The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXI, Issue 19, 7 May 1903, Page 23

The Storyteller

4 FATHER M'CARTHY'S CHRISTMAS DINNER

No need to tell you, when you have seen the name, that Father Daniel MacCarthy belonged to the nation that more than any other, perhaps, -has helped to evangelize tho earth. A spare little man with a weather-beaten face and a pair of clear, well-opened e>es, the thirty years of his priesthood had been spent in going here, there, and everywhere (which means wherever there was work to do) at the bidding of the superiors who, humble as his estimate was of himself, knew his worth. At the time this story begins, Father MacCarthy had been sent to sect out ' the lost sheep of the House of Israel/ in a long neglected district, and possessing ' nor gold nor silve.r, nor money in his pockets, nor scrip for his journeymgs, nor two coats, nor, certainly, a change of shoes, he had packed up his few possessions in a littlo carpet bag and started off, and settled down in the village that seemed most central for his purpose. Father MacCarthy's courtegy had the trick of disarming rudeness. The people, indeed, stared at him as they whispered to each other he was ' a priest,' but they soon accustomed themselves to his going out and in among them, and learned to return with something like cordiality his gentle ' good-day.' ' There was no haiiu in him,' was the verdict of the Protestant widow with whom he first lodged, and she made no bones of declaring her regret when he went into a cottage a little higher up the village and made one end into a chapel and tho other into a living-room, and engaged one of the faithful to come in and ' do for him ' by the day. Half-a-do/en grown-up Catholics, all of the laboring class, with the best will in tho world, cannot do much to support a pastor, and how the priest lived was a problem that even the village gossips could not solve — often as the question came to be discussed. To be sure, a sack had arrived somehow from somewhere, and somebody had seen it carried into the house, and a rumor got abroad that he lived on — oatmeal porridge and skim milk. Ellen Simpson, who ' did ' for the Father (and who had been chosen for her discretion), refused to divulge the mystery, and the most that could be got out of her was this, that there was no doubt about it, his Reverence ' enjoyed a potato ' ; but however it might be, Father MacCarthy lived and flourished, and after a year or two at Lesser Barton looked no sparer than he had done on his first arrival. It was little Mrs. Bruton, the doctor's bride. who took it into her bead as she unpacked one Christmas hamper after another, sent to her from her old home, to wonder whether ' Mr. MacCarthy,' her opposite neighbor in the long and stragig-ly street, had a Christmas dinner ' You see, Teddy.' <-he said as .she brought her husband from the surgorv to look at the good things spread out on the Kitchen table. ' we could never eat all these, and people don't pickle fowls, do they ? ' ' Put them into salt, you mean? Well, I've read they do something like that with geese in Westphalia, but chicken or turkey in brine ! ' The doctor shook his head. ' Mother's turkey and tongue and plum-pudding, and Aunt Bate's pair of fowls and ham, and Uncle Jack's chickens, and Aunt Robina's fat duckling. Teddy, we could set up a poulterer's shop ' ' Mary Bruton laughed ' See what comes of being the first bride in the family, madam,' her husband responded as ho looked proudly at his pretty young wife. ' Are brides supposed to have such big appetites "> ' Mary lifted her eyebrows ' Teddy ' 1 Well, madam, what are you going to say now 9 ' ' You know Mr MacCarthy *> ' ' No, 1 don't know him I have seen him, if that will sat isfv you ' ' Don't tease I should lil eto send him Uncle Jack's chickens.' ' Mr. MacCarthy ' ' ' T don't bob eve he has anyone to send him a Christmas dinner, ami he looks good, Teddy,' lowering her voice, ' he nial-os me think of St Stephen ' ' St. Stephen ' what next *> ' Mary Bruton nodded ' " Full of faith and the IToly Ghost " that's what ho looks like ' ' Curb your imagination. young woman We'll be having you turn Papist next ' ' No, 1 shall never do that, but that does not provent me seeing the pood in a man like Mr MacCarthv You have told me what a good man you think he is yourself ' ' Yes. from all T hear of him ho is good, as you put it. I suppose.' the doctor acquiesced) ' And pray is it as a lewaid of virtue ,v ou are going to piesent him with a pair of fowls "> ' Teddy, what a tease you are But please let me I'll do them up in paper and Ihvlhs shall run acios.s with them at dark and pop them m at the door He'll never guess who sent thorn ' A most ingenious plan, but why shouldn't you have the credit of giving Mr. MacCarthy his Christmas dinner 9 ' *" Mary shook her head ' No, T don t want him to know : it would take away half the pleasure.' ' Your pleasure or Mr MacCarthy's pleasure ? '

