The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXXVI, Issue 20, 21 May 1908, Page 3

The Storyteller

THE FATHER

Priscilla went to the school jin the Hollow. It was called Ooditege - School. - There were so many things.' that Priscdlla could not understand :- one was why. the. teacher was noti married and had no "little shjinHdigpr of her own. She had always supposed that every man and every woman always married 'because her fither and mother, [and' lots of fathers and mothers she knew,' had married. She wondered why people laughed when she said ' shin-digs ' (children), v College pudding, ' and' ' Plaster '; for surely her little friends were shinndigs, and that part of the IBible hier father sometimes read from, was the Plaster — she had 1 seen it in big letters~ and the pudding was ithe same mame as her school— College. Her lather had told her that It was rude ajtud unkind to laugh at people— he never laughed,, no matter what she said. Yet these big people (laughed? at her, and some o * them were kind. Tjncle Tom 'always gave her lovely presents at Christmas time, and on her birthdays, and- yet he used to laugh merrily ocr what she said.

Then it was hard to understand why. other little girls had mothers here on earth*— oh lots and' lots— and only she had a mother |in heavewt. Falthier sa|tdi that} it was (lovely to have an angel mother waiting -for us, and watching over us— it was the day she- cried so hard for her when shie fell |out of the apple tree and sprained her foot, and Owen Mine* told her that she was spoiled and not nice because she hadn't any- .mother to toach her things, and iPriscilla felb that not <wfly •her foot, but her heart was (broken. She wanted to see her mother so much that she told her fattier. She -did not often tell her fathier far it made tho sorry lo 0 k come into his face, and he would catch! her in his arms and say, 'My poor little girl. I am afraid your father is not much of it mother to you but he tries.' And Priscilla/'s arms would befluna about his neck in a tight hug, and she would say that he was Ithe very best father in the world and she loV/ed him better every siogle day. But one day a dreadful thing happened. Instead of comtortang her, her father put his head down on/ the table, and he cnied— yes, cried. This (frightened Priscilla so much that she thought she never would tell him! agadn bow much she wanted to see her mother And her father said : ' O God, how I want lier !*» PnscilU never could [forgot that time, and she useS trf say the words qver sometimes, they seemed burned into her very brain. But Priscilla's sad days were not half so maw as her happy ones. There were the delights of going, 'im and down in the spelling class, which happened only on Fridays; and the 'last day,' when each child who stood first or second in a study could select a Rift from the doUiectoo-n on a square table-. Oh, 'the'suspense and the anticipation, of that moment when one stood in blissful hesitation before taking one of the prizes set forth in such tempting array ! -For If it were the book with the red cover, a later desire might be for the china shepherdess', or -the gilded mine with • For a Good Child ' on it in red letters. And best of all for Priscilla was the moment when her n a me was called out as the best reader in the third class, and to" see the light come into her father's eyes, and his; srrdle ; for all the fathers and mothers and aunties' and cousins came to Miss Marchmont's

' last day.' And the skipping home by her, father's side in ,her best dress of blue cashmere with" f dainty lace ruffles in the neck and sleeves, and carrying . in her hand the charming b<?ok of Peter Parley's, off "the shepherdess, or mug as itl^ might be, and "then -thje supper, when the father would '- say,, in such a prpjud',, glad voice :-_' Mrs;. Larkins,, this,, as;; the. -little, girl whjbtgained a prize for reading.- rethink, that /we must r:hayer : a pot of your excellent strawberry jam , opened td-rHgfct.' Mrs. Larkins was the ' houseT&eeper, who looked-after

everything in the hmise, partly- because* she needed-it, partly slhte had' lov,ted Priscilla!<s ' m.ot)fier;-' T 'w!Bo "had helped her over many a -hard- place itt her " =.yery troubled life. -,- l -,- . \^ And there were F,air days, when r Priscilla went Jin the carry-all with her/father amd-Mrs. Larkins, and-two of her little friends soueezed in'bn. the "seat "Beside ' her ; the- Fair, where there were racing^ and dog shows and) animals of all kinds in< the stalls, atid swings and peanut taffy sticks of peppermint as long as Priscilla was tall.

And there were the rare days when Priscilla went to the city '-with her father and saw Punch and Judy, tlje State House, and went to the gorgeous hotel for dinner, and spent the dollar so carefully saved fox this purpose— the dollar which could buy such a number- of things— the glass breastpin for Mrs.. Larkina, with its star of red, white, and blue; in a German silver setting, and which, later, it gave Priscilla such, heartfelt joy and satasf ac tion to k see fastening the broad collar of kmitted lace which that lady wore on state occasions. And the top for Paul Jenilqins around the corner—he would call her Miss Shiny^ Griny Shoes) because she did not have copper-toed shoes for every day as all the other children had,' but he had s a vedher doll once from a big red-headed boy who was holding her over tine pond near the schoolhouse, and just lately had Ibrought her a lump of shoemakers' wax to chew. And there was her-* dear Betty Lord— she must get her the cornelian ring she craved ; and her father— oh, she must manage to slip over to the counter where they sold handkerchiefs and buy him one with a border all birds and butterflies in colors. Priscilla was very much in awe of the young man who waiited on her with such a grand manner, and wore such a wonderful purple necktie. And just? as the handkerchief was wrapped and paid for— oh, how fortunate it was not a moment sooner ! the father appeared.

