, passed his fingers through his snow-white hair, in a preoccupied manner, then, speaking from a knowledge of humanity begotten during thirty years’ faithful service in his little scattered mission, he said slowly, and as if addressing himself, “I shouldn’t be surprised to have a sick call to-night.” I shuddered at the thought of going out at night; but I said nothing. Then the third member of our little party began to speak. He was a young philosopher, fresh from school. I did not follow very well his little dissertation, but I remember such expressions as “fortuituos concurrence of toms,” “nebular hypothesis,” etc., and there was a little speculative theory as to the future condition of the world. Father Robert did not seem to catch the glow of the young student’s enthusiasm, and once or twice I thought I noticed a look of pitying superiority flit across the youthful countenance. The deeper the young fellow plunged into the depths of his speculative theories the less attentive the old priest seemed to become. I wondered at his lack of interest, knowing that all priests make a thorough course in philosophy before commencing their divinity course; but, finally, when the young fellow slightly hinted that it might be to their advantage if the clergy would keep posted in the philosophical questions of the day, the old man raised his eyes from the fire, and, looking at the alert young philosopher in a kindly way, quoted very slowly from St. Paul, but he seemed to take a deeper mystical meaning from the words than we could: —“And I, brethren, when I came to you, came hot in loftiness of speech or of wisdom, declaring unto you the wisdom

of God in a mystery, a ' wisdom 1 which is hidden.” Before retiring that night the young, fellow came to my room to say a few words, and I sat on my bed and listened to his’ excited utterances, not knowing whether to smile or to be angry. “Now,” he continued, standing before me, his hands in his pockets and a frown puckering his youthful brow, “there’s Father Roberta good priest in his way, . but his knowledge of speculative thought is sadly inadequate. Our priests must keep cm courant. ... I can’t say that I have a very clear idea of what the priest was driving at downstairs, but I do , know St. Paul said, ‘ I am all : things to all men,’ and as there are many who wish to speculate a little in the realms of thought, therefore, if the priest wants to be like St. Paul, let him brush up a bit and meet such men on their own ground. Good-night.” Long after he left my room I lay awake, listening to the rattling of my windows and the hissing of the storm, now and then a smile would steal quietly over my face as I thought of the sublime egoism of youth. Somehow I felt Father Robert was not so ignorant of these things philosophical as the young man had inferred from his reticence. I had felt that there was a mystical significance in the words of St. Paul, which the priest seemed to understand when he quoted them. While I was wondering what they meant, I fell asleep. The night-bell rang; I moved quickly, sat up in bed and listened.' A soft thud on the floor beneath told me that Father Robert was out of bed. I dressed quickly, slipped on my bedroom slippers, and went out into : the hall. I could hear Father Robert moving quickly about his room. Presently he came into the hall below carrying a lighted lamp in his hand. As he opened the door, holding it against the wind with his knee, the flame of the lamp leaped up the chimney, .belching black smoke. A snow-covered figure squeezed itself through the partly open door. “Davie McGovern!” exclaimed the priest, “what brings you out in such a storm?” The lad. shook his snowy cap against his long overcoat two or three times. “Father,” he said, and he trembled with cold and emotion, “Kate is dying, and she’s askin’ for you.” He began to sob. ; The old man . patted the Show-covered shoulder. “There now, lad! There now, Davie!” he said kindly. ■ I stepped back to my room and finished dressing. I knew Father Robert’s man had gone away for a few days, and Davie, was • asking the priest if he would take his own .i; horse. The lad was going to . drive on to the doctor’s. When Father Robert turned, after closing U-the-door, I was dressed and’ standing in the

