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The Storyteller

THE EYES OF FAITH The old sexton, glanced uncertainly at the bowed figure in. the corner of the last pew. The little old lady always stayed after Mass to say ‘ the beads,’ but this morning she had remained so long and was so ominously still, that Michael was a little uneasy. He felt rather a sense of responsibility towards this small, black-clad person. There was something appealing about the sweet face and the soft eyes— ‘it’s the blue eyes of her,’ Michael told himself at the times when he tried to account for this unusual interest in a stranger. ‘ Yes, it’s the blue eyes and the smile of her. I’ll just be after touchin’ her to see if maybe she’s asleep.’ He shuffled over— rheumatism ‘got’ Michael every winter, ‘ bad cess to it, but the will of God be done!’— and gently touched the bent shoulder. Instantly the old lady raised her head and gave Michael a rainbow of a smile through her tears that were streaming down her worn face. ‘Are ye in anny trouble, ma’am?’ inquired the sexton, respectfully. ‘ Could I do annything to help y eV . . ‘ No, thank ye,’ she replied, standing up with difficulty. ‘No, God bless ye, I’ll be gettin’. home they’ll be wonderin’ am I lost. Isn’t it terrible the little faith we have It’s a great wonder that our Lord and His Blessed Mother don’t lose patience entirely, the way we ask for things, and then despair and cry, and don’t trust) enough to be sure we’ll get them if it’s for the best.’ ‘ Yes, ma’am,’ answered Michael, with a sigh, ‘ we’re like children,' and it’s terrible hard for us to see why we can’t have what we want. But it’s sorry lam to see you feelin’ so sad, ma’am.’ He walked with her to the door of the church and after she had wished him good-morning, watched her shabby figure going slowly down the street. Then he went back to his work. ‘ She’s a widow,’ he reflected, remembering the old-fashioned widow’s weeds she wore, ‘ so her husband is past giving her trouble. ‘ It’ll be a son, maybe— a wild gossoon, a drunkard, or one that has lost the “Faith.”’ He sighed again and thought of a certain green mound in far Roscommon, where he had laid his own mother before coming to America. ‘ Thank God, I never left her while she lived, nor gave her any trouble. May her soul rest in peace ! New York bewildered and frightened little Mrs. Halloran. She had travelled, as a girl, to Limerick, and she had sailed from Queenstown two years ago, but such a place as New York she had never dreamed could exist. She marvelled at it this morning as much _as she had marvelled two years before. But she did not wonder to-day, as she used to do, how she was going to cross the street without being instantly killed, for she had a staunch friend in the big, blue-coated young fellow at the corner, one of New York s ‘ finest, who stopped the traffic in his lordly way and helped her over as solicitously ‘ as if,’ she thought wonderingly, if I was a pretty colleen instead of an ugly ould witch.’ Officer O’Brien, evidently, did not think she was an ‘ ugly ould witch at all, for he looked very tenderly at the sweet old face and guided her almost reverently across the crowded avenue. She turned to him at the other side and said, ‘ God bless ye, ye’re a good boy! He smiled, raised his visored cap while New York traffic waited his pleasure, and replied, Thank you, ma’am. The day wouldn’t be started right without your blessing.’ . Officer O’Brien effectively upheld the majesty of the law and compelled the respect of reckless chauffeurs and truck-drivers, but, often to his own vexation, he seemed unable to impress the women of his acquaintance with a sense of his dignity. XJnawed by his six feet of height and his Jove-like look of sternness, they persisted in smiling a certain kind of smile and characterising him as a ‘ nice ’ boy.

