The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 1 July 1915, Page 3

The Storyteller

TH i act run n « i >l< i viliLtU •> ■■ ■ She sat with her chin resting in her hand, gazing through the open window, seemingly into the dim distance, but in reality seeing nothing of the prospect which lay before her eyes. - Her countenance bore traces of deep sorrow, and it was evidently on some grief that her thoughts were now centred, for the expression of her features was extremely sad and thoughtful. Here in this quiet London suburb, only a faint murmur reached her of the din of the great city, and there was little to disturb her reverie. Beyond the garden wall was a quiet churchyard, where a few white headstones glimmered faintly through the trees. Presently these caught her eye, and, sighing deeply, she said half aloud; ‘ Would to God that I knew my darling lay at rest in some sacred spot like that. Infinitely better it would be than that I should remain thus in ignorance of her fate, and daily forming one conjecture worse than another as to what it might be. Oh, my God, the anguish is almost too great for me to bear Saying this she pressed her hand to her heart :as if to stifle there some dreadful pain, and then burying her face in her hand, she remained for a long time in an attitude of profoundest grief. - Marion Phillips’s sorrow was perhaps the greatest which any mother could be called on to endure. . Her husband, who had simply idolised her, had died a few years before, leaving her with a little infant girl named Marion. On this child, who was one of the prettiest little creatures imaginable, with her flaxen hair and violet eyes, all the mother’s affections soon became centred. So deep was her love for her little girl that she could scarcely bear to lose sight of her, and wherever Mrs. Phillips went, little Marion invariably accompanied her.

One bright summer’s day dawned in happiness for mother and child, now a sweet prattling thing of some five years. The sun rose in unclouded splendor, and the hearts of both were in harmony with its brightness. Alas! the bright morning sun often sets in utter gloom, and ere that summer day had faded into night, Marion Phillips’s happiness had suffered utter eclipse. She was childless, but not by the hand of death. Her little girl had mysteriously disappeared, and left no trace which could lead to her discovery.

That summer morning, Mrs. Phillips had driven Marion to Epping Forest to join a children’s excursion party there. As the child sat beside her in the trap, delightedly watching Jocko, the pony, as he trotted forward, and looking bewitchingly lovely in her pretty summer clothes, little did the poor mother think of the cloud which was to overcast her happiness ere the day should close.

They reached the leafy glades of the forest in good time. Jocko was safely stabled at an inn not too far from the neighborhood of the excursionists, and then the mother sought her own pleasure in helping to make the day as enjoyable as possible for Marion and her young companions. Never did the hoary old trees of the forest hear such joyful laughter or see such merry games as were played by the youthful excursionists. And little Marion, though perhaps the tenderest in age, was one of the merriest of the party. All day long her pretty flower-like face was wreathed in smiles, and her tiny feet pattered about in some gleeful gambol.

Ere the day had, however, grown old, her mother's watchful , eye had detected signs of weariness, ■ and she determined to take her home long before the others had dreamt of leaving the scene of their day’s pleasure. It required some persuasion to induce Marion to say ‘ good-bye ’ to her youthful friends; but Mrs. Phillips, with her mother’s tact, managed somehow to accomplish the task, and she and Marion were soon driving home, with Jocko showing' his best pace. • ,

They had not, however, driven very far, when something I seethed' to' frighten the pony and he. bolted. Mrs.l Phillips was thoroughly alarmed, but she ■ did not lose her presence of mind, and did , her ; best to r check the mad gallop of the animal. All in vain, however; her efforts to restrain seemed only to infuriate him, and his headlong career # was stopped only by his coming to grief against a tree. Mrs. Phillips was flung violently to’ the ground, where she remained for some time in a state of unconsciousness. Fortunately' she ’ was discovered by some other trippers to the famous forest before the shades of night had fallen; but when they had restored her senses, and she had again opened her eyes on the world, it was only to find that her idolised child had disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed her. All the machinery of Scotland Yard was set in motion; every gipsy encampment in the neighborhood was exhaustively searched, and the whole country was scoured by private detectives, but no trace of little Marion could be found. The mother’s heart was almost broken, and she became a sad and silent woman, careworn and prematurely aged. Her one absorbing" thought when she lay' down to rest was little Marion, and when she opened her eyes in the grey morning light, it was only to find her great grief, like a grim and ghastly skeleton, staring her in the face.

