The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 22 April 1915, Page 3

The Storyteller

A CHANGE OF HEART Your father is a rough, profane raon.’ Gran paused, to duly impress the three children ranged in front of her. ‘ I don’t know what he’ll come to, unless he gets the fear of God in his heart.’ Loyal Margaret Ellen attempted a defence of her father. She was the eldest, and could remember when his big, rough hand had held her little one very gently. * There’s some that’s deal worse than him,’ she spoke up boldly. ‘ Tim Dempsey is lots worse than daddy. He licks Mrs. Dempsey and the kids.’ ‘You are a gadabout and a gossip, Margaret Ellen,’ said Gran, severely, ‘or you wouldn’t know so much about the neighbours. And you have no call to crow over the little Dempseys. You mark my words, every one of youyour father will be licking you all in his drunken tan-trums, like Tim Dempsey, unless you pray harder for him. Prayer is the one thing that will save'him, and you, children. Get up early and go to Holy Mass for him; say the Stations and the Rosary for him. You that waits on the priest, John Henry Newman, can slip in many a prayer at the altar.’ ‘ Indeed I can’t, Gran,’ John Henry objected.’ ‘ I’m only just on, and I have to think so hard what I have to do next that I can’t pray at all.’ * Service is prayer,’ said Gran-. ‘ Offer up your serving and your singing ; offer up everything, children, and snatch your father from the devil. He’s drifting into his clutches fast. There ’ — as a door banged—- ‘ your daddy’s gone again. Oh, but it’s the bad way he spends Sunday. Run off now to your mother. God help her and you, and bring John Manning to his duty. This is the terrible country altogether.’ And yet when a discerning friend had said to her : ‘ You’re pining for home, Gran,’ brave Christian Gran made answer, simply; ‘ Scotland or America — does it matter when we have the Holy Mass?’ And John Manning wouldn’t go to Mass. Well, the children must go all the oftener. That was why Margaret Ellen rose early on Monday morning and hurried off to 6 o’clock. Gran’s strict injunction had made a deep impression on the child. She was older than Janet and John Henry, and more was expected of her. So she not only went to Mass, but stayed so long after, confiding her fears for her daddy to the Sacred Heart that the pastor noticed her, and contrived to meet her at the door. Margaret Ellen made a quaint curtseya bit of old-world manners, that Gran had taught the children. Father Costello smiled in acknowledgment. ‘ You are in Sister Geraldine’s class, and you are praying for promotion?’ he guessed. ‘ No, your reverence, I was praying for my father.’ ‘ls your father ill? No. Does he'drink?’ The question was a commonplace in a parish of workingmen, and it was answered usually as frankly as it was asked. But to Margaret Ellen it meant laying bare the family disgrace. Tim Dempsey was her conception of a drunkard, and she would not ‘ even ’ her father to him, not if the Bishop himself asked , her. Neither could she lie to his reverence. Terrible things happened to people who lied to the priest. Gran said so, and Gran knew. Father Costello was about to repeat his question, when Margaret Ellen burst out, with feverish haste; ‘ If you please, your reverence, he is a rough, profane mon, and hasn’t the fear of God in his heart.’ ‘ That is bad enough, child,’ said the pastor, gently. ‘ Keep on praying for him, and I will remember your intention in my Mass.’ Margaret Ellen fairly flew to Gran with the good news. ‘ It’s a good beginning,’ Gran admitted, Abut don’t be pulled up with pride, Margaret Ellen, because his reverence noticed you. A lowly spirit doesn’t put itself forward.’ '"! -

