The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXI, Issue 15, 9 April 1903, Page 23

The Storyteller

CHRISTIE THE CALLER.

The girl from the city sat up in bed suddenly and shook her cousin. ' O Helen,' she whispered, 'wake up ! What is that ?' Helen idi.sL'd heiself on her elbow arid listened. A series ol quick resounding knocks rang out at a dooi aciobb the slic-et. This was folio wed by the raising of a window and an exchange of voices — one clear and young, the othei grufl and sleeps ' What is it, Helen? ' asked the city girl excitedly. Has some one been killed, do you think ? ' ' ho, goon' ! ' laughed Helen. 'That's Christie the caller. ' ' J)o you moan that delicate-looking boy that we saw at the. station the clay 1 came ? ' 'The xeiy same,' yawned Helen. The city girl gasped. ' He's not out there alone at this time of night ? ' sho cried. ' Why, of com so,' answered Helen, in surprise. 'It's his two weeks to call nights. Uon't be so nervous. Lie down now and go to sleep.' ' What does he call V ' ' Men, to be sure — engineers, Jiremen, and others who may be needed to take out trains. Go to sleep, will you ? ' The city girl slipped down upon her pillow and lay there very still, staring into the darkness and listening to the patter of Christie's buoyant young footsteps dying away in the distance. She shivered a little and slid closer to Helen. Outside the blinds she knew it was pitch-dark ; and the shadowy bushes at the corner, which by clay suggested linking tramps, what might they be like by night 9 The occasional shrill whistle or the rumbling of the engines in the near-by freight-yards struck ter,ror to her heart Oh, it was so dangerous to be out theie ' Thank God, the /ight for bread did not hold her dear father or her brothers to so perilous a life v The smoky little railroad town clustered around the noisy freight-yards, here poor, there prosperous, but not unattracti-ve with its background of woods; and most of those who resided there depended for their hwng upon the railroad. Christie had boon born and reared a stone's throw from the roundhouse. His earliest remembrance was of a crowd hurrying to the edge of the tracks — women in scant calico wrappers and children fresh from mud pies, some weeping and wringing their hands, some praying, some stolidly curious It was a man killed that time Christie had shneked and clung to his mother's skirts when he saw the men carrying the stretcher across the tracks with its bloody burden Many and many a time after that the boy had witnessed the same sad scene As the \ ears' rolled on the boy had beheld that stretcher three times boine to the home that .shelteied him Fust it was his eldest brother, bruised, bloodstained, and already dead Next it was his fathei, faintly breathing but unconscious and be> ond all hope Then it was the second brother, not \ct twenty, hi ought out from beneath a gieat wi eck crushed, mutilated, bleeding, and in agony He had lned long enough to soe the priest and to rocoivo the last sacraments, dvmg then with such an angelic smile on his lips as those who had known him in life had never scon before. Christie's mother was a neat and gentle woman Her gray hair and melancholy eyes were eloquent of sorrow She was kept up by a \i\ul faith She had prated devoutly all her life ' One prayer had been uppermost in her mind since her marriage and motherhood — the prayer for the grace of a prepared and peaceful death tor each ot her clear ones Twice her [ r.u or had been denied her She could only trust in God's infinite mercy for the two warm-hearted but negligent men who had been snatched fiom life by a sudden death I'orhats. at the \eiy end, they had made an act of pei feet contrition Could it not be also, she asked herself, that their piemature and painful e'eath had in some measuic atoned for their sins'' She pra\ed uiueasmirlv foi their souls . but mingled with her grief o\ or tho taking away of her second son was a heartfelt thankfulness that he had died shn-wn. Christie was now the only son lelt For him. in the past , the mother had (beamed high di earns Her one desire was to t>i\o him an educ.it ion For this she had made sacrifices betore his fathei 's death and for it snue then she had lived on meairie fare and plied lvr needle until her sight was dim She h naed to see him aboxe the common run of lailioad men — in a responsible position in the office ; or, better '-til] away from the road altogether Yes, and her hopes went uwn bo\ ond this for her brmht and innocent bov — into far fancies that she dared not entertain long at a time ot a crowded chinch and a decorated altar, and .1 young pi lest at his first Mass — fancies that so ambitious as to lie almost sinful for one whos'> Pi o\ ident lal lot was so humble and obscure It was a hard day for the mother, therefore when. at the near approach of a winter that menaced them with prn at ions beyond hoi ea minus as a seamsti <- to obviate Chnstie came in out of the sunshine- Christ 10 slender \ouiur. girlish of face for all his I ."> \eais, with a mouth saddened by oarlv trouble — and said — •Well, mother, I guess I'll be a man and go to work ! '

The mother knew before she trusted herself to answer him that her lad had taken to the only life open to him —the railroader's. But must ho give up school ? Would not the Blessed Virgin help to save him from a life of heavy toil and constant danger ? The answer seemed to be no : the pressure of want in the homo made his pittance of a wage practically a necessity. The task of a ' caller ' is not so dangerous if one is careful. Christie assuied his mother of this every day. With Ins scapulars about his neck, and his rosary with its little crucifix in the jacket pocket above his heart, he felt the protection of unseen powers whenever ho had to cross the network of tracks, especially at night, when the peril was greatest ; and every day he said a fervent prayer to be safeguaided for his dear mother's sake. After Christie had been on duty a while it came his turn to call of nights. Then the mother sewed all through the darkness till two or three o'clock in the morning ; sitting beside her dining-room window so that the light might shine out into the night on the side of the railroad otlice. Then she could hear Christie's nimble step and cheerful whistle as he passed to and from the yards. He ran in, too — not once only, but every time he passed. Just a look, a word, a laugh, a kiss perhaps, but always an assurance that her darling was alive and well. And a prayer for his safety went up every time he left her sight. Oh, when— when, if ever, would the end come to his risky work ? We have all turning-points in our lives. They usually come when unexpected, and they lead in a way in which we have never thought. One of Christie's turning points came that night on which the city girl listened with a fearful heart at his sharp knocks at a near-by door, and to his lapid footsteps as they died down the street. It was a busy night in the freight yards. Every track was crowded with cars. Engines stood waiting for their trains, impatient, out of temper, whistling to one another with wild shrieks, and clanging their harsh bells. The freight crews stood around, ready to go out. The freight office was in confusion. The wires ticked decisive orders. The tracks could hardly be cleared. The switchmen ran hither and thither, calling angrily to one another and violently waving their lanterns. More men weie wanted hourly, and the callers were kept busy running through the little town. Tramps, too, were numerous, and added to the confusion when, ha^^ ing been discovered m a car or on a train-top, they had to bo chased away. In the midst of the uproar the superintendent of the road came tearing in on his ' special ' over a clear track. Several men were ■with him, and they were evidently bent upon some urgent business Why on earth had they come 9 And on such a night ! Presently they were going about among the tramps and asking many questions. 'Nice time for them to coino here ! ' muttered the \ ard-m aster. A great, high iron bridge spans the railroad at a point some distance above the freight office Some steps run down into the blackness at the edge of the tracks on cither .side, and rank weeds grow up on the steep incline Christie glwavs felt timid about the weeds — he was only a boy At night, as a rule, he would not i.se the stone steps "Rut this night he had been calling a brakesman right at the head of them ; and if he went hack into the town and to the office by the long way round it would take much time, and he might be wanted before he got there The lad paused, with his foot on the first stair, and shuddered It was • very dark everywhere and he had lelt his lantern in the ofiico Besides, what good would a lantern do if a man with a knife were hiding in the weeds •> .Just then he thought he heard the bushes move. TTe turned and, not knowing why, he ran swiftly and on tiptoo act oss the great iron bridge — turning his head twice to peer over his shoulder, and imagining that ho heard footsteps behind him. But the other stairs were no better : if anything, they were blacker and the weeds were higher Ho clinched his young hands. ' How silly T am ! ' he thought to himseli." ' Suppose Igo down this side now, I'll have to cross back oier the tracks to gain the office ' And he looked at the fiery engines tearing up and clown beneath the bridge every few moments. He had promised his mother that he would never cross the tracks at night if theie was any other way of getting around. And there was another way. only he was such a coward. Thm the boy thought of a third way to reach the office Fust blessing himself to get courage, he slipped out under the railings of the bridge and swung himself into the von network beneath it There was no walk there but there was a passage where one might crawl on one's hands and knees with comparatively little likelihood of Killing off Why had he done this? He could not tell only thai he had a sense of being in the neighborhood of dancror He was ashamed of himself— a man, so he thought to himself, would ha-ve walked down the stan s The wav was not so long Christie breathed more freely when he had 1 cached the other end He was about to swing himself from the ii-onwotk when he stopped suddenly Voices came fi om the blackness beneath him and what they said was plainly heard. ' Well, the men don't know what he's after.' said a grufT Miicc they told me so themselves An' they said ihe\'d ne\er saw the tall guy afore, so he must be somethin' new on the road New ! We know him, old spindle-legs . an' he's hot after us. See ? 'They think we've gone to the city,' said a coarser ■voice- 'They pumped Fatty dry an' he seen us comin' this way They'll go on to the city now an' they'll set

