AFTER MANY DAYS

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXIII, Issue 38, 21 September 1905, Page 23

AFTER MANY DAYS

Tiro forester and his wife had just returned from a visit i<rt Berlin, where their nephew had 'been ordained a few 'days before. Prosperity had crowned the laJbors of these worthy people. They had only cmc drop of bitterness in their cup of happiness : it was th-eir misfortune never lo have been blessed with a son. ' What joy to Have a son a priest ! ' exclaimed the forester 's wife for the twentieth time, ! as she sat with her husband in the garden on this pleasant afternoon. ' We coliild have paid for his education ; he would have been oiur offerinc; to the Lord ; and, who knows, perhaps vn -time* he might even have come to serve the altar hero in our own village ? '

' What you say is true,. K'atberine,' replied the for«ster—that is, if it shbuld all come to pass. But now many are there who have bad sons who disgrace them arid foireak their hearts ! Perhaps it is better so.' ' O Franz, no son of ours would have done that ! ' cried his wife. ' How couKl such a thing be possible'? ' ■' It baS happened often before,' the forester answered gravely. ' Let us be thankful for the blessings we possess, for they are many.' With fyhese words he lit his pipe, too-k his stick, an/d went forth for a stroll, according to his daily custom. At the same moment the pastor of the village issued from his garden, also for a little walk. Both men, from an opposite direction, entered the fringe of woods which sHcirtcd the village. Not far from the spot where the pastor was slowly walking stood a ruined cottaye, which, howe\er, had been recently occupied by a woodcutter and his little 'boy, a child about eight, years of agp. The poor mian had died of a fever the week 'befoire, leaving the request that his child bo sent to a brother of his wife who lived in the city. After the funeral, having satisfied himself that the brother-in-law was respectable, the priest sent the child, with his few Ibtelongfimig's, to the home of his uncle, in oare of a neig-hbiox who was 'going to the city. The family wero aft|sent at the time ; but a woman who lived in tho -house said the child mishit rqmain in her room until evening, when they would return. The villager had repont'eid thSsl ftart, ami it was supposed that e\erytihing would> be right. Aa -tine pTiest approached tho ruined cottage, he thought he saw a face at the window. It disappeared, and, when ho arrived at the gate a, little boy ran cut to meet him. ' Why, George ! ' exclaimed the pastor. ' What has brought you hare ? I thought you were 'with your itnjc'e.' 1 The woman turnod me out,' said the boy, beginning to cry. 'My uncle was absent, working on the river, and she said there was no room for me. So I came back here.' 'DM she turn you into the street ? ' asked the pastor. ' Yos, Father— the next monning.' ' And h|ow did you get here ? ' 1 I walked, Father.' ' Fifty miles ? ' ' Yeis, Father. Good people ga\e me biead, anjd I slept sometimes un/de.r a tree, sometimes close to a hedge. Onco a policeman wanted to put me in gaol ; milt I told him I was coming to you, and ho let me go.' ' To me 7 But what shall I do with you, my boy 9 ' ' I don't know, Fattier.' ' When did you arrive '' ' ' A few minutes aso, Father. I Avas so tiled, I thought I would rest here awhile before going to you.' Thcj kinrt priest footed down at the innocent face, with its great blue eyes upturned to his , and his heart ached for the poor orphan., who stood so trustfully regarding him, his eaip m one hland, all his woildly goods tied; in a» red hainrikeirdhief, in the other. Something wouM have to be done. Presently the forester was seen advancing from the other side of the forest. The priest went to meet him, engiaginej him in comversjation, while the "boy stood patiently waiting at a distance. At length the two men camo toward' him. Georgia dnar,' said the priest, ' how would you like to 'go and li\e with Mr. Busch ? ' ' I think it would be very nice, Father,' replied the boy. ' Very well. Let us Iry it, in food's name,' «aid tho forester. ' Come along, my little fellow. We will go home.' ' You will be a rvery good boy, George 9 ' asked the priest. 1 A very tfrod boy, Faiher,' echoed the child. Half an hour later the forester entered the lnin^ room of his own comfortable home, whoie his wife ami two daughters were s^ate-d. The mother sDin'Min-r, one of tho £irls sewing, and \hv other on'. r .ap;'ed in knit'tinj; a pair of stock iircs — for this, thoiigh rot so \ery lone; ago, was Vieforo the day.'; of machine work, at least in tho Black Forest ' i c eo here what I hnve broupht you ' ' exclaimed the bijr, burly forester, in a cheerful voice, as the child pulled tihd cap from his curly head and remained uncovered in the presence of the throe women. 1 Oh. what a pretty boy ! ' said the forester's' wife. Who is he ? ' 'An ofphlan who has neither friend nor home,' rejokwttl the forester. " I have brought him to you,