'Oh Teddy, do be quiet : may I send him Uncle Jack s chickens ? ' ' I have no voice in the matter.' Doctor Bruton shook his head. 'If you don't know your rights, Mrs. Bruton, it is time I taue-ht them to you. There is such a thing as the Married Woman's Property Act. Mark, learn, and digest that fact, if you please, madam The chickens— no longer the property of Uncle Jack— are your own,' ' Teddy, how provoking you are ! But if they are mine, 1 shall give them to Mr. MacCarthy.' ' Which you meant to do from the beginning, madam, and might have done without disturbing my peaceful slumbers.' 1 Oh, Teddy, were you asleep ? ' ' Were >ou up half last night, madam, may I ask "> ' ' Oh, Teddy. I shouldn't have awakened you.' The little wife was penitent. ' You are forgiven, and listen ; I think it was a kind thought to think of Mr. MacCarthy, and just like my little woman. They tell me he's poor, poorer than his flock, and that is saying everything.' ' Then I'll tell Phyllis to stuff them,' Mary returned with such conviction that her husband went off to the surgery m a roar of laughter. It was the eve of Christmas Day, and Father MacCarthy— he had been trudging through the sleet and rain all day hunting out the scattered members of his fold nnd exhoiting them, even with tears, to celebrate the birth of Him Who was born for them in a stable, by coming at least to Mass — had at last got home from his rounds. ■Rllen Simpson had gone home to her own cottage, leaving the key in the- dooi , and as the Father turned it in the lock, he stumbled over something lying on the threshold. So when he had struck a match and lighted his candle he went back to see what it mie-ht be, and found a brown-paper parcel neatly tied up and addressed with careful hand to ' The Reverend D. MacCarthy. With best wishes for a happy Christmas.' Now who could have sent him this ? The Father shook his head, as ho puzzled over the strange handwriting while he unknotted the string. A pair of fowls ! Who could have sent these ? The Father's memory ran over his flock. Mrs. Tomlinson, in the Church Lane, had ' poultry,' three hens and a cock , but they had been scraping in her scrap of a garden when the Father passed it at dark, and these were chickens, young, plump, trussed, stuffed. The odor of Phyllis' stuffing rose to the Father's nostrils. Providence had, at any rate, sent them to him and to do with them what he liked, and — God reward the sender — hero was a dinner for Kitty Cadman ! Yes, what a treat for Kitty ' The Father's eye beamed ; yes, Kitty, who turned from all that was proffered to her, would h'To, surely, find something she could eat. And the other o Now who should have tho other? The Father considered Jem Collver of course Certainly, Jem Collvor The Father rubbed his hands together as ho thought what the pleasme would be of the recipients, and then he touched with delicate hand the golden plumage of the heads that Uncle Jack's factotum had left on the poor plucked chickens ' just to show Miss Mary as was that he hadn't forgotten she thought a heap of them Indian fowls ' # Well, Christmas Day came, cold, windy, and wet, but a doctor must work, even on Christmas Day, and Pr Bruton, after taking Mary home from the parish church, went off in his mackintosh to see one or two of his patients An unusual and savory odor greeted him as, after an unanswered knock, ho opened Kitty Cadman's door. Kitty was at least going to have a Christmas dinner, he noted that with satisfaction. Kitty, her best fiilled nightcap on her head in honor of the day, was sitting up m bed (a feat she had not performed for weeks), while Sara Bncknill.. the friend who shared her room, spoon m hand and flushed in face, was bending over a Dutch oven hooked to the bars of the little grate. For tho first time in the doctor's acquaintanceship with Kitty, she had no new symptom to proclaim, but sho had— a tale to tell Father MacCarthy, tho priest himself, had brought her a ' hen,' a hen, according to her, about as big as a turkey, and Mrs. Bell, next door, had lent her her Dutch oven, and Mrs. Potts, at the Gre\ hound, had given Sara (who had gone up to buy a pennyworth) the si/c of an egg of dripping, nnd Mrs. Martin, the baker's wife, had sent down a couple of mince-pies, and Sara and she were going- to feed like ' queens ' ' Hero's volur Christmas dinner,' Father MacCarthy had said, ' and pray for those that sent it to YOU ' But it was himself, no doubt about that, Kitty opined, and nisi like him ; why. if he'd a penny to spare hod leave it under a book maybe, or on a corner of the diesser ft was queer, but the taste of a chicken was lust what she had been longing for, and — here it was! And then Kitty called out to her friend to take care tlii 1 ' bud wasn't drying,' and Sara, redder than ever, had to unhook the oven and give tho ' bird ' a good ' 1 asting ' Here was news for Mary, Dr Bruton chuckled to himsMf as ho walked down the street after bidding the old woman cjood-dav. As he passed Jem Collvcr's door tho doctor hesitated , he was past help, long past human help, poor suffering old fellow, but a shilling might gladden even his