the police after us. You bet the switchmen have been telephoned along the line to keep a lookout, an' we dasn't stop nowheres. We're lost if we take to the fields.' ' Yes, that's so,' assented two other voices. ' What'll we do ? ' ' I don't think the tall guy ought to get to the city. It's not good for him to be out this tune o' night.' said the first voice, with some humor in it ; and the others laughed grimly. ' What's the superintendent helpin' the warden for ? ' said the coarse voice. ' What's it to him ? ' ' Money ! ' put in a third voice, laconically. ' An' you seem to forget the B and L, Bill.' 'I'll give him worsen that wreck,' replied the coarse voice, fiercely. ' D'ye remember the pile o' ties over near the passenger track at the tunnel ? That's the track they'll take, and it's mighty dark right there. It ain't far an' ' 'Wo got to hurry,' broke in the first speaker, 'or they.'ll be gone. That'll keep- 'em here.' Christie clung to the iron network and peered over. Three shadowy figures crept out from among the weeds and* dropped to the cinder path below them. In a moment they had disappeared, goin & * in the direction of the tunnel. The boy hurried to the end of the bridge and scrambled down to the tracks. Then he ran like mad to the freight office. If only God would let him get there belore the superintendent's car left ! The engine, with a tender and one coach, was just pulling out as the boy came near the oflice. Unmindiul of his mother's repeated admonitions, he swung himself into the cab and fell panting against the side. 'You can't go ! ' he gasped to the engineer. 'Tramps — a wreck — ' The engine was stopped, and as soon as Christie could get his breath his story was told. The superintendent and his party hurried forward to find out the cause of the delay. The boy repeated what he had overheard and seen. In the group that listened eagerly to him was a boy no taller than himself — a fair-haired lad in a black Oxford suit of faultless cut, with a little cap on the back of his head. He looked in unutterable admiration at the slight youth before him, who was unexpectedly taking a man's part in the action of that night. ' That's the three we're after ! ' cried the superintendent. 'The ties are big Bill's idea, a reminiscence of his B & L. wreck in '96. We haven't any time to lose The boy has done us a good turn.' The fair-haired lad approached Christie. 'Do you suppose you'll have to call any more tonight *> ' he ask,ed. ' Oh, yes ' ' answered Christie, shyly. He was still breathing hard. ' I guess I'll go with you, if you don't mind,' said the other. Do you ? ' ' No, indeed ; I'd be p-lad to have you.' ' May I go, papa ? ' ' Yes, if Christie promises to take good caicof you, and if you promise to be guided by him ' ' All right, sir,' they said in a breath Then the boys took Christie's lantern between them, nnd, in that wholesome fashion ot comradeship so peculiar to boys, they were soon swinging along together through the dark streets of the town like old friends ' Aren't you ever afraid ? ' asked the superintendent's son ' N— no,' replied Christie, bravely The other lad looked over his shoulder into the shadows. 'Two of those escaped men arc murderpis, he said 'I think 1 wouldn't like to be a caller— a lwaj s.' He laughed. 'I guess many of the tramps we see here aie escaped somethings,' remarked Christie; 'but 1 don't belike they'd hurt anyone, poor fellows.' 'Christie led the other boy to his home and introduced him to his mother. That was \ery earK— before there was a streak of light in the sky Afterward tluv went again to the office. Thanks to Christie, the cuininals had been caught and were being taken back to the penitentiary on the superintendent's special. At seven' o'clock, when the streets were spjinkled with men going to and from work in the big fieight■vards, the superintendent's son went to bnvikfn^t with Christie at the latter's home Chi istie\s mother had set an extra plate for the guest It was a plain, clean, wholesome, nppeiismg meal— the firsF one of its kind that the son ol wealth had ever eat on He ate with a relish, for his .ill-nmht walks had made him hungry. The early sun shove m thtough the spotless windows, lighting up the piey tones of the kitrhen and the simple furnishings of the table Iho boys laughed and talked without restraint, recalling the experiences of the night. After breakfast Christie's mother brought out a pillow and a coverlet and laid them on the couch in the neat little parlor . 'T know you're tired,' she said, 'and Christie sleeps' all day Won't you lie down until your father letums or sends word to you ' „,,., 'Oh lam sleepy, ma'am.' answered the boy, and I thank you for the chance to lest ' ' And a little while afterward he was fast asleep upon the couch, Ins fair head thrown back, his body under the quilt in an attitude of boyish abandonment— much as tired Christie was sleeping in an inner room [t was noon when a man of commanding bearing ascended the steps of Christie's home Christie's mother rose from her, chair to greet him, gathering her sewing

