The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 15 May 1913, Page 5

The Storyteller

AN EVENTFUL NIGHT On the outskirts of a western mining town, there stood many years ago a humble little church. Humble as it was, it soon became the pride of the little congregation and its zealous pastor. The latter, Father Nolton, had been appointed by his bishop to build up the parish and collect the faithful scattered in the mountains. This arduous task, fraught . with many difficulties and great sacrifices the pious priest fulfilled with heroic patience. In consequence, all loved Father Nolton; and Father Nolton loved, and lived for his ' good people from the hills,' as he was wont to style them. One day as Father Nolton was reading his breviary in his little room adjoining the sacristy, a young man entered, and greeting politely, asked, ' Father, did Mr. Reynolds bring the oil for the sanctuary light?' ' No, John, he did not; I suppose the roads are too rough for him. But it would be a pity if we would have to leave the holy light go out.' ' Father, I'll go over to Kirkville and fetch the oil, if you wish.' 'Yes, do, John,' replied the priest. You know to-morrow is Sunday, and it would not do to wait till the last moment.'

‘ All right, I’ll go over on horseback,’ said John; ‘ the trip will do Prince good.’ ‘ But be sure to bundle up well,’ the priest warned, ‘ because the wind has shifted to the north. I fear you will have a rough trip, John, for this is regular blizzard weather.’

‘Just the weather for me, Father. Why, look! it is snowing now. I must be off.’ With this John slipped his brown fur cap over his ears, buttoned his overcoat, and with a hearty ‘ Good-bye, Father, I’ll surely be back before eight,’ left the room. In a few minutes the familiar clatter of hoofs brought Father

Nolton to the window just in time to answer John’s wave of good-bye. ‘ There goes a good soul,’ mused the priest as he saw John’s broad figure disappearing in the fleecy veil of snow. Indeed, John Gorman was a noble-hearted fellow. Everybody knew John, or Jack as he was familiarly called. Only three years ago he had settled down with his wife and an only child on a little farm not far from the church. The humble home; a quaint little cottage, harbored peace and happiness such as only Heaven can bestow. The reason was not far to seek. Both John and his wife led a life pleasing in the sight of God and man. It was no other than John who brought food and raiment to the aged widow beyond the creek; and it was a source of pleasure for his young wife to visit and console the old lady in her sickness. When arrangements were to be made for any festival of the parish, John was the first to lend a helping hand. He frequently visited Father Nolton and assisted in the work about the church. When a sick call came, John would leave his work and hasten to aid the priest on his important mission. How his heart beat with noble pride when, seated in the carriage beside Father Nolton, he could urge his faithful horse at a lively pace over the country road to save a dying soul ! What sentiments of love and adoration filled his simple heart at the thought that he was conveying his Lord and God the Life and Salvation of all! On such a man and such a family Heaven must needs shower blessings and graces superabundant. • Night had set in. The seemingly harmless flurry which had gladdened the heart of John, was but the harbinger of a heavy blizzard. It was a quarter to nine. Father Nolton was seated beside the stove rehearsing the points of his sermon for the morrow. ‘John promised to be back at eight,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘ Oh, well, the roads are pretty bad; besides, a person must pick his way mighty carefully in - such a storm as this.’ The little clock on the table was ticking merrily, as if bent on keeping time with the crackling of the bright log fire. Nine o’clock no sign of John Gorman. Father Nolton grew somewhat alarmed. He arose, and going to the window, listened. But no sound greeted his ears, save the raging storm and the sweeping of the snow against the window panes. ‘Has something happened?’ queried the priest as he paced across the room with nervous tread. But what was that! A faint sound as of rumbling; it grew stronger and more distinct, revealing at length the welcome thud of hoofs on the soft snow. The next minute Prince was

heard passing the door on his way to the barn. ‘Thank Heaven!’ exclaimed Father Nolton, ‘come at last!’ and snatching up the poker, he stirred the fire vigorously, seeing myriads of sparks whirling into the dismal night. Five minutes—ten minutes —fifteen minutes passed, but John failed to appear. Presently the neighing of Prince brought Father Nolton to his feet. Hastening to the door he called out: ‘John, oh John!’ But a suppressed neigh of the horse was the only answer. ‘What is this!’ cried th,e priest as he rushed towards the barn. There before the closed door

stood the old horse —riderless. ‘John!’ again shouted Father Nolton. No response. The biting blast of the blizzard seemed to rebuke him for disturbing its sombre wail. In an instant all was clear to Father Nolton. To don his fur coat and cap, and slip on his overshoes, was but the work of a few moments ; then springing into the saddle he passed out into the night in search of John. Prince was limping slightly in the right fore-leg. Had he stumbled and thrown his rider ? The priest trembled with anxiety as he strained his eyes to scour the country road. Onward they pressed at a cautious gait— but no trace of John everywhere the same velvety spread of white.