{ Well, Priscilla, almost through ? What have you b'ouight for yourself ? ' he would ask, and then Priscilla, looking into her purse, would see just • a dime left —how 'quickly a dollar did go anyhow. ' Oh, I have'n't bought mine yiet, ' she would say, ' hut I can get ever so much for ten cents.' But when, about to buy the little doll with blue eyes, Priscilla would suddenly remember Mrs-. Larkins' Kttle niece who never had anything, and the dime would go for two tiny dolls instead, one of which could be sent to Eliza Amanda. Oh, those were go,lden days ! Priscilla never qiuite realised how golden until the day when she was sent away to school.

How she begged and prayed that she might be always with her father ! And how pale and sad the father looked when he said, in that voice so rarely used, but which when used was final, No, my dear, the school is the place for you now. You need another atmosphere and different conditions, and you must learn to , rely on yourself more.' But at the end of two years, the father appeared in the city where the soh o ol was, and to Priscilla's joy informed her that he had rone into partnership with an old friend — a lawyer — and would be with her. And one eventful day, when he and Priscilla were out for one of their old-time jaunts, the father led her up the steps to a plain, city house, unlocked the door and said : ' Well, Prisciilla, how do you like our new home ? ' And before Priscilla' s astonished eye® was the olid furniture she knew so well, and there, calm and graive as of old, Mrs. Larkins.

And then the choosing new and pretty things for the home, and her taking her place at the head of the table ' and pouring the coffee, and the twilight talks before the lire.

' What do girls do who haven't a father like mine to go to in their troubles ? ' she asked once, reckless of grammar, as she sat beside him in the big chair, hex head on his broad shoulder. She had been telling him one of hers, and lo ! the wrinkles were smoothed out as if by magic. 1 And what do fathers do who haven't daughters to tell them such pretty things as mine does to her old, silly, grey^haired—' But Priscilla' s soft hand was over his mouth—' her

fine-looking, distinguished father '—she corrected. 'And then she went on dreamily : ' I remembered the other night of how, when I was a little girl and would waken from a horrible, dream and feel that I could not beat the fright, I would muster all my courage to run into your room, and your arms would be held so tightly about me, and you would soothe me and I would feel so safe, so relieved, so rested.' •' It is the same way, isn't it, Pris, dear '—the father hesitated, for it was not' easy for him to touch on such subjects — ' or something like it, jibout these new troubles of yours ? You say that the question of the Trinity and the subject of free- will worry and bewilder you. The Trinity puzzles us all ; bait isn't it like you,, with your bad dreams and your fright ? We com© close to our Father" in Heaven and trust that He v - knows and will somehow bring ifc all right in the end, and that we are His children and He loves us, and that brings us peace.' ■

; "But I want to know,.' cried Priscilla. 1 You remember how you 'used to come to me,' her father ' went on, ( • with ' question®, and I would Ssay, "Trust me, wait till you are older and then you can understand, "x" x and you waited and you did understand.