.Mrs. Halloran entered her daughter’s',. modern flat and was immediately hailed by an onrush ‘of children. ‘ Gran’ma! gran’ma!’ piped the chorus of shrill voices, while sticky fingers clutched her dress and bread-and-buttery mouths were raised^ to be kissed. She greeted the infant Flynns rather absently, and went straight to the mantelpiece, where a few postal cards and ads.’ proclaimed that the postman had made his morning visit. She turned these .over with a feverish eagerness, and then, the light gone from her face, sat down at the window and gazed out unseeingly. Young' Mrs. Flynn, brisk and rosy, and wiping her hands upon her apron, entered from the kitchen and made a raid upon her offspring. ‘ Rosie, go straight into the kitchen and wash your hands, and wash Tom’s, too, and the baby’s. Shame on ye, teasin’ gran’ma like that! Mother, why don’t ye jist give them a good clout when they come botherin’ around ? - Where were ye this long time ? Sure, I thought ye were run over or something, I was that anxious!’ She was vigorously untying the black bonnet and taking off the shabby gloves as she talked. ‘ Mary,’ said Mrs. Halloran, looking up at her daughter, ‘ don’t ye think I’ve stayed long enough with you and Tom ? I ought—; ’ ‘Now, listen to her!’ cried Mrs. Flynn, apostrophising the furniture. ‘ Will ye listen to the wicked old woman ! Do ye want to break my heart entirely ?’ ‘ I just thought,’ went on the soft voice but more faintly, ‘ that I ought to be movin' on an’ lookin’ —’ the voice broke, and then continued bravely— ‘ lookin’ for—for—. There was a peculiar expression of mingled indignation and tenderness on young Mrs. Flynn’s face. ‘ How often have I told ye, mother, that it’s no use Pat knows where to find ye—at least he knows where Tom and I live. And to think that he never has written a word to us in ten years an’ that you’re still eatin’ your heart out for him—it just makes me boil—it does indeed !’ She busied herself with her work, but her eyes were misty with the thought of her brother, the little playmate she had called my Pat’ in baby days the ‘ black sheep,’ but such a dear black sheep—ah, how they do get themselves mixed up in one’s heart-strings, these troublesome ones! She thought of the day, twelve years before, when she and Pat had said good-bye to Ireland and to their parents, brothers and sisters, and with youthful faces aglow had ‘ come out ’ to America together. Pat had given his solemn promise to ‘ look after ’ the colleen, and to be careful about Mass and the Sacraments. He had found a good ‘ place for his sister and had visited her frequently. It was he who had introduced Tom Flynn to Mary, and after a few years Tom married Pat’s pretty sister. Put during these years the friends became estranged. Flynn was a rising young mechanic, and willing to do all in his power to help his brother-in-law. But Pat got in with bad company and began to drink. His letters home, with their enclosures of money, became less and less frequent, and finally ceased. When Mary received word from one of her sisters that her father had died, she did not know where to find Pat to tell him. In answer to many pleading letters she was obliged to admit to her mother that the boy had disappeared. The widow suffered and prayed, despaired, and hoped, for year’s, and at last, in spite of the entreaties of hex married son and daughter, took her meagre savings and ‘ came out ’ to look for her boy her youngest and best-beloved. ‘ It’s his soul I’m bothered about, she confided to Mary. ‘lf I knew he had died, even, and had the Sacraments at the end, it’s contented, I’d be. But with the life he was leadin’ —Mary, oh, Mary dear, pray God to spare me until I know Pat’s soul ig not lost. And He will, I know He will—some way he’ll fix it so that I can be sure !’ , That evening, when Mary sat sewing, _ and Tom read the newspaper in the light of the dining-room lamp, .she began to talk. Tom lowered his paper and regarded her curiously. Her eyes had a fever brightness, and her voice held a quality strange to it.

. .‘Pat was always a good lad” she began, leaning forward and looking into the dusky space beyond the lamplight. ‘He was a bit wild, blit always good to his mother.

-‘.“Mother, alauna,” says he, when he was no higher than that table, I’m going to buy you a silk dress some day,” says he. A ‘And Mary,' do ye mind the time some,lad in the, school teased ye, an‘ how Pat knocked him down, an’ how the master separated the two of them ? Pat could hardly speak with the blood from his nose and the tears . from his eyes, but do ye mind how he told the master nobody Avas going to bully his sister?’ 5 Mary remembered. The memory of that engaging scamp, Pat Halloran, seemed to pervade the room. Even Tom Flynn was living over again his brief acquaintance with Pat. ‘ An’ do' ye mind,’ continued the mother, dreamily, . ‘ how he used to wait at night, in his little night-shirt, for his 'father to punish him if he’d been bad One time— turned conversationally to Tom * one time when he was no more than four years of age, his father went to whip him for some little thing, and that bit of a gossoon stood there and smiled at him, an’ the father couldn’t raise a haxxd to him. The eyes of him! An’ do ye mind the curls, Mary Faith, by the time he was eighteen, every colleen in the town was wild about him.’ The voice trailed off into silence. After a while she rose, and bidding Mary and Tom good-night, went off to bed. Her daughter looked anxiously at her hxxsband. ‘ Tom,’ she answered nervously, ‘ I never knew her to talk so much about him. before.’ Flynn lowered his voice, glancing toward the bedroom Mrs. Halloran had entered. ‘ I didn’t Avant to excite her,’ he said, ‘ but I found a trace of Pat to-day.’ The color ebbed out of Mrs. Flynn’s cheeks. ‘ Tom !’ she murmured. ‘ I wouldn’t speak of it for fear it wasn’t true and it would be a shame to raise her hopes. Besides, it isn’t such good news. . I met a fellow I used to know at the time Pat and I went around together Jim Kennedy, his name is, — and he said that he heard Pat is a brakeman or something on a railroad. He met a chap that saw him in Philadelphia. But there’s something queer about it. It seems he’s been livin’ crooked, Mary. I’m going to see what I can do about it.’ The next day was Sunday, and Mrs. Halloran appeared- dressed and ready for Mass before 7 o’clock. She would not take even coffee, explaining that she was going to receive Holy Communion. Mary watched her anxiously from the window. It was a cold morning, and the old lady had looked even more frail and white than usual. - Michael, the sexton, generally attended early Mass in the capacity of usher. He greeted Mrs. Halloran and led her to a pew. During Mass he frequently glanced at her, noticing the pallor of her face, and the peculiar look of expectancy in her eyes. He kept his eye on her when she went up to the rail, for she walked slowly and feebly, and pressed her hand to her heart. When she returned to her seat, he saw her suddenly start up, gazing up the aisle towards the altar. Michael looked to see what had caused the expression of radiant joy on her face. He saw the communicants, mostly old women and young girls, returning from the .rail, the priest closing the* door of the tabernacle; a ray of winter sunlight gleaming through the stained-glass window and pointing, like a parti-colored rod, to the crucifix above the altar. That was all. And yet, the old woman, ,with her arms outstretched, tottered up the aisle with a glad cry, and, before Michael could x-each her, suddenly collapsed in a pitifully small, black heap on the altar steps. When they had brought her back to consciousness she tried to' raise hex-self on her elbow. Where—where is he?’ she asked faintly. ‘ Where is who, ma-am ?’ inquired Michael, who had in the meantime sent for a x doctor. ; The priest,

