IN THE DAY OF NEED

New Zealand Tablet, 18 February 1915, Page 7

IN THE DAY OF NEED

Mary Derwent wore a very depressed and troubled air as she walked out of'the warehouse in St. Paul’s Churchyard, - where for many months 'she had been employed as typist. It was a foggy November evening and the gloomy and cheerless aspect of things without seemed to accord well with the state of her feelings. It was her last day at the warehouse. She had been dismissed by the manager on some frivolous pretext, the real reason being that he wanted the post for a friend of his own. As she had only a week’s salary in ,her purse and no immediate prospect of further employment, the future looked very gray and dismal indeed. She walked to her lodgings in Berners street by way of Fleet street and the Strand, and a forlorn figure indeed she seemed as she made her way with Jagging footsteps through those crowded thoroughfares. The, face of a friend, a word of sympathy or advice would have given her unspeakable joy at the moment, but the crowd rolled ceaselessly on, each one of its units intent on his or her own business, and poor Mary felt as lonely and isolated as if she were in the backwoods of Canada. Oh! the awful loneliness of London for the stranger within its gates! And how many there arc completely, utterly alone in the vast city, even though their ‘Life’s pulse is throbbing at a fever heat.’ Wretched, indeed, is their fate.

As she wended her way homewards a thin drizzle of icy-cold rain began to fall, and soon her garments were moist. Phis made her feel all the more depressed, as the one room which she rented in the lodging-house in Berners street would have neither fire nor light when she entered in. She waited on herself for reasons of economy and the small room which was to be her ‘ home ’ for the time being was always in complete darkness when she returned on those winter evenings. Yet chill and cheerless as the young girl felt, she did not forget a practice which she bad of turning up Southampton street and paying a visit to the Blessed Sacrament in the Church of Corpus Christi, Maiden lane. Ever since she came to 'London she had been too busy, too ceaselessly occupied (o have any leisure for cultivating friendship, and our Blessed Lord was now the only Friend Whom she bad in the vast city. But that made her feel all the more confidence in His love and protection. She had-«ot been many minutes in the church when she conceived the idea of making a iiovena to the Sacred Heart to find a path out of her present difficulties, and there and then she commenced her nine days’ prayer. Her petition was made with fervor and childlike confidence, and she left the church with a very much lighter heart than when she entered it.

The restaurants along her route were all brilliantly lighted, and as Mary's eyes fell on the people within, who all seemed to be comfortable and happy, her own forlorn condition seemed all the more wretched by contrast. As she passed by Frascati’s, the sound of music fell on her ears, and visions of brightness and luxury seemed to mock her poverty, and she hurried past to the cheerless room in Berners street.

When, however, she reached the house where she lodged, she was amazed to sec that her room was lighted up. The blind was drawn, but the light shone through it. This Mary saw from the street and thought to herself after her first surprise: ‘ Well, I suppose the landlady has been doing me a good turn—lit my lamp and the fire and tried to make things a bit comfortable, as it’s such a wretched evening. She has more good nature than I’ve given her credit for.’

But when she opened the door it was not the 'figure of her landlady which rose from the armchair by the fire, but that of one whom she had known from childhood.

‘ This is a pleasant surprise, Mrs. Desmond,’ said she, as the visitor folded her to her heart. But I hope there is nothing wrong.’

‘Your stepfather is dead, Miss Marv,’ she answered. ‘ IT is widow, the new mistress, got rid of me as soon as possible—l expected she wouldand so I’ve come to

you and brought you some of your belongings, as you see.'’ ' “• . ' -

• So saying, she pointed to a statue of the. Sacred Heart, which she had placed on the table. ->. ‘ And you’ve brought me what of all my belongings 1 am the most pleased to have,’ said Mary, as she kissed the image which stood on her table. Mary Derwent was the daughter of a country doctor in an English midland county. Her father had . died when she was quite a child, leaving her mother and herself almost penniless, and after some years of a hard struggle with poverty, Mrs. Derwent, more for the child’s sake than her own, married a wealthy gentleman - of the neighborhood named John Pickersgill, who had paid her attention • ever since the commencement of her widowhood. She did not survive the union more than a few years, but she died with a heart at ease, for John Pickersgill seemed to regard Mary with all the affection of a real father, and her mother felt certain that he would provide for her; and so he fully intended to do at the time. But later events induced him to alter his mind. He was a Low Churchman of the most pronounced type, hating with a halo that was more than hatred High Churchism and anything that savored of Catholicism. He had a. firm belief that lie Catholic Church was (he Scarlet Woman of the Apocalypse, and that the Catholic religion itself was but a form of idolatry. Surely strange beliefs these for an educated man to hold in an enlightened age, but who can be surprised, considering the fact that a great Cardinal, one of England’s intellectual giants, had a firm faith before his conversion to Catholicism that the Pope was anti-Christ England has many like them, so reared in prejudice, that the Catholic Church as they seedier is but the phantom of their own blind bigotry.

Yet in spite of all his hatred of Catholicism, Mr. Pickersgill had a strange liking for Catholic servants, for ho had found them eminently trustworthy, and his housekeeper, ever since he had set up house on his own account, had been a Catholic Irish woman named Mrs. Desmond.

On applying for the post, and before matters were finally settled, Mrs. Desmond informed him that she was a Catholic and must have time off every Sunday morning to hear Mass. On hearing this it was quite evident to Mrs. Desmond that her prospective employer was unfavorably impressed, and she quite expected to be told that her services would not be required. But as she had been highly recommended by people whom he happened to know, and on whose word he knew he could reply, he simply said, after a brief mental Struggle; ' Well, I suppose it will bo all right, so long as you don’t let me see any of your idolatrous images about the house.’

And John Pickersgill never had reason to regret the day that Mrs. Desmond took charge of his household. He learned to trust her in everything, and so transparently holiest was she, that he would never dream of questioning a single figure of her accounts. ‘ Whatever else they are they’re honest,’ he would say of the Catholics, after Mrs. Desmond’s advent;

‘ but, then all people, even the worst of all, have some virtue or other.’

After her mother’s death Mary Derwent was thrown a good deal into the company of the housekeeper, with the result that she acquired much knowledge of the Catholic religion. It appealed strongly to the young girl’s pure, unsullied soul, and ere long she was received into the One True Fold in the little Catholic church which Mrs. Desmond attended on Sundays.

Because of her stepfather’s prejudices, however, and in order to avoid unpleasantness, her change of religion was concealed from him for the time being. But his new wife, whom he married a couple of years after the death of Mary’s mother, and whose Low Churchism was as pronounced as his own, soon discovered the fact that Mary was a Catholic. She disliked Mary from their very first meeting, and had been constantly on the alert ever since then to find some way of prejudicing her husband against his stepdaughter..

She therefore rejoiced exceedingly when she made the discovery that Mary was a Papist, as she termed it, and lost no time in communicating the intelligence to John Pickei'sgill. He was as furious ,as she had hoped he would be, and she so worked on his prejudices that poor Mary was ordered to quit his house with the least possible delay. Much pleased with her success, the new Mrs. Pickersgill tried to persuade him also to get rid of Mrs. Desmond because of her religion. Put this he flatly refused to do. *

No, I will not,’ said he. ‘ Papistry runs in her blood, and she cannot help being what she is. But it’s different with the other. She ought to know better.’ And when she still pressed him to dismiss the housekeeper, a look came into his eyes which plainly warned her that it would bo wise to desist.

But directly her husband died she had her wish*, as we have seen.

‘ I’m very sorry, Mrs. Desmond, that I haven’t a better place than this for you to come to, but, as you know, I am now entirely dependent on my own earnings, and can’t afford to pay much in the way of rent. However, such as it is, you are most welcome to share it,’ said Mary, as she busied herself with the preparations for supper.

‘ Thank you, Miss Mary. You were always kind,’ answered Mrs. Desmond. ‘ 1 shall be glad to stay with you until I get another place, which won’t I think, be very long, as 1 have heard of one already which I hope will suit.’

‘ I wish I could hear of one to suit me,’ said Mary. ‘lam in the ranks of the unemployed at present. Today was my last day at the business house where 1 filled the position of typist, and the worst of it is that I have less than a sovereign in my purse.’

‘Never mind, Miss Mary,’ said good-natured Mrs. Desmond. ‘ There’s some of my savings that you can have to go on with. You know I have a. good bit put by. But just to think that you’re like this and that woman that doesn’t deserve it having your stepfather’s fine place and all his money they say. I'm told he left her everything.’

