The Storyteller A MOTHER'S GRIEF.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXI, Issue 28, 9 July 1903, Page 23

The Storyteller A MOTHER'S GRIEF.

The Sister of Charity bent o\er and smoothed the tangled hair of the dying woman. 'If it were not for the child ! the child ! ' the feeble voice wailed. ' Do not distress yourself, Mrs. Bentley.' the Sister said with soothing tenderness. ' God will provide for little Alice. You are vei.y, very uuak, and you must try to bo resigned.' The two-yeai-old girl in the Sister's arms looked up in wonder at the gentle face. ' Mamma ! Mamma ! ' she lisped, the rosy lips beginning to tremble nnd the tears gathering in the blue eyes. Sister Gertrude laid the curly head on her shoulder. ' Poor mamma is tired, Alice. You must not cry and wake up poor mamma.' The dying woman stretched out her hands for the child and the Sister laid the little one beside her mother. ' Sister Gertrude,' Mrs. Bentley said, ' help me to say, " God's will be done." It is so hard — so hard — to leave her all alone in the world. 1 The fluttering hands rested on Alice's head and the dim eyes dwelt with unspeakable tenderness on the child. The room was very still. A light came over the lace of the dying mother. ' Thy will be done ! Thy will be done ' ' she whispered; and in the fainting whisper the struggling soul was freed. After a few moments in prayer, Sister Gertrude lifted the child in her arms and went to inform the occupants of the house of the death of Mrs. Bentley. Then, with little Alice, she returned to her community. Sister Gertrude had soothed the dying anguish of the poor mother with the thought of God's providemco over the orphan child ; but her own mind could not see just then what form that providence would take. Her sisterhood, the only one in the town, had no orphanage and had quite a struggle to maintain their establishment by teaching The only provision that seemed possible was to send the child to a distant city. Commending her helpless little charge to the Mother of Sorrows, Sister Gertrude began to help the school children with their Christinas preparations. Not having ninny members in the little community, the care of Alice fell upon Sister Gertrude, and the baby sat at her feet, on the platform, while she taught in the' classroom Many wonderful stories the school girls told little Alico of all that Santa Clans would bring her : and he would be sure to bring them, because they had all told him. * In a very handsome home in the same city, a young woman was bending over the dead form of her baby. But six months before her husband hitd died ; and to the anguished heart it seemed past nil endurance that, death should rob her of her only child. 'It is too much ' Too much ! ' she told herself, sitting in a stony, tearless grief beside her dead Sho turned a deaf ear to all words of comfort. ' There is no sorrow like mine Husband and child so soon taken. I cannot, I will not be consoled ' She sat for hours beside the little cofim, torturing her poor heart with the picture of baby's loveliness so striking in death. ' She was so beautiful — my Alice — my one treasure, too beautiful to die' When a motherly old neighbor tried to make hei think of the child's blessed safety, she cried out that her whole life would have been devoted to her darling's happiness ' But, Mrs Fletcher, how do you know that you could have made her happy *> Now you k,now she is safb with Cod and no sot row can ever reach her.' But it was nil in \ain : and after the child had been laid at rest, Mrs Fletchei 's neighbors and friends shook their heads ominously over her condition. She shut herself away from every one. Weeks passed, biincring the nieriy Christmas preparations, but no hint of their gracious message reached the solitary, uncomfoi ted mother in her stately, desolate home She must lie roused and interested, or this settler? melancholy will piove disastious,' the doctor told Mis. Fletcher's friends when they discussed the case ' I only wish I knew how to rouse her interest,' he said, musingly. ' She refuses to see any visitors T believe she would refuse to see me only I walk right in, because I cannot let her grieve heiself to death She will not read or tal-e exercise She lust sits and broods all day long over Ihe death of her child. I feel like scolding her only she looks too forlorn to tako any notice of my scolding '

As the weather grew colder (he question of cloth ing little Alice began to he a .serious problem to Sister Gertrude The school girls had contributed sonic articles of wearing apparel, but as they were nearly all the childion of working people, the- 1 - did not lnwo\ory plentiful wardrobes One day, .Jennie Moore, one of the larger girls, said wistfully to Sister (Gertrude 'It seems such a pity, Sister, th.it fJdir little Alico cannot ha\e .some of the fine clothes that belonged to Alice Fletcher. Sho was just the same age and she was always dressed like a little pnncess. 7 wonder what her mother did with all her beautiful clothes ? ' 'Is Mrs. Fletcher a Catholic, Jennie ? ' asked the Sister.