Perhaps that was why. quiet Janet flitted 1 into church in the dusk of the evening •to say the Stations. Father Rogers, the senior curate, happened to be performing the same devotion, and presently became aware of a little figure bobbing along behind him, from station to station. When he came out into the vestibule, Janet was kneeling before the big crucifix. The priest waited until the child rose from her knees and tried to open the heavy door. ‘ Let me open it for you,’ he said, ‘ It’s a very big door for such a very small girl to manage all by herself. Let me see, Anna, aren’t you in my instruction class?’ ‘ Yes, your reverence. But, if you please, I’m not any Anna. I’m Janet—Janet Manning.’ ‘Of course you are. How could I forget? But we have hundreds of little girls, and sometimes their names get mixed. Well, Janet, you made the Stations with me. Will you offer yours, too, for my intention?’ ‘I can’t, your reverence,’ said honest Janet. ‘ I’ve offered them already to our Lord on the Cross, for my daddy.’ ‘ And what is the matter with your daddy, little Janet?’ ‘ If you please, your reverence, he is a rough, profane mon, and hasn’t the fear of God in his heart.’ 1 Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! He’s in a bad way altogether, child,’ said Father Rogers. ‘But you are taking the right way to cure him. Let us make a bargain, Janet. I will offer my Stations to-morrow for him, and you will remember my intention at the general Communion. Something tells me that God will hear our prayers. Now run home,. Janet. You’re a good child, God bless you.’ John Henry Newman’s turn came when Andrew White failed to appear for the pastor’s Mass. Father Costello looked in vain for a substitute. Not a boy was in sight, except a- small, yellow-haired chap ‘ who ought to be in bed ’ thought the priest testily. His frown relaxed, when the boy came forward—- ‘ If you please, Father, 1 can serve.’ ‘ Can you ? Where did you come from ? The Nursery V ‘No, Father, min Sister Clement’s room, and I sing in the boys’ choir, and Father Reardon taught me how to serve.’ ‘ Well, I’ll try you out,’ agreed the pastor. John Henry covered himself and his teachers with honor. Never was altar-boy more reverent or more attentive to his duties. ‘ A remarkable child,’ thought Father Costello. ‘ I must find out more about him.’ In the vestry, when John Henry was putting by the cassock and surplice —that were much too big for him— the pastor eyed him sharply. What he saw evidently impressed him still more. ‘ You are the best altar-boy for your size that I ever had,’ he declared. ‘ Come here, and tell me your name.’ ‘ If you please, Father, I am John Henry Newman Manning.’ ‘ A big name, my boy, to live up to. But I think you can do it. Do you come to -my Mass every morning ? I shall look for you if Andrew White fails me again.’ The pastor took a half dollar from his pocket and held it out to the child, but John Henry drew back. ‘ I can’t take money for serving, if you please, Father. My mother wouldn’t let me. And, besides, I didn’t do it for you. I did it for my daddy. I offered it up for him.’ ‘Offered up what, John Henry?’ ‘My serving, Father. Gran told me to.’ Again came the question : ‘ What is the matter with your father ?’ And again came the same reply : ‘ If you please, Father, he’s a rough, profane mon, and hasn’t the fear of God in his heart. Gran says we must snatch him from the devil,’ John Henry added. The pastor burned away for a moment. When he faced the child again, the smile was gone from his eyes, and a tender pity shone in them..

Another of those good children,’ he thought. ‘ They will surely save their reckless father.’ . /. ' Ihe days passed and the prophecy did not come true. John Manning went his usual, way. Christmas and the New Year came, but no change of . heart stirred him. If anything, he was more profane than ever, more often the .worse of drink. Even Gran was losing hope of his reform, but she pressed one more advocate into the cause—the baby. The baby was her constant companion, and in their long hours together Gran taught the little thing her part in the reclaiming of her father. Together they said the Rosary for him, and afterwards baby rehearsed her 1 piece.’ Who knows but the Holy Name will bring him back?’ Gran thought, as she redoubled her petitions. But the eve of the Holy Name celebration came, and John was at his worst. He knew that he was a clever workman, and it was nobody’s business what he did with his spare hours and his pay, he told the foreman, Dan Casey. Dan retreated in a huff. He would have nothing more to do with the surly fellow. But that very afternoon the" resolution was broken. John was the first man at his side when the accident happened, and John’s strong hands helped him to lift Tom Hennessy from under the wrecked machinery. The three men had worked together for years, and when John began to drift down, Dan and Tom had done their best to draw him back. With keen remorse John remembered that only that noon he had driven Tom away with rough, harsh words. And now this true friend would never again come between him and his boon comrades of the saloon. It was a changed John who came down the hospital steps with the foreman. They had stayed with Tom to the end. White-faced and silent, John walked along, listening dully to the words that Dan said over and over again, as if to comfort himself: ‘He was a good man. Tom was a good man.’ ‘ That could not be said of me,’ was ’the thought that beat on John Manning’s brain, and he sickened at the picture of himself that rose before him. As the men drew near St. John’s Church, Dan Casey laid his hand on his comrade’s arm. ‘ Come, John,’ he said. ‘ To-morrow is Holy Name Sunday. If we slip in now we can be heard quickly. To-night there will be a big crowd.-’ John held back. ‘ I’ve been so long away,’ he faltered :‘ I can’t go, Dan. Some other time.’ ‘ No,’ said Dan. ‘ Now is the time. There may not be any other for you or for me. There isn’t for Tom Hennessy. Come.’ And John went. Mrs. Manning tried to act as if it were quite an ordinary occurrence for her husband to come home sober on Saturday, and with his pay envelope unbroken. She took it as a matter of course when he handed it to her. ‘ Something has happened,’ she decided, but asked no questions. Presently he told her. The tears that ran down her cheeks were not all for another woman’s sorrow. ‘ Oh, John, it might have been you,’ she sobbed. ‘ You would have been rid of a bad husband, Maggie,’ he answered, and going into his room he closed the door. Mrs. Manning left him to himself. It would never do to fuss over John. As she mended garment after garment, she dwelt upon what John had been in the early years of their married life, and then upon the change that had been wrought in him by evil company. Presently her heart warmed with the hope that the swift awful lesson would not be lost. It might ‘ put the fear of God in his heart,’ as Gran would say. And maybe he would go to Mass in honor of the Holy Name! But next morning when she went out to early Mass, her husband was still sleeping, or pretended to be. , • It was then that the baby said her piece. Pattering into the room and over to the bed, she stroked her father’s face with her little hand. ‘ Get up, oo lazy mon,’ she commanded, imitating Gran’s severe voice and manner. * Get up and go to Holy Mass. Oor wife an’ chillun’s gone. Get up, oo lazy mon.’