Marion Phillips had sat for a long time at the open window, plunged in sad thought, when the door opened, and an old Irishwoman, who had recently been engaged to do odd jobs about the house, entered the room with the object of effecting some alterations which she had been directed to make.

‘ I thought you was out, ma’am;’ said Mrs. Cahill, as she entered, ‘ or it’s not cornin’ in to disturb ye I’d be.’

‘ Oh, never mind me, Mrs. Cahill,’ answered Marion Phillips; ‘you can go on with your work; you won’t disturb me in the least.’

There was a depth of sadness in the voice in which the words were spoken which attracted the attention of the good-natured old Irishwoman, and she cast a long and scrutinising glance at the speaker. ‘ I do hope that you’re not in any trouble, ma’am,’ said.she, when her observation had concluded; ‘ but you do look as if there was something frettin’ an’ worryin’ you to death; and afther all, frettin’ and worryin’ never yet did anywan any good or helped to mend things.’ Mrs. Cahill’s remarks elicited from Marion Phillips the cause of her woe and the whole story of little Marion’s disappearance.

The old Irishwoman evinced such warm sympathy and showed such intelligent interest in the case", that the desolate mother, though it cost her many a pang, related once again the, history of the child’s disappearance, even to its minutest details.

‘I shouldn’t give up hope, ma’am, if I were you,’ said Mrs. Cahill, when the recital was finished. ‘ God is good, and His Blessed Mother. They know where everyone is, and sure maybe it’s findin’ your little girl you’ll be wan o’ these days if you’ll only trust in them, an’ not give up prayin’.’

‘ Oh ! I hardly believe there is a God, and if I do pray it’s more through custom than' anything else,’ answered Mrs. Phillips.

Mrs. Cahill listened to this speech in wide-eyed, horrified amazement. To the Irishwoman with her deep, strong, firmly-rooted faith — the heritage of centuries, the legacy bequeathed to Ireland’s sons and daughters by generations of saints and martyrs — state of mind seemed incredible.

‘ Sure you can’t help the way you’re brought up, ma’am, nor believin’ what people teach you, but I’ve known of wonderful answers given to. people’s prayers that had faith in God. Sure a neighbor of my own in Ireland, that couldn’t go half an inch without crutches, went to Lourdes —that’s the place, you know, ma'am, where the Blessed Virgin appeared to Bernadette and didn’t she come home as lively as a cricket and able to run up the hills like a goat. It’s to the Blessed Virgin you ought to pray, ma’am. She knows what it is for a mother to lose her child':’ : .

What would be the good of my. praying to her; whem I ; don’t believe that she could do • anything to help me ?* But as you have such strong faith, r perhaps you would be.good, enough' to pray for me instead.’ ' .> ■■: ‘ That I will, ma'am, with a heart and a half, and if your little ..girl is found- ; ’.. . .Tx T.p : ' ‘ If my little girl /isHound,Mrs. Cahill, I shall become a Catholic that very instant, and/.believe everything that your ‘ Church teaches.’ „ ■

‘ I’ll start a novena . this very day, ma'am,' in honor of our Blessed Lady. Let me see: to-day: is June 24, so that the novena will finish, on , a feast of our Blessed Ladythe Feast of the Visitation, which is on July 2; and I regard that as being very much in favor of a good answer. - '.

Mrs. Phillips had never heard of such a thing as a novena before, and it took a good deal of explanation on the part of Mrs. Cahill to make her understand what it was. The old Irishwoman wished her to join in it, -but to this she demurred, as she said she regarded it more as a Romish superstition than anything else. This almost brought the tears to Mrs. Cahill's eyes. However, she succeeded in making -her promise to perform some act of charity during the novena, as -such an act, Mrs. Cahill informed her, always inclines God to listen more favorably to our prayers.

Mrs. Phillips was fortunate in having secured for herself the prayers of the poor old Irishwoman, for the latter hid within her shabby exterior the soul of a saint.