' Sister, she is. That is, she used to go to church ; but now she never goes out at all. She will not see anybody, and sits alone ail the time in her room.' ' Poor thing ! ' said the Sister. ' How strange that sho will not seek the only true consolatio.n. It does seem a pity, as you say, Jennie, that the clothing that could be of so much service to our poor living child, is lying \useless.' After Jennie had gone home Sister G-ertrude k«pt thinking of poor, desolate Mrs. Fletcher. Then she recalled the death of M.rs. Bentley and the anguish it had been to her to think of leaving little Alice alone in the world. A thought came to the Sister. Suppose she should tokp Alice to Mrs. Fletcher and ask her to ftive the orphan a few of the plainest of the dead child's dresses. It seemed almost a daring thing to the gentle Sister, but her courage rose the more she thought of the plan. ' It may help her to see that there are other sorrows in the world. I will tell her of poor Mrs. Bentley's dieath and her distress at leaving Alice alone and friendless and her act of resignation to God's will, at the last.' So when the class duties were over, Sister Gertrude prepared Alice for a walk. The little one was delighted ; and the Sister dressed her very carefully. She brushed out the silky blonde curls arid tied them with a bit of bright ribbon that a school girl had given little Alice. The pretty, eager face was a picture, winsome enough to touch any heart, as the tollue eyes sparkled in delightful anticipation of the outing with Sister Gertrude. Together they walked through the business thoroughfares and out to the broad sweeping avenue, where stood the handsome home of Mrs. Fletcher. Sister Gertrude began to feel some what abashed and nervous as she rang the door bell. The tall, formal butler looked surprised as he opened the door. ' Is Mrs. Fletcher at home and can I see her ? ' ' She is at home, Sister,' the man replied, very respectfully, ' but Ido not think you can see her. She has refused to see any visitors at all since her baby died.' ' So I have heard,' Sister Gertrude replied, but — her courage rising again — ' I will detain her but a very short while.' The butler opened the door, looking doubtful. His orders were very strict, but he could not find it in his heart to refuse the good Sister. As they entered the hall ho caught sight of the child clinging to the Sister's dress ' I am afraid, Sister,' he said, hesitatingly, ' that if Mrs. Fletcher will see you, it would never do for her to see the child.' He stood and looked greatly puzzled. ' You know she cannot get over the death of her baby ; and it was just about like this one ; and — dear me ! ' he said with a start, ' the child is for all the world like our little baby.' Sister Gertrude was greatly disappointed. She had dressed Alice so carefully, making, the most she could of her baby beauty, in the hope that it would incline Mrs. Fletcher's heart to genorisity. ' If Mrs. Fletcher will see you, Sister, I can take the child to the housekeeper's room till you are ready to go,' the butler said, reaching out his hand to, little Alice, Lut the child clung to the Sister and began to cry. ' Well, never mind then,' he said, hurriedly. 'Hush, little girl, don't cry. lam not going to take you. I wouldn't for the world that Mrs. Fletcher should hear a child's voice, vist now, anyhow,' he said to himself, there is no chance of her seeing them.' Then aloud, 'Sit down Sister,' opening the door of the handsome parlor. ■ I will go and ask Mrs. Fletcher- if she will see yop.' Aw/uting his return Sister Gertrude 'gazed around the beautifully -appointed room. How strangely cold and silent the house seemed. So stately and so handsome and so unlike a home. Accustomed to the merry voices of children, the cheering patter of little feet, the Sister wondered at the chilling silence of the house. ' Some one to see me, Roberts ? ' Mrs. Fletcher turned to the butler. ; You know I have told you I cannot see anyone.' ' But. madam, this is a Sister of Charity, and she said that she wanted to sco you particularly.' ' Well, ask her for her message. I will do anything I can, but,' wearily, ' I cannot see anyone.' Roberts still stood at the door. ' Tho Sister said she would only detain you a very short while. You know, madam,' he said, hesitatingly, ' Mr. Fletchon was always so glad to have the Sister come to see him. when he was sick.' Mrs Fletcher started. True, she remembered the last days o! her husband's life and how the visits of the Sisters seemed to comfort him. ' "Well, Roberts,' she said, sinking back in her chair, ' just> ask the Sister to come up here.' Mrs Fletcher sat quite still a moment. The butler's words had brought back that terrible blow, tho loss of her husband And then when her bleeding heart had leant with idolising love upon her only child, she too had been taken. What was life to her after all but a succession of harrowing pictures, memories that pained her cruelly with every thought and a weary vista of a hopeless futuie 9 A timid knock came to the door. ' Come in ' ' said Mrs Fletcher, and Sister Gertrude entered with little Alice The lady had risen to receive them, a.nd as her eyes fell upon the child she stood as if rooted to the spate. ' You are very kind to receive mo, Mrs. Fletcher,' a soft voice was saying, ' and I thank you very much, for I have heard how greatly you have suflei-ed.'