mother, for a son ; and now, girls, you will have what you have always desired,— a little brother.' With on« accord these good people arose and embraced the bioy. Little Georgie had found a home and hearts to love him. He proved to be all they had thdught him. He was no trouble to anyone ; on the contrary, he filled the house with sunshine, always willing to oblige amdteager to- learn. What he liked bes-t, after the household work was done, was to sit on a stool at the feet of his adopted mother and her daughters, quite close to Lena the yo<un|ger $irl, who haid taken a great liking to him. Ho could alreajdy read well, ami he delighted in taking up a children's Bible Hdsitory, which Lena had won at| a school contest, and reading alcxuid the beautiful narratives it contained. He also became cfuite proficient in drawing, never tiring of making pictures on his slate, and later, when he grew older, on paper. ' Goorgiie, you will never be a farmer or a forester. I sew that already,' said his adopted mother to him one day, as he s a t contentedly among them, his head bent over his drawingMbioo-k. ' No, indeed,' said Lena, pulling his curly hair. 'For my rpart) I believe Georgie is gome; to be something great— perhaps/ a priest.' ' A p.rkisi |!- ' cried the ttoy. ' I could never Us gtpod enough fom tiitat, but maybe I can learn enough to te a teacher some day.' 'If George continues to be an industrious boy, I shall not mind spending something on his education,' said the Forester . <He may learn Latin if he wishes. I am going to speak 1o the priest about it.' So it camo to pass that at last Goargie went to the seminary, ami, after the requisite studies, was ordained priest. It .seemed to Iho good couple who had adopted him, and to their daughters— cm c of whom, was now married— that the day an which they assisted at the celebration of his first Mass, in the village church, was the happiest of their Hies. Their loy was moderated, 'however, when they learned that the young I ' priest had offered himself as a missionary to the Chinese— pometfhiiing which would remove him from them forever. But, jtrtootl Christians as they were, they maldei thw sacrifices ; and 'for several years they hoard only at kmg intervals' from their adopted son. In the meantime misfortune hiad fallen upon this good family. Mr. Busch had grown old ; he had been remomi from his position as forester, and was thus OibJigCrl ;io gfuel u,p the comfortable, pleasant house where, all his married life had Ik en spent. The husband of Martihia, the elder girl, had a mama fibr inventions ; he pwsuaskid his father-in-law to lend him all his s.avlnsjs, iv order that he might perfect a wheel on which he had (bwn cn^ay^ed for many jears. It proved a failure, an|d the money was lost. The young man begain to diin,k, and scon died His (wife did not long survive him , and a little later Lena, the younger girl, died of a fe\er. Tfoci ohl people were left alone, their only subsistence being whatever Mr Busch could earn by an occasional diy's work Farmers do not like to employ old men ; thus their poverty became extreme. Their good friend the pastor was long dead. They had not heard from George for m>ore than two a ears , and in their letters to <him i'hey carefully refrained from speaking] of thn chan?o in their circumstances, as they did not wish to cause him pain, when they Knew lie could not assist them. At last they realised that there was no refuge for them! bill the almshousc. The day eaine. Without saying a word of their purpose to their neighbors, they set. out, hand in hand, for the town where henceforth \h?y wero to reside Age and sorrow had dimmed their sight. With 'bent shoulders and feeble limbs they entered I*lo forest which lay tptween 'the village they wero leaviwg and thfc "town to which they were going. PauS'in'p; bciside a heap of stores, the old man said : ' Hero, wife, once stood the cottage from which I led our (ieorgie by 1/he hand.' ' 1 fear he is dead Ho nvtsf haw been murdered by tho heat'hk'ins, or he would not ha' e btecn »:> long) without writing to u\' replied his wife. Just then a tall, .slender man came out of the Ivi i/sihw.< >nd lie stalled when he oibsened the old people , but saw that they did ,ifot recognise him, as ho word 'a 1 Ibcird, aficr the custom of missionaries in somo parts of the Orient. 1 Franz, bo is dxess-cd like a priest,' whispered the old woman ' Yes., ho ito a priest, ' answered Franz, glancing at the Rom an collar. ' Father, yoiiT hlcssina: ' ' said the old woman, falling on her knees, followed by her husband.

The priest made the Sign ot the Cross above tfhem;) and then* raising them fiom the ground with his own hands, he cried out in a faltering tone : ' Father, mother ! Don't you know me ? And why are you so far from home, so feeble, so poorly clad ? Tell me what has happened.' Together they sal upon the nile of stones ; and on the ruins of the poor home which once had sheltered the priest, awd from which the good forester had led him (by the hand to the comfort of his own home, now ruined also, they told their pitiful story. ' Thfeunk Gold, that is all over now ! ' said the priest, when it <was finished. 'My health could no longer s*and the Chinese climate ; the Bishop obliged me to return, and I have been given a very good parish in C, on the otjher side of the forest. There is also a school there, 'in which I shall help teadh. My stipend is very; g)ood indeed. I was coming tio tell you about it, little 1 thinking) thlit you had bteen so unfortunate. I stopped, a few momenta to look at the place from which you took me, a poor orphan 1 ; and it seems to me providential that we ahould meet here on this very spot. Come back now with me to the village inn, and tomorrow <we w iH a-H se * out again for my new home, and yours as well, dear father and mother— the home where you shall cmi your lives in peace and comfort.' Weeping tears of joy, the old couple leaned upon she arms of their adopted son as they retraced their steps tihroirgh ttie forest ; happy in the thought that for the little time left them on earth they would not be farced to eat the bread of charity, but would be fed with that) of gratitude returned to them ' after many* days.'—' Aye Maria.'