hall beside him. He started slightly at seeing me; but the lamp did not fall. “Father,” I said, “I’m going to accompany | you.” . ■,• r \ . , / /He ‘looked at me keenly as he spoke. ; “ It’s | twelve miles, and r it is a terrible night.” I looked at the kindly-faced man, at his snow-white hair; then I peered over his | shoulder into the darkened study, where only , a few bright embers still glowed in the fire- . place. Then a great gust of wind blew against the house and the floor trembled be- 1 neath my feet. “You need someone, Father,” \ I mustered courage to say. “God bless you!” said the priest. * * *•.'*. * 'i It was cold and dark, and in many places | the snow had drifted across the road in deep .l banks, which at times made progress very ’ difficult, but our horse was strong. Old Father Robert held his right mitten over his left side, where beneath his coat, . in the little golden pyx over his heart, re- \ posed the Holy Viaticum. In his left hand he held a large smoky lantern which cast a . faint yellow shadow into the snow-flaked i night. The fine dry snowspecks beat against my face smartingly, making it almost impossible for me to keep my eyes open for any length of time. Clouds of steam rose from the warm horse into the cold air. In the faint light of our lantern only a few of the evergreens which fringed the road could be seen. The branches of these hung low, weighted with the thick white snow patches. From time to time I glanced at Father Robert, who with head bent was trying to protect his face from the fury of the storm. Always his right hand rested over the pyx. He spoke no audible word, but sat in reverential silence, in presence of his King. My hands, holding the reins, were very cold; my face pained with contact with the snow-pellets. At times our large black horse dashed into, the teeth of the storm,’ while the sleigh bells jingled sharply. Once or twice an overweighted branch lost its balance and upset its soft white burden,: which fell with a thud to the snow beneath. And on we plunged through the stormy night to a little girl who was dying. . * " *■ * v. 4 Twelve long, cold miles we went; then the priest touched my arm and pointed to the right, where I could just distinguish a small square of light in the darkness. I turned the horse and we swung into a yard. An ; old man was standing in the shelter of the house, a lighted lantern in one hand; the other shaded his straining eyes, which peered into the storm towards us. Suddenly the empty hand dropped to his side; he fell to his knees, and holding his lantern up from the snow, raised his eyes to heaven. “Thank God!” he said ; very reverently. Then placing , his lantern on ,; the snow, he rose and came forward. As he ( took Father Robert’s lantern he ‘ pointed silently towards the door of the house, which i was in the lee of the storm . The old man whispered to me that he would attend to the ■- horse; so I followed the priest. The door » opened quietly, and an elderly woman, with

a lighted candle in her hand; met us. We entered - T the great, low, warm kitchen. Three little children Were kneeling in a line. I The-.tallest, • a little girl of about twelve, was in the middle, and she held one arm around : the neck of a little laddie of about three, who gazed wide-eyed at the priest on her right, with hands folded devoutly, knelt a ;little girl of five. A young woman came out from the sick room, which was ust off the kitchen, and took Father Robert’s coat and hat from him. The priest was in cassock, white surplice, and stole. The woman with the candle? went into the sick room, Father Robert following. I removed my coat and knelt down hear the children, not far from the stove. I could see the sick room and its young occupant. She could not have been more than seventeen. As Father Robert sprinkled the room with holy water, she made the Sign of the Cross very slowly, and seemingly with great difficulty. The priest turned the stole so that the purple side showed, sat down on the chair near the child, and heard her little story. The old man coming from the barn, noisily stamped the snow off, then tip-toed softly over and knelt down - .near me. I said the “Confietor” as Father • Robert opened the pyx. “Ecce Agnus Dei,” said the priest so reverently and sweetly that one would think that for him faith had already given place to vision. The little girl kneeling in the middle bowed her head and that of her little brother; the little 1 one to her right inclined devoutly; and the old man, unable to restrain his devotion, burst forth into prayer; “Lamb of God. who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy on us!” I could hear him strike his breast ~ as he continued, “0 Lord, I am not worthy!” and then, “God bless the priest!” I raised my eyes. The old priest had drawn nearer the sick child: “Receive, O Sister, the Viaticum of -the Body of Our Lord Jesus Christ,” etc. He placed' the Sacred Host on her tongue. Her Lord and her God had come to her. After the priest had administered Extreme Unction, the doctor arrived; and Father Robert and I waited until he finished his examination. He came out sooner than we expected him. He spoke excitedly, which was not his custom. “All the fever has gone and the patient is improving! I must confess that I cannot understand it at all!” The old father looked at the priest quickly. And then, while I said slowly to myself, “Not in loftiness of speech—but a wisdom which is hidden” — thought I understood!