Once she had been in very easy circumstances, but her husband had died of an infectious disease, and their only child quickly followed, him to the gravd. Then she was thrown on her own resources, and managed to earn a livelihood by doing an occasional day’s charing and any other odd jobs which came in her way. But she did not repine. She accepted her heavy cross with resignation, and even in the moment when it pressed upon her the most severely her lips were able to frame that prayer so familiar to the Irish peasant in the days of hardship and persecution : Welcome to the Will of God.’

For a long time Mrs. Phillips puzzled her mind as to what act of charity she should perform in order to fulfil her promise to Mrs. Cahill. Finding some difficulty in solving the problem, she resolved at last to ask her humble friend as to what she should do.

Mrs. Cahill thought for a long time before replying. She knew so many people who needed help, and such a number of deserving charities to which even the smallest sum - of money would be most welcome.

As she was thinking, she happened by a lucky accident (or was it an accident to look out into the street, and her eyes rested on that most pathetic-looking of objects, a little London waif. The shabby clothes, the hollow cheek and hungry eye, and the utter forlornness of the little figure made a strong appeal to her heart, and, turning to Mrs. Phillips, she said:.

‘ There’s a lot o’ little children in the slums and back streets near where I live that’s pinin’ for a breath of fresh air in this hot weather. Maybe it wouldn’t be beyond your means, ma’am, to give them a day in the country. ’Twould be like a sight o’ heaven to most o’ them, ma’am, for they’ve never seen a green field in all their lives.’

Mrs. Phillips was delighted with this proposal, and she gave orders to the old Irishwoman to collect as many poor children and waifs and strays as she liked, ail of whom were to be given a day’s outing in the country at her expense. In the street off the Mile End road in which Mrs. Cahill lived there was a multitude of poor children, whose only playground was the pavement. The younger among them had never been beyond the limits of this street in all their lives, whilst a rare visit to Victoria Park was the only idea of a holiday which even the oldest of them possessed. Now, in the sultry June days the atmosphere of the narrow street in which they lived was simply stifling, and many of the poor little things either kept -within

doors or day in listless .attitudes :on the hot pavement, too overcome by the heat to move a limb.' They had ho energy to play, and their pale faces and slow, languid movements, told a tale of utter misery and exhaustion. Oh the difference between the lot of the children of . the poor and : that .of the rich ! If the latter did but realise it, surely they would realise also that it is their duty to lessen the misery of the needy by giving to them of their own superfluity. On the evening of the day on which Mrs. Phillips had told her of her great sorrow, Mrs. Cahill came down the street looking as if she had a very pleasing piece of intelligence to communicate to everyone. ■ The kindhearted old Irishwoman was personally known to all the children, for when there was distress or sickness in their homes, she was invariably a welcome visitor, and whenever they wanted a kindness from Mrs. Cahill, they were always certain of getting it if it lay within the limits of her very humble power. ‘ What is it, Mrs. Cahill? Have you come into a fortune?’ queried one of the children, on seeing Mrs. Cahill’s beaming countenance. ‘ And you’d be glad if I had, wouldn’t you, mavourneen,’ answered she.

‘That we would, Mrs. Cahill; for we know it’s good about it you’d be,’ said a chorus of voices, for any of the children had now collected around Mrs. Cahill. ‘ Well, it’s not the same as a fortune, but it’s grand news at any rate for all of ye. My mistress that 1 go to work to every day is going to give ye all a grand day in the country.’ ‘Do you mean it. Mrs. Cahill? Is it really true? queried several together. On being assured that it was a reality and no delusion, there, was loud clapping of hands ; and a few dozen half-starved, hal£,-clad children lay down to sleep that night with visions of bliss beyond the dreams of the petted and pampered offspring of the rich. It was arranged that the excursion was to take place to Eppixxg Forest on the 2nd of July, and all the children in the street in which Mrs. Cahill lived, and practically all Mrs. Cahill’s juvenile acquaintances, were to be of the party. Her mistress had given orders that no expense was to be spared to make the day as enjoyable as possible for the little ones, and all the arrangements were left entirely in her hands. On the morning of the appointed day, the brakes which were to take the party to the forest arrived punctually, and were soon filled with crowds of merry children.