whPn^ P hi e n St ii r aS brou Sht it,' Jem explained, when he had apohmsed for not getting un from his chair and still twirling at his string, Tnd a Tvely bird it is, and a finp-look.ing creature it must i,?^ ! „ - Sd^TnJ"" l^ 11 /c/ c «*& 2nd heM uVa golden head., It s the very breed they have up at thpPirlV &»?* ILr,^- ** th ° Au »™. «" * they More news for Mary ! Dr. Bruton's eyes were danhome amusement, as, his shilling gl ven, he hu, nod ♦«r ¥ & V WaS J n the kitch en, quite a pucker of care beW dinner TVTV* c su Pe™nten<fed the cooking of & s*? nn dd e o'wn bU oV n a S^SX^Sff hUSband ' 8 *mni,Se Sha Jli iaV » a dinner,' she said at last, and to k iw 6 ! B^] I*ll^®1 * 11^® a Christmas dinner, and, Teddy you snail take it to him. ' I suppose I must do as I am told ' The husband i\ ove?/ shoulder s- ' Wrap it up, then, and Fl? take tut .'r- Wra JP il Up *v Do - you think Xam S° in ff to send Mr. MacCarthy another pair of fowls to give nwav'> ' Mnrv looked at her husband with contempt. 'No "you shall take him over a wing of the turkey and a' big bit of the breast. ' My dear, you cannot do such a thing,' the husband remonstrated, 'fit would be an insult to Mr MacCarthy.' 'No, it wouldn't.' Mary was firm. 'And, Teddy you will have to take it.' ' Not I.' Dr. Bruton shook his head. 'Then I shall. Yes, I will, Teddy ; you don't understand. Men never understand these things. Mr MacCarthy is going to have a good dinner, and I am goins to tak,e it to him.' h ' How do you know ho is not eating a very good dinner at this moment ? ' ' I know he isn't.' 'He may have his larder so full of turkeys and geese that he was glad to get rid of your Indians ' ' You know he has not.' ■" Well, well.' The doctor began to lajugh. ' Have it your own way, but don't ask mo to take it, that's all ' ' I shall take it myself. Phyllis, that is not tho turkey burning. Oh, Teddy dear, do run away and leave Phyllis and me to finish the dinner ' ' Can't I do anything "> Stir the plum-pudding *> ' ' Stir the plum-pudding? That shows how much you know about cooking, sir. Go and smoke a cigar and fctay in the surgery till T call you.' At two o'clock Mary opened the door ' Please, Teddy, will you come and cut off Mr MacCarthy'.s wing for me 9 ' ' Certainly.' Dr. Bruton followed his wife to thr dining-room ' And so that Mr MacCarthy may have a Christmas dinner, 1 am to sit down to a mutilated turkey.' ' You are not to tease, Teddy. Now give the plate to me — so — under my cloak ; and now open the liont door, please, my hands are full.' 'So I see. Well, I hope Mr. Mac Cart hy may enjoy having his dinner taken to him like a pauper ' ' Teddy ! As if anyone could see.' ' Anyone could smell, at any rate ' ' There isn't anyone to see or smell either, everyone Is at dinner. Quick, Teddy, open the door or it will get cold. I shall be back in a moment.' 'In less if you like. I quite appreciate your sentiments about turkey getting cold ! ' But in spite of his words the doctor's face was very tender as he stood on the doorstop watching his wife go down the stops Mary Bruton went carefully across the stiect Not a creature was to be seen, and — balancing her plate and its cover as well as she could — she knocked at the. priest's door. No answer came and she knocked again Still no answer, so she tried the handle of the door, and, finding it gave, pushed it softly open and stopped into the passage, and then — she stood still Facing her, by the table, in the little room he used as a parlor, stood the priest, one hand upraised as he besought the blessing of Cod on the food that lav bofore him — a plate of porridge. But his face of content and recollection — there must bo good in the faith that made a man look like that : ' Full of faith and the TTolv Ghost.' Yes, that was it Mary did not hesitate Gently as she had come she slipped away and re-crossed the street, plate still in her hand. ' Wouldn't have it ' ' her husband cried trmmphantiv ' Wouldn't have it ? Oh, Teddy ' Mary, her dish put on the table, threw herself on her husband's breast ' I believe Mr. MacCartby has the only good dinner in Lesser Barton to-day ' * ' Father,' Dr Bruton asked when Christmas Day had come round again to find the priest (who had that morning baptised the doctor's and Mary's first-born) a guest at his table ' Father, what had you for dinner last Christmas Day "> ' Mary shook her head vigorously at her husband from the head of the table.

The priest considered—' What had I for dinner last Christmas Day. Let me see. Yes, I remember, some charitable soul sent me a pair of fowls.' ('I believe he thinks he ate them,' Mary almost cried

You never heard of a Christmas dinner bringing two sinners into the fold? three if you count that ra^ cal there Dr Bruton added, under his breath, as he looked at the bundle in Phyllis' arms ' Teddy ! ' Mai- expostulated. i / L a r m afnml l don't quite understand.' The priest looked from his host to his hostess. ' Father, he is ahvavs talking nonsense.' Mary looked entreatingly at her husband. ' (\nd nnn«on«n is a very wholesome thing, sometimes, the priest returned. ' But I am waiting for an explanation.'

Jedriy looked at his wife ; he could not withstand the entreaty in her eyes. 'Forgive me, Father,' he said, as Mary says, *T am always talking nonsense ; but I stick to it, I was converted by a Christmas dinner ! ' The priest, on consideration, giving up the problem, gently shook his head — ' Messenger of the Sacred Heart '