‘ Thanks, dear Mrs. Desmond, a thousand thanks for your generous offer. After all, things might be worse. I’ve health and strength, and who knows what God may have in store for me!’ said Mary, cheerily.

‘ I’m certain Ho has something good for you, Miss Mary, if not in this world at any rate in the next, which is what matters most,’ said Mrs. Desmond.

‘ Is this really the statue I left behind at my stepfather’s, Mrs. Desmond?’

‘ It is, indeed, your very own statue, Miss Mary ; and do you know I believe your stepfather began to think about becoming a Catholic when his end was near, for he asked me to bring that statue to his room, and nothing would please him but that I should stand it by his bedside.’

‘And what did his wife say?’ ‘ Oh, she looked at it with a sneer and ordered it

to bo removed. I believe she thought it. was my idea to put it in the master’s room, but when he said it was to stay, she just said: “ Oh, a sick man’s fancies,” and took no further notice of it. But just a little while before he died he called me and said: ‘‘When I am dead, Mrs. Desmond, take her statue to Mary Derwent and tell her ,” but he didn’t finish what he wanted to say, for at that very moment his wife came into the room, and seeing me bending over him, came up in a wild hurry and said: ‘‘lf there’s anything you want, John, ask me,” and then, turning to me, she said: ‘‘You may go now, Desmond. 1 shall remain with my husband for the present.” I tried several times to get near him after that, but didn’t succeed. She was that watchful that I didn’t find a chance of speaking to him, but his eyes followed me about the room as if he wanted to tell me something.’ ‘I wonder what he wanted to say,’ said Mary; * perhaps that he was sorry for turning me out of the house in the way he did, but I didn’t blame him for it. I knew that it was all his wife’s doing. She

didn’t want him to provide for me. I; expect she is very wealthy now.’ ‘

She hasn’t got the Pickersgill diamonds at all events. You know your stepfather owned some very valuable diamonds that came into the family through, an uncle that lived in India. They were reported missing when your stepfather died, and though detectives have been in the house over since, they had not been found up to the time of my leaving. She had everyone in the house searched, including your humble servant, and all her belongings.’ ‘ What a woman! But I shouldn’t be surprised at anything that she would do considering how she treated me,’ said Mary. A few days later Mrs. Desmond left for her new place, leaving her address with Mary, and giving, her strict orders to write to her in case she needed assistance. But this Mary resolved to do only in the last resort, as the housekeeper would, she reflected, need all her savings for her old age, when she could no longer work.

On the ninth day of her novena, Mary had a letter in answer to an advertisement that she had put in one of the daily papers, which raised her hopes to the highest pitch. It came from an eminent firm of solicitors, requesting her to call that very evening, and mentioning a salary which was beyond Mary’s most roseate dreams.

‘ Surely the answer to my novena,’ she exclaimed, and her heart beat high that evening as she set out for 'Lincoln’s Inn Fields—the address given in the letter.

But directly she entered the solicitor’s office something in the face of the person who was there to interview her seemed to freeze her hopes.

‘ I’m very sorry, Miss Derwent,’ said he, ‘but the position about which we wrote is not vacant after all. Our typist was going out to South Africa, but something has occurred to make her change her mind, and she is remaining with us.’

It was a crushing blow to Mary. Depressed and miserable she again made her way through a drizzle of rain to Berners street. She felt wretchedly lonely, but the first object on which her glance fell as she entered the room was the statue of the Sacred Heart, and her eyes seemed to look at her with such sympathy that, she felt comforted. She went towards it and took it in her hands to imprint a kiss upon the feet. But was it her fancy that it was much heavier than she remembered it to be? She held it to the light and examined it all over. Almost immediately she discovered that a hole had been made in the pedestal, and that it had been carefully plastered over again. Expecting something strange to happen, she removed the plaster, when lo ! the famous Pickersgill diamonds fell into her lap, and after them a heap of golden coins her stepfather’s legacy to her ! Soon she left the dingy room in Berners street for a charming residence of her own, where Mrs. Desmond fills the position of housekeeper, and she often reminds people who hesitate to enter the Church, because of losing their friends or their position, that God is never outdone in generosity, and she tells them how Tic rewarded her even in this world for the sacrifice which she had made for Him. — English Messenger.