who had just finished celebrating the Mass; supported the frail figure, and repeated Michel's .question. The eyes- of all the. group followed the direction of her gaze. ' /• ' •• V/ , y Didn’t ye see Pat?’ she went on eagerly, ‘ didn’t ye see him ? . I saw him ! He was there ! He received Holy. Communion. I saw him coming back from the altar !’ The priest looked inquiringly at Michael and at the group of people. They appeared puzzled, and some shook their head and murmured that she was ‘ wandering.’ But Pat’s mother smiled. 1 He was cornin' back from the altar, Father,’ she whispered.' He looked older—than when heleft home, but I knew him—oh, /I knew Pat! He wasn’t as neat and clean, Father, as he used to be. Pat was that particular about his looks ! . . . He had oil and dust on his clothes, but the curls of him, Father! The same curls —so brown—and soft.’ Suddenly she started up, and gazed appealingly at the priest. ‘ Faith, Father, I forgot ! There was a cut on his head ! , There was blood—Father, he’ll be needin’ me —my boy—let me go!’ She struggled a moment, but soon lay still, smiling. The faint voice came again, almost inaudible now. Thank God, Pat received the Sacrament. God bo praised—l knew ye were a good boy, Pat, no matter what they said of ye. Mothers always know, don’t they, Pat?’ The priest bent over suddenly, felt her fluttering pulse and looked sharply at the eyelids. . . . Then he straightened himself and, ‘lt is over,’ he said quietly. ‘She died happy, Tom,’ said Mary that night. She had been crying until there were no tears left, but it was not a hopeless, heart-breaking grief. The smile on the dead face of her mother spared her that. ‘ She thought she saw Pat receive Holy Communion, Father Henley says. She was happy at the last.’ ‘ It was a great mercy of God,’ said big, awkward young Flynn, with an absurd break in his deep bass voice. The next morning Mary received a letter, which she read, and then re-read with wonderment in her eyes. She called Tom, and stood trembling, hardly able to say, ‘Read that!’ in a shaking voice. Tom seized the letter, and tried to take in the sense of the contents, with Mary crying quietly on his shoulder. ‘ Euston, Pa., ‘ Feb. 8, 19 . ‘ Mrs. Thomas Flynn, —- Dear Madam, —Yesterday I was called to the scene of an accident near here —the collision of a freight with a passenger train on the railroad. You have perhaps read of it in the papers by now. A brakeman who had crawled in under the debris and rescued a. child was himself pinned down by the wreckage and killed. I reached him with great difficulty and was able to administer the last Sacraments to him. He was hardly able to speak, but managed to tell me his name, Patrick Hall Oran, and that his sister in New York was to be notified, He gave me your name and address. ‘“Father,” he said then, “I went to confession last night—the first time in ten years—and I intended to go to Holy Communion in Philadelphia this morning. Tell Mary to tell mother that I’ve been straight and haven’t touched a drop for a week, and I’ve saved up something for her that you can send her if you will. And tell her that I was coming to New York when I (was sure of myself. I was ashamed —before. Tell mother that I tried to make good by saving that kid, and that I was a good boy— the last.” ‘He passed away at half-past seven o’clock on Sunday morning. ‘ Very sincerely yours, ‘ J. A. Carroll, * Rector, St. Agnes’ Church.’ Exchange.

This article text was automatically generated and may include errors. View the full page to see article in its original form.I whakaputaina aunoatia ēnei kuputuhi tuhinga, e kitea ai pea ētahi hapa i roto. Tirohia te whārangi katoa kia kitea te āhuatanga taketake o te tuhinga.
Permanent link to this item
Hononga pūmau ki tēnei tūemi

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/NZT19150401.2.2

Bibliographic details
Ngā taipitopito pukapuka

New Zealand Tablet, 1 April 1915, Page 3

Word count
Tapeke kupu
2,747

The Storyteller New Zealand Tablet, 1 April 1915, Page 3

The Storyteller New Zealand Tablet, 1 April 1915, Page 3

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