Well, ism't it the same way now, Piis ? ■ We must wait until we know more and can understand 4 must wait untO we can drop this earthly part of us which clogs and darkens our understanding,, until we reach home,- and then we will cry out in wonder and say/ " How plain it seems now !' how perfect it all is'! ", You know Si Paul says, " For now we see through "a glass darkly but then face td face." ' - ,*- There was a silence, and Priscilla' s hand pressed the strong one holding hers. 'It does seem— simple— a matter of faith in one's father, isn't It ? I'll 'try and remember.' ■ - • , The little maid came in to turn on the lights* ' Bless my soul,' said the father suddenly. :'I cam© near forgetting the treat we have ahead of us. I've bought tickets for the grand concert and we ha-ven't much time. Fly, little princess.' Priscilla flashed her gratitude. ' Father, what an extravagant dear you are,' and she was gone, only to reappear soon in her ' finery,' as her father called It, and stand laughing under his inspection. jf Priscilla,' he asked gravely, * is^ that a hat or a flower garden ? ' And then they went laughing out into the street. ' I declare,' I don't know which is the ehildishest,' said Mrs. Larkins, in her solemn voice, as she carefully locked the door after them and went back to her 1 Six Days of Creation,' over which she slept regularly 1 nirht after night, biut which she reminded herself was not frivolous or light-minded, anyhow. But the school days could not last forever. The father tried to hold back Priscilla's, but they seemed only to fly past him more swiftly, And then there were such wonderful, such bewildering, such perplexing things which followed. Priscilla's theological problems were far simpler ! For men came to the house, not on business, but to see Priscilla. The father could not grasp . the situation. Why, Priscilla was only a child yet, and men' were so commonplace, so uncertain. • Priscilla was steadfast and innocent, and unused 1 to hiding her feelings. He watched Priscilla in the days that followed with wonder and amaze. Where did she learn that indescribable manner, half dignity, half witchery, wholly charm with these young fellows who seemed to him so crude and uninformed in spite of their polished manner and college training ? And tihen he grew troubled and secretly half jealous. ' We're going over to England next week), Priscilla,' he abruptly announced one day. ' How lovely ! ' cried the girl ; ' you're always thinking of surprises for me ! I can't believe that we're to run off together, father.' Her gratitude and happiness were so genuine that the father felt ashamed and almost like begging her pardon. 1 She isn't carried away by all this admiration) and gaiety. Priscilla is too sensible to care for any of these young fools,' he thought with a triumph which had in it a touch of malice. He was astonished at his feelings ; he, who had been noted among men for his sunny temper and opti>m'i'sm, was now alert, suspicious, and at times irritable. But Priscilla was> unchanged. They wandered through England the happiest of mortals ; and then in London the genus man appeared, and once more the father grew uneasy. 'Of course, Pris won't care for one of them,' he s a id. But why did she go with them ? He was too just and kind to lay any commands upon this most loving and obedient of daughters, but he chafed under it all. ■ * They were back at home again when the blow fell. Priscilla had been unlike herself for days. When questioned she said that she was well* oh, quite well. On the day that the blow fell, she was nervous, something unheard of for the healthy., well-poised Priscilla. She started at sounds, and when Mrs. Larkfns' solemn face announced a gentleman in the library •' to see your pa,' she turned white. Priscilla never knew how long she sat there ; then the door burst open and her father entered. ' A young man lias just been here, Pris— the impertinence of him ! asking to marry you. Nothing cool „ about that ! He went on about taking care of you and watching over you and— and— loving you.' There was a pause, and Priscilla, very pale, asked) : 1 And what did you say, father ? ' » - : ■' Say ! well, I told that young man some trufchi he never heard' before, I guess. 1 told him that yod had had the care of one man's life and weren't .pining for another to my knowledge •; and • that you were a tenderly reared plant which must have unusual hand T ling ; and that you were all I had on earth,- >• aoid that he didn't realise what It meant t<y walk" into- my •Rouse and ask for the greatest tre a &ure in it.' l ' And what, did he say ? '; asked Priscilla,

' Well, he wasn't quite as respectful towards the last— it was when I told him I was sorry for him— and he said, ."I feel, sir, that* an honest love is newer to .be despised as you seem to despise mine ; and- 1 feel sorry for you, sir, for your daughter loves me." I'm! afraid, Pris, I forgot that I was in my own house, for though I didn't say a word, I pointed to the door.'

' Oh, father ! ' cried PriscUla, ' you've never failed me yet, don't fail me now.'

The father looked at Her in bewilderment to which a terrible suspicion succeeded. '"Why, Pris 1 , you don't mean—why, you don't even know the fellow's name— you—'

' I loive Hulme Pcnfield— oh, dear, don't look at me th a t way, father dear— l can't "help it any more , than mother could, help lo\ing you.' For the first" time the father turned away from the girl's pleading eyes and walked quickly from the room, Priscilla threw herself on the couch and buried hier face in the pillows. ' Was it always so h a rd to confess one's love ? Did every girl have to break her father's heatft ? Was any man worth this sacrifice ? ' she thought. And then the face of her lover came before her and her heart responded. "Oh, yes, Hulme is worth all and everything— but I love them both.'

Was it hours ; was ifc days ? The door opiened very softly,, and before Priscilla could turn hex head a strong arm held her, and the voice she knew so well —the one which had always helped her— fell upon her ear, soft and tender—' Poor little girl ! no mother, and your father turning from you— can you— forgive such a wretch, Pris ? Let us talk it over, dear. Your old daddy only wants his little girl's happiniessi— why, Pris, crying ? Why, you can have any man in all the'world if you won't cry, dea.r.' ' -

In the old garden of the old home where Prisoilla had spent her childhood, one summer's day the father sat under the elm tree, just as he used to do. But he was not alone. By his side stood his namesake, a sturdy boy full of lire and eager questioning ; in his arms was a girl, dainty and fair as Priscilla herself, who sat on the piazza sewing. The grandfather looked from her to the children. 1 What fools men be !' he thought. ' I nearly broke my heart to make the sacrifice for Pris, and look\, what a reward ! 'I have only the more to love, and who could be more devoted than Pris ? And, really, Hulme is a fine fellow. I'm proud of that boy ; and he says that I've been such a help to him. Well, I say any prayers with fervor these days — I'm not ungrateful. God bless my Pris and all of us ! '— ' Rosary.'