in her apron. She trembled in spite of herself. When one is poor and lowly it is a matter of some stir when one meets a being of wealth and power. 'Good morning, ma'am ! ' he said. 'They told me at the office that my boy was here, and I thought I'd come for him myself ' He smiled pleasantly, and then his face- was like the boy's. ' I'll call him, sir,' the woman replied, a little regretfully ; he was sleeping so peacefully.' When they were ready to leave, the superintendent's son snid • 'I'd better not wal<o Christie to say good-bye, but please tell him that I have had a fine time, and I'm ever so much obliged.' He put out his hand to Christie's mother in a cordial way. 'You're a nice boy,' she said frankly, as she shook his hand. 'God bless you ! ' ' I've been talking to the men in the office,' the superintendent here broke in, 'and I'm glad you didn't sue the company for. your husband's death. You might have been told that you had grounds for a suit, but getting mixed up in law isn't good for a woman. Still I think your son is quite too young to be a caller, and I've told Mr. Carter to put some one older in his place. I know you'll agree with me that he'd better go back to school. So good-bye ! ' And he hurried off with his son. Christie's mother put her hands to her throbbing temples and leaned against the door-jamb, all blackness before her and around her. Was her boy to be discharged like this ? What had he done to be thrown out without warning, when the little he earned was so sorely needed ? God knew that she would willingly work her fingers to the bone if she could keep him from the dangers of the railroad and give him an education. But could this man be so ungrateful to the lad who had saved his life ? She tottered and sat down limply. Presently the superintendent's son came running back from the corner where his father stood. ' Oh, I say,' he cried, as Christie's mother opened ■the door for him, 'father says he's been so upset by last night's doings that he can't think of everything in order yet. He forgot to tell you all he wanted to say, and has let mo have the pleasure to speak for him. He'll see that you get a good sum from the railroad, because your husband's death was not clearly his own fault and you never sued the company. And as for Christie, because of what he did last night, father will sec that he gets an education and a good start, if he's the kind of boy that father thinks he is. He's to call on father at the railroad station in the city to-morrow at noon. Say to him how glad I am for his sake, since he told me' he just longed and longed to go to school and learn.' Christie's mother could not utter a word. The good news was too much for her. Could it all be true ? She clasped her hand and raised her dim eyes up toward God, while teais of joy and gratitude ran down her cheeks ' Oh, don't — please don't ' ' the boy exclaimed. 'My mother would be crying with a broken heart this morning if it hadn't been for Christie ; and now you must share her joy that my father's life was saved.' But Christie's mother wept without restraint. After all, God always answers our prayers. She had asked for many things for her boy. but latterly her entreaties had, outside of spiiitunl graces, narrowed down to one favor — that he might be spai ed from the dangers of a caller's work : and now the Almighty had given her all — safety, a little fortune, an education, a helpful fiiond, and a 'promised start in life — all of which she had ever dreamed and had hardly dared to ask. Truly the good son of a good mother is certain to prosper in God's own time and way. — 'Avc Maria'

Tt is peculiarly appropriate that the late Sir Charles Gavan DufTv should have had the spiritual comfort of an lush priest in his la^t illness. For a few years past Father John Fir/patrick, a distinguished member of the Oblatcs of Mary Immaculate, has" been staying at Nice, and onioved the friendship of the aged statesman. It is not generally known that Father Fit?patrick, who was born of Irish parents,, near Birkenhoad, in 1859, is a clever poet, as well as a prose writ or. Under the penname- of ' A Pressman,' he published some very fascinating works 10 vcars ago, and his verses have been highly praised — being stronulv redolent of the Wordsworth school He has wit ten nnuh on Faber, the groat Oratorian, who v\ as unquestionably a charming verso writer, and was at one time regarded as the equal of Wordsworth. Sir Charles Gavan Duffy's end was truly Christian, and he died fully fortified by the rites of the Catholic Church, of which ho bad always been a devout member, ever S'n-c the time when he was wont to serve Mass for the liev Dr McMullen, paii^h priest of Monagfian, in 1825.