k Clear out!’ growled a rough voice from the bed, ‘and. go to Mass yourself.’ ‘ I’m goin’ wxv my Gran.’ Baby retreated to the door. ‘Bad daddy! Bad, lazy men,’ she scolded, and pattered away again. ; :- . - ,<• Gran is a good coach,’ John admitted. ‘Bad daddy ! Bad, lazy mou ! The kid got that straight. Now for the surprise of their lives. Get up, oo lazy mou.’ . J At exactly ten minutes of eight John walked up the steps of is parish church. Dan Casey met him at the door. ‘l’ve been looking /or you, John,’ he said briskly. ‘ This way.’ Don t bother about me, Dan : I’ll just stay here by the door.’ ‘My section is up front,’ Dan told him, and led the way. ‘John never forgot that walk up the aisle. There were many men from the works. They knew well what he had been. There was Joe, for instance. John could count the times he had sworn at the clumsy boy. And there was the ‘Boss.’ He, too, had suffered under John’s profane tongue. ‘l’m a nice Holy Name man,’ John muttered. ‘They will think me a sham and a fraud.’ For a moment he planned to escape. But he couldn’t face down the aisle and Dan had fallen back and was walking abreast of him. A hot impulse of anger against Dan came upon him. and a. characteristic expression rose in his lips, but in some inexplicable way changed to ‘ Bless Dan Casey.’ ‘l’m not fit to be here, Dan,’ lie whispered. None of us are,’ said Dan, and gently pushing John into a pew, he took the outside seat himself. John Manning had made his last stand against grace. As the sublime Mass went on, his surrender was complete. No more contrite heart received its God that Holy Name Sunday. At the close of the service (he organ intoned the hymn. It was then John saw 1 1is son in the sanctuary choir. John Henry Newman was beautiful, with his gleaming yellow hair and radiant face. ‘ Some angel kid for you to own, John Manning,’ the father thought proudly. . ‘ Yes, it’s your bad daddy.’ The boy was staring at the big, dark man who looked so like his father, but his father never went to Mass. John winked solemnly at the little chorister, as much as to say, ‘ It’s all right, boy ’ ; picked up his hymn card, and the voices of father and son rose, with a thousand more, in ‘ Holy God, we praise Thy Name.’ In the meantime, there was .consternation in the Manning home, when Mrs. Manning discovered her husband’s absence; ‘Oh, mother!’ she cried. ‘Where is John V Don’t ask me,’ retorted Gran. I’ve washed my hands of him. He’s a black, wicked mon. Fie drove that blessed baby out with his rough tongue. Where would he be but with his boon companionsthe drunken, profane pack.’ ‘ But his black clothes arc gone, mother, and bis best shirt; and lie was shaved last night, and had his hair cut, and not a drop of drink did he have in him. See, here’s his pay untouched! I was hoping ’ There was a rush of feet'on the board walk", and the children tumbled into the room, each one striving to be the first to tell the good news. ‘Oh, ma, daddy’s been to Holy Mass!’ cried Margaret Ellen. ‘ Oh, ma, daddy’s been to Holy Communion,’ chimed in Janet. ‘Me and him sang “Holy God’’ together;’ said John Henry Newman. ‘ Don’t cry, ma, daddy’s good now.’ Gran raised her eyes to heaven. ‘ Holy God, we praise Thy Name,’ she said : then, coming back to earth and its affairs, in her old, sharp way, she commanded : * Set your father’s place, Margaret Ellen : and put down four eggs with a slice of bacon. Sinner or saint, John Manning is a rough, hearty mon.’ —Nora Lyons, in the Sacred Heart Review.