The storm had ceased; through the rifts in the clouds the silent stars began to appear, inspiring sentiments of hope. Father Nolton grew impatient ; swinging the reins over Prince’s head, he soon brought the animal into a brisk gallop. Past hedges, lanes, and farmyards they spedbut John was nowhere to be found. At length they neared the creek with its old wooden bridge. As they reached the ascent, Prince grew unruly ; he pointed his ears nervously now to the right,

the lef D and finally refused to go any farther. -this looks suspicious’ thought Father iNolton; he dismounted to investigate. Reaching the bridge he stooped over the edge and peered into the darxness below. John, he called out; but, as before, no response Just as he was turning, he espied at the opposite angle of the bridge evident marks of a struggle in .tne snow. Undoubtedly, Prince blinded by tire storm, had fallen here and thrown John to the rocky bed below' Quick as lightning Father Nolton hurried across the bridge and was soon struggling down the rough bank. How his heart beat with expectation; he hoped to find hisfaithful John, but dreaded to see him dead. But what was that across the ice, against the rocky bank ! Lo! theie lay John silent in death. .The wintry night had covered , him with its pall of white. As Father Holton raised the body, the moon passed from behind a cloud as if to view the sad spectacle below. Those eyes that greeted all with their genial 'brightness, were closed; the hands that were so often extended in charity were now cold and clenched in death. John had gone to his reward. After a hearty prayer, Father Nolton hastily prepared to remove the body. With considerable difficulty he bore John up the rugged bank; then, placmg him across the horse, he took the reins, and the homeward march was begun. What a dreary trip for Father Nolton. Anxious thoughts weighed heavily upon ms soul. He had lost a dear friend, a kind benefactor. How was he, moreover, to break the dreadful news to John’s wife? Learn it she must, this very night; for evidently she was still awake and waiting for him. One consolation cheered the priest’s heart:. John had received Holy Communion just on the previous morning -the First Friday. These and similar thoughts, commingled with an occasional prayer, were the sole companions of Father Nolton, until at length he arrived weary and footsore at his little rectory. *

Across the neighboring field, not far from the church, lay a little cottage. A young mother sat by the fireside telling her beads. On her lap an only child, a boy of lour years, was sleeping peacefully. 1 lesently the child awoke, and finding his mother alone, said in a whimpering tone: ‘ Where is papa?’’ ‘Oh, darling, he is coming soon,’ answered the mother. Shall I put you to bed? You can see papa in the morning, Julius.’ Just then someone was heard at the door stamping the snow from his feet. Instantly the child glided from his mother’s embrace and went tripping to the door. Mrs Gorman, following, opened, and there was Father Nolton. For a moment the woman stood perplexed. Then she exclaimed anxiously: ‘Father, where is John?’ ’

John is all right where he is,’ rejoined the priest as he entered the room— ‘ but he met with a mishap on his return.’ After a series of ingenious answers and questions, Father Nolton at last broke the terrible news to her. The poor widow clutched her rosary to her bosom, and falling on her knees, wept bitterly. Little Julius stood at her side .crying piteously and looking up at Father N off on as if to reproach him for causing his mamma to cry. The priest consoled Mrs. Gorman with words of unction, such as only religion can prompt. Then she arose, saying: ‘Father, I must see John toTI , I ? 1 , • . Throwing over her a heavy shawl, she took the child in her arms with the words: ‘ Come, darliim we shall go and see papa.’ c ” Wo may easily imagine the scene that followed when the bereaved mother saw her own dear husband her loyal and loving John, stretched out cold and lifeless. She_ cried— she spoke with him—she prayed. Then, raising the child in her arms, she said; ‘See papa Julius, kiss him, _ won’t you?’—and the child’s little tears dropped on his papa’s pallid brow as he bent over. Father I would like to pray in church for a few moments, Hie said turning to Father Nolton The permission was readily granted, and she passed out into the sanctuary. The few moments, however, proved to be long minutes, so Father Nolton stepped cautiously to the saciisty. There through the window he beheld by the tarn,, glimmer of the sanctuary lamp the mother and the child kneeling before the Lord and Master of

life and death. Who can tell what passed between that stricken. mother and her God ? There in the little tabernacle was He Who had consoled the poor widow of IN aim; there was He Who cast His dying gaze from the cross upon His own dear Mother. He .forsake the poor afflicted mother lying prostrate before Him now? The pious woman arose after some time, and as she entered the room where her husband lav, she exclaimed : Father, I am resigned. I have placed all m the hands of Almighty God. He will protect me and my child; may"He also show mercy to my husband.' And out into the night she passed, along the path that John had so often trodden. '"-"■.* '. * ■ * - ' . * * It was a glorious June morning. Many winters had moaned over the lonely grave of John Gorman. As many summers had matured his only child and adorned him with the flower of manhood. Time had wrought wonders in and around Father Nolton"'s parish. The modest little mining town had grown to a busy and flourishing city. .An imposing Gothic structure had supplanted the quaint little frame church of yore. But what occasion had called forth this great display of banners?" Why were the bells voicing, their most powerful melodies and prolonging their "jubilant strain on this bright summer morning? , What celebration was this that attracted the faithful from all parts of the city towards the church? Let us enter the sacred edifice and see. The great tower clock strikes ten, and all eyes turn towards the altar. Amid the joyful peals of the organ, the little altar boys swarm into the sanctuary; the larger boys in their varied colored cassocks; the clergy; and there is good old Father Nolton, too, with his venerable grey locks—then follows the young celebrant—Father Julius Gorman. A mother's heart leaps for joy at sight of her only son vested for the first time in his priestly garb. ' Introibo ad altare Dei,' "all present in the sanctuary answer—except the aged Father Nolton. The sentiments of joy - and gratitude that flooded his heart, choked Irs voice and brought tears to his eves. His long-cherished hope had at length been realised, his prayers heard, and the solemn promise he had made on that fatal night beside the body of John Gorman, was now fulfilled. He had protected the child, provided for an education, and finally led him to the crowning point of his lifeto the foot of the altar as priest to the Most High.— 8., 0.F.M., in The Franciscan Herald.