As they were about to depart, an onlooker gazing at one of the brakes, remarked :

‘ Why, there’s only thirteen in that there brake. It’s a very unlucky number is thirteen. I shouldn’t be surprised if there was an accident.’ Mrs. Cahill, as having charge of the arrangements, was appealed to, but not all her common-sense could convince the onlookers, who were principally the fathers and mothers of the - children, that there was nothing more unlucky about thirteen than about any other xx umber.

children in the brake, there’s a little girl always standing at the corner of the next street who sells newspapers for a livin’. I’m sure she’d like to come, if we asked her.’

‘ Run quickly then and fetch her,’ said Mrs. Cahill. In a few minutes the child returned, accompanied by another, ill-clad, and apparently worse fed. • She had a solitary newspaper in her hand, the last of her morning’s bundle, for she had always sold her papers vex-y quickly to the passers-by, who were attracted by her sweet face and pretty , ways, so utterly unlike those of s common street child.

‘ Here, youngster, let me have that paper,’ said the father of one of the children, placing a coin in her hand, which she pocketed with much satisfaction. Evidently it meant much to her. ..1,/ / ... ’v

Then the signal for departure was given, and off went the party with happiness depicted on every countenance. ■ , .

,‘‘: r Vs That day in the'forest was like a foretaste of heaven itself to the little slum children. ? The mossy sward, the .leafy trees, the balmy breezes, together with., the unlimited ' supply of cakes, oranges, ' and 1 other 5 such 4 unaccustomed luxuries, filled up their 'little cup vof happiness to the very brim, J ; for that day -at*" least,’and' they sang - and danced for; very joy of heart. :: ■ f. The only one among them who wore a sad expres*--sion was the little newsvender. She gazed about her with a thoughtful, abstracted*air, as if •she, were trying to remember something .v ' T : V v ; ■ Kind-hearted Mrs. ■ Cahill noticed her, and coming up to her, said : ' What s the matter, my dear ? Why aren’t you amusin’ yourself like the others. Sure the kind lady that’s payin’ for the outin’ will be here presently, and it won t do at all to let her see you lookin’ sad like that.’ For answer the child burst into tears. In a moment Mrs. Cahill’s arms were around her, and with many endearments she succeeded in coaxing from . her the secret of her grief. , It was in a place like this long ago that I lost my mother, and then . the nasty: woman found me and carried me off and dressed me in ugly clothes, and made me beg for her in the street. But she’s dead now, and : I earn my money by selling papers in the street,’ said the child in answer to Mrs., Cahill’s inquiries! Mrs. Cahill was electrified. She had just finished her novena that very morning, and when she asked the child her name she felt certain what the answer would be.

‘The woman that carried me off used to call me Chris, and would beat me if I told people that I had any other name, but long ago. my own mother used to call me Marion,’ said the child. J; " ‘ , \J$ \ ‘ And what was your other name, my dear,’ queried Mrs. Cahill. H

' I cannot remember,’ answered the child.

Was it Phillips, my dear?’ ‘ Oh, that was it,’ exclaimed the child, while her countenance was illumined as if by a flash of recollection. • • ;

‘ Mrs. Cahill, the lady has come and wishes to speak to you,’ exclaimed several voices close to her ear, and in an instant she hurried off to her mistress.

Well, Mrs. Cahill,’ said Marion Phillips when she saw her, ‘ the ninth day has come/ and I have heard nothing. After all, I was right in thinking that your novena was mere superstition, but I hope the children will enjoy themselves all the same.’ ‘ The ninth day has come, but it isn’t over yet,ma’am. Please come and see if you ever saw a little girl that’s here before.’

So saying, she led her to the little newsvender, and when Marion Phillips saw her child, for it was she, she went into an ecstasy of delight, which almost threatened her reason. The child’s joy was almost equally intense, and for a long time they remained locked in each other’s arms, while little Marion poured into her mother’s ear the story of her life since their sad parting. ‘Glory be to God and His Blessed Mother!’ exclaimed Mrs. Cahill. ‘ It’s they that can do everything.’

‘ It is indeed, Mrs. Cahill,’ said Marion Phillips, looking up and remembering for the first time to return thanks to God for the great mercy which had just been vouchsafed her. 1 , •

In a very few days she and Her child were received into the Church, and old Mrs. Cahill was installed in a comfortable position in her house, which she retained until her death.