drunken brute, in such a calm, loving and compassionate way that it seemed
to calm him a bit.
"We've done nothing against you, and I can't for the life of me see how we
could have offended you. I am glad they let you go free. Now if you care to
accept our hospitality I will make you a cup of coffee. It's not the best
quality but you're welcome to what I have."
The Breton looked at the old lady in an astonished sort of way. "You're
certainly different from the rest of 'em. Here I threaten to kill you, and
you offer me a cup of coffee! That's not what I deserve," and here he broke
out laughing immoderately, and sat down by the stove where a fire was
briskly burning.
"Well, this is a whole lot better than the prison anyway," said the Breton
coolly, as he settled himself to enjoy the warmth.
"I should say so," said Celestina, "and there's no reason for you to go
back there either."
"Now none of your sermons, you know, for if you come on with anything like
that I'll be leaving at once," and it was clear that the Breton's bad humor
was returning.
"Well, that would be to your disadvantage on a cold day like this," said
Celestina with a dry little smile.
"That's a fact, that's a fact. Brr! What weather!" and the poor drunkard
drew closer to the fire. "Aren't you two afraid to go out in such a
snowstorm?" he said, turning to Paula and me.
Celestina answered for us that we lived in the big house at "The Convent,"
and that we had come to deliver a good warm dress for her to wear. With
that the good woman poured out three cups of coffee, which she set before
the Breton, Paula and myself. "And where's yours?" said the Breton as he
swallowed his coffee in one great gulp.
"Oh, some other time I'll have a cup myself."
"Well, just as you please," said our unwelcome guest. "My! but that warms
one up though! My wife never so much as thought to get me a cup of coffee."
"And do you know why?" questioned Celestina severely.
"I suppose you're going to tell me it's because I don't give her enough
money; is that it?"
"Precisely! And that's the truth; isn't it?"
"Now none of your sermons, as I told you in the beginning; didn't I? Don't
I know? Of course it troubles me to see the children with their pale faces,
that used to be so rosy and fat like these two here. By the way what's your
names?"
Again Celestina answered for us--"The smaller girl is the daughter of
Monsieur Dumas, and the other is her cousin, Mademoiselle Paula Javanel."
"Paula Javanel! Paula Javanel!" repeated the Breton as if trying to
remember something. "I think I've heard that name before," and he looked
fixedly at Paula for some seconds, and then suddenly he laughed
immoderately. "Yes, yes; now I remember! Ha! ha! ha! Now I know! You're the
'Cat Mother'!"
"Cat Mother!" and Celestina looked much puzzled. "What on earth do you
mean?" I had completely forgotten the ridiculous nickname that the Breton's
son had given her, for the boy had run away from home several years ago.
"They called me that," explained Paula, "because I once saved a cat's
life."
But the strong coffee had quite restored the Breton's good humor and he
hastened to add, "Yes, she did; but she hasn't told the whole story! She's
the only person in the whole village that was ever brave enough to stand up
to that big brat of mine. She wrenched the cat out of his hands, and the
boy came back to the house, I remember well, with a pair of ears well
pulled and the air of a whipped dog."
"But I didn't pull his ears," said Paula, reddening.
"Well, if you didn't, who did, then?"
But Paula shook her head and would say nothing further.
"Well, anyway, I remember that the boy was made fun of by the whole
neighborhood, and to revenge himself he gave her 'Cat Mother' for a
nickname. He, too, is a bad one like his father. To tell the truth he never
obeyed anybody, and dear knows where he is or what he's doing now. At least
he's not like you two who came here to learn how to pray with Celestina."
"Paula doesn't need to learn how to pray, Monsieur Breton," said Celestina,
"she's known how to pray for years, not only for herself, but also for
others."
"For years, you say! And who then taught her to pray?" said the Breton
surprised.
"It was my father," said Paula quietly.
"Your father! Well, he wasn't much like me, then; was he!"
"No, he wasn't," and Paula without a sign of either fear or abhorrence
looked compassionately at the brutalized face that confronted her.
"And you don't live with him any more?"
"No," said Paula; "father is in heaven."
"And whatever would you do if you had a father like me?" and the poor
Breton looked at her keenly.
Paula sat a moment with closed eyes. She recalled the strong noble face and
figure of her dear father and asked God to give her a reply to the poor
drunkard's question.
"I think," she said at last, "I would ask God Himself to make him a man of
God like my father."
"And do you believe He could do it?" The Breton looked very doubtful.
"I'm sure of it!"
"Yes, but you don't know how bad I am."
"Yes, I know," said Paula; "everybody in town knows you're a bad man, but
you're no worse than the bandit who was crucified with the Lord Jesus; and
yet Christ saved him; didn't He?"
"That's more or less what I am--a bandit, I suppose. I remember that story.
When I was a little boy my mother told it to me. I never thought at that
time that I'd ever become the thing I am today. What would my poor mother
do if she could see what had become of me?"
"Perhaps she'd pray for you," Paula said simply.
"She! Yes, I think she would have prayed for me," he said. "But why talk
about my mother! I, who have just come out of prison;--hated, despised, and
made a laughingