The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XLIX, Issue 39, 5 October 1922, Page 3

The Storyteller

(By Mrs. J. Sadlier.)

Alice Riordan

CHAPTER Vlll.— (Continued.) ' After dinner, Alice went to see her father. He seemed to be afraid lest his daughter might give way to the temptation which was to beset her on all sides; and though the priest had explained the matter to him in a way that induced him to give his consent, yet still he trembled for his child’s spiritual welfare. “May the Lord keep you from all harm, Alice dear, an’ give you the grace to do what is right. Only for what his reverence told me, I wouldn’t let you go into such a house for a mint of money.” “Why, what did ho tell you, father?” asked Alice, with some curiosity. “Oh, no matter,” returned Cormac, evasively; “I’ll tell you some other time. You know you have to hurry now. Mind, you’re to come to see me twice a week an’, Alice, above all things, I lay it on you to say the Litany of the Blessed Virgin evqry night, when you’re at your prayers. You’ll do that, now, won’t you?” “Indeed, then, I will, father dear; even if you didn’t bid me, I’d do it; for we always used to say it at home, you knowand’ I couldn’t go to sleep in comfort without sayin’ it. But, father, did my uncle ever come to see you at all?” . “Oh, indeed he did, Alice; sure, wasn’t it a great forget of me not to tell you. He did, indeed, come to see me, about a week ago, an’ very friendly an’ kind he', was, too. He had a long talk with Sister O’Malley here in the parlor, an’ she said, after he was gone, that she had great hopes of him yet, for all he seems to be so taken up with the world. They’re all well at his house; but Thompson’s gone away to the States. I think it’s time for you to go now, Alice; an’ God knows I have neither heart nor eye in the money you’re goin’ to earn; I’d rather far have you . at Mrs. Dempsey’s; only, to be sure, Father Smith knows best; so , go, in God’s name, ian’ my blessin’ go with you.” He could not say another word, and Alice only squeezed his hand in silence, and went away, turning back when she got to the door, to tell him that she would come again on the following Sunday. A little before five o’clock, Mrs. Finlay’s carriage drove up, and Alice, who has been some time in readiness, got up in the back seat. Her little bundle was handed to her by Susan; everybody, even Ellen, came to the door • with kind wishes and farewells. Mrs. Dempsey and Susan were seen to wipe their eyes more than once, and the worthy dressmaker murmured ' a fervent “God’s blessing be with you, child and the carriage rolled away. Alice was at first inclined to cry, but very soon the novelty of being in such a fine carriage turned her thoughts another way, and she began to say -to herself: “My goodness! if my Uncle Dinny, an’ old Catty, an’ them all could only see me now!. I’m sure it’s themselves would be overjoyed. Well, to be sure, but it is nice.” When Mrs. Finlay got home she rang for the housemaid, who was the only Catholic servant in the house. - “Bridget, here’s another little Irish girl, and one of your own creed, too. • I hope you’ll ; be very good friends.” , “Oh, never fear, ma’am,” said Bridget; “the little girl looks well, an’ I think we’ll do first-rate together. What is she going to do, ma’am?”* V “To help you, when you require it, and to sew for / me when she has nothing else to do. Has Miss Finlay -got home yet?” ■ ' , * . ' ; “No, ma’am. Master Archy came in a little while ago, but he took pony and went off to meet his papa.” “Very well,; Bridget. Take Alice with you, and show her where do put her things. She is to share your room.” , When Mr. Finlay and his son came home, Mrs. Finlay -told her husband that she had got the little girl. “But I had to go to the Seminary myself,” said she, “to beg her of Father Smith.” ; > “I must say, Harriet,” said her husband, “that' you degraded yourself exceedingly by taking such tai step.. It - is no wonder that those Romish priests are so overbearing

and-so presuming when even you, you, Mrs. Finlay, condescend to pay court to them. Know you not that,, by going after that man to ask his consent, -you tacitly acknowledged his authority, and thereby acted in total contradiction to our principles?” “But, mamma,” cried Archy, “were you indeed in the Seminary? I’m sure it’s a queer sort of place—dark and gloomy, but very grand, I suppose?” “Why do you think it must be so grand, Archy?” demanded his mother, with a gay laugh. ■ “Oh, because, because papa and Mrs. Harley and everyone says that the priests are so rich; —you 'know, mamma, they have more money than anyone could count; — I daresay they have it in great iron chests. Did you see any there?” “Well, I cannot say I did, Archy,” said Mrs. Finlay, and she laughed heartily at the incongruous idea. “I must take you some day to see the Seminary, in order to show you that it is neither very dark nor very gloomy, nor yet very grand; nor is there a chest of any kind to bo seen, either wood or iron. People who talk in that way about the Seminary, and about the priests, know very little .of either one or the other, and will not -fake the trouble to see for themselves; I had' heard those absurd stories so often, that I willingly laid hold of the opportunity to examine for myself. I tell you, Archy, there is not a particle of grandeur, or of luxury, visible in what I saw: all is clean and neat, _ but poor and simpler as for the priests, Mr. Finlay,” she added, turning to him, “it is in them I really see Christian meekness and Christian humility exemplified. With many these are but empty sounds, never reduced to practice; but it is not' so with the Catholic clergy. I have never seen one of them yet who deserved to be set down as “overbearing” or “presuming.” If you would only give very little attention to their words and actions, their real words and actions, mind you, not what is attributed to them on our platforms, then your opinion would soon change.” “Really, Harriet,” said Mr. Finlay, drawing himself up, and knitting his dark brows together, “really, yon go somewhat too far with your silly advocacy of Popery when you recommend me to hold intercourse with ,these people. No, Mrs. Finlay, it is not in accordance with fmy principles, and you know it is not, to associate with Jesuitical persons. I hold themselves and their principles in utter contempt, and so, I think, should all who profess to love and respect the Bible —the Bible, against which these unhappy Romanists are openly arrayed. Oh, Mrs. Finlay, Mrs. Finlay I grieve for your delusion. Would that your darkened understanding might be opened to the light of evangelical truth “Thank you, Charles, thank you very much,” replied his wife, resolutely repressing the smile which played about the corners of her mouth. “I do sincerely trust that God will reveal to me the light of truth;but for the present, I think, we had better go to dinner.” It was then half-post five; but as Montreal is rapidly progressing in refinement’ and civilisation, of course its elite all dine at aristocratic hours; no family having any pretensions to elegance or fashion would think of dining at the old-fashioned hours of bygone days; so the dinner, which in old times was the .mid-day meal, is now transferred to the evening, that is, in all houses where good style is affected. “So passed the —the evening fell, ’Twas.near the time of curfew bell.” Ay, and long past it, too, for tile hall-clock had struckten when “the little world below” were all’ summoned to the upper regions; and, as the servants moved upstairs one after another, Alice whispered to Bridget, “Why, where in the world are we all going?” i; “Why, to worship, to be sure: to family worship.” “Family worship!” repeated Alice. “Is that the Rosary, or what is it?” But Bridget could not answer, for just' then the dining-room door was opened by the cook, :who led the van, and in they all marched, rank and file. A' , Mr. Finlay was seated at the table, in awful dignity, with if a large folio Bible before him; Mrs. Finlay sat in a rock-ing-chair at a little distance; Archy was playing with his favorite doga shaggy animal of the Newfoundland breed