Mrs. Fletcher inclined her head, and, seating herself, motioned Sister Gertrude to be seated. Little Alice looked wonderingly at the beautiful lady. Receiving no answer, Sister Gertrude went timidly on : ' I have come to ask you a very great favor, Mrs. Fletcher, and you will pardon me if it is more than you can grant. This poor little child was left to my care when her widowed mother died. She had no relatives that we know of. Our school is not very prosperous, for, although we have a large number of scholars, they are all of the poorer class. I came to ask you if you could m«/ke up your mind to give me some of the very plainest of your little girl's clothing, it would be a great help towards providing for this little one.' Sister Gertrude paused. Mrs. Fletcher did not speak Her large mournful eyes were fixed on little Alice. The child began to be frightened at this strange, silent, woman. At last Mrs. Fletcher spoke. ' This child's mother is dead, you say, Sister ? ' ' Yes, madam.' ' And you would like me to give you some of — my baby's clothing — some of my little Alice's dresses ? ' The words; died in a whisper. Mrs. Fletcher did not like to refuse the gentle Sister, but the thought of parting with anything associated with" the child was too, paintful to be considered. She drew her pocket book from her pocket. 'If you will accept a gift for the child, Sister, in place of the clothing,' she said, courteously. ' I would prefer it. I cannot explain — everything my darling left is iust kept sacred ; and to give them to another child ' — she shook her head and held out a roll of money. As Sister Gertrude hesitated, Mrs. Fletcher called the child to her. ' Ta/ke this, little one,' she said, and Alice, accustomed to the demonstrations of the warm-hearted school girls, in place of immediately taking the money reached up her little arms and clashed Mrs. Fletcher around the neck. ' Oh, you pretty, pretty lady ' you look so sorry ! Alice just loves you ! ' and before tho startled woman could untwine the clinging arms or frightened Sister Gertrude could take away her impulsive young charge, Alice had enthusiastically kissed tho desolate mother. Oh, the sunshine of a child's pure love ! Oh, the balm of a child's sweet comforting ! Trembling and unnerved. Mrs. Fletcher held the little, one in her arms, while the blessed, softening tears rained over the aunny hair and the bright young face. So Sister Gertrude's faith was not in vain, and tho providence of God had provided for little Alice a more generoxis future than she had ever d'arod to hope for Alice was adopted by Mrs. Fletcher, and sho filled, in a great measure, the place of the little daughter whose name she bore. Mrs. Fletcher gave, in Alice's name, a most beautiful Christmas tree to the school, something far be\ond what the children had ever aspired to. The handsome house is no longer silent and desolate. Ofton the patter of little feet is heard through its halls ; and tho music of children's voices — sweetest of earthly sounds — rings through the house as Alice's little friends gather around her in her happy home. — ' Catholic Columbian.'