—and Cecilia sat at the table, right opposite to her father, looking as grave and serious as himself. The servants glided into their several places with' mechanical regularity,"'' and Mrs. Finlay, seeing that Alice looked somewhat puzzled, and stood alone in the middle of the room, made a sign to her to sit down. Mr. Finlay. looked at her with keen scrutiny, but “never a word spoke he.” Opening his Bible, he began to read in a - deep, solemn voice, and of all the chapters in the Bible, what should he read but that one from the Apocalypse wherein is described the seven-horned beast. Alice listened, (and listened, and wondered as she listened; for, though perfectly familiar with all the practical and didactic parts of the . Scripture, from hearing the Gospels and Epistles read and expounded by the priests,' she had never been initiated into the high and mystic revelations of. the favored (apostle. But she was not long left to ponder on the meaning of what 1 * she had heard; for, the chapter ended, Mr. Finlay began to explain it, according, as it would seem, to his usual custom. What was Alice’s surprise when she heard him solve the enigma to the effect that the beast of. whom St. John spoke was no other than the Church of Romo, his seven horns the seven hills on which the city of Rome is built, and so on. Then, again, he turned to the account of the scarlet woman, given by the same mystic writer, and her ladyship was also identified with the same Church—God help her! Then worthy Mr. Finlay closed his book and went on to descant upon the minute points of resemblance in each cast. Mrs. Finlay glanced at Alice, and was amused to see the blank astonishment with which she gazed on Mr. Finlay, drinking in his words, albeit that they were of “learned length and thundering sound.” After giving what he considered a triumphant exposition of the passages in question, proving beyond all, doubt that St. John could have had nothing else in view when he painted those mysterious portraits, but the manifold abominations of the Romish Church, Mr. Finlay pushed , back his chair, and knelt, facing his congregation, who, of course, followed his example. Alice pulled out her beads, and was beginning to say her own prayers internally, when Mr. Finlay happened to look towards her. Stopping in the middle of ia moving petition, that all men might be freed from the galling trammels of superstition, he commanded the beads to be put away. “Ah, then, why, if you please, sir?” “Because, my good girl, we don’t practise any such mummery here. Put away the beads and repeat the prayers after me.” “I can’t, sir,” said. Alice, stoutly; “they’re not our prayers, (and I can’t say them.” Mr. Finlay looked most unchristianly angry; but he bit his lip, and went on with his extemporaneous prayer, and Alice, very quietly, said her Rosary, blessing herself at every decade with as much devotion as though at home at her Uncle Dinny’s fireside, and not a Protestant within a square mile of her. But the best of it was that Archy espied'the beads, and having watched Alice for some time, he burst into a loud laugh, whereupon his father again stopped, to express his horror of such unchristian levity. “I can’t help it, papa,” said Archy, still laughing, “when I see the little girl there — newcomer—over her beads, and her lips moving all the time, and she looking so pious. If you wjant .me to keep from laughing you must send her away, or else takb the beads from her;” “Fie, fie, Archy!” said his mother, reproachfully, while his father turned an awful look-on' Alice, and saying, ' '“The boy is’right; I ought not, to have permitted so great a scandal,” he ordered her sternly to put up her beads. ' Alice obeyed; but moving over into a corner and thrusting her fingers in her ears, so as to shut out what she did not , choose to diear, she went on . a little longer with her own prayers, Mr. Finlay pretending not to notice her. But quiet did not reign long; for when Archy looked again at Alice, the sight was fatal to his gravity, and his mirth was then contagious, for mistress and butler and coachman, cook and housemaid, all burst out laughing, and in the midst of the general uproar, / Mr. Finlay took" hold of Alice by the shoulder with one hand, and snatched her beads with the other. Herself he thrust out into, the hall and banged'the door after her, then flung the Heads into the fire which burned in the grate. • _ r d v-'. > T ' ; C “Our worship has been strangely interrupted,” said fie.

motioning to the servants to kneel once more; 'let us now resume it. Mrs. Finlay, I request that you will lay your commands on that girl, and instruct her to assist decorously at our family prayers.” - : Mrs. Finlay smiled assent, and the prayers, being resumed, went on and ended, without further Interruption, though Danger, the favorite, was very near causing another outbreak by jumping on Archy’s back, where he knelt against a chair, his young master slyly encouraging his advances — he dearly loved mischief, even when it broke in on the solemnity of family worship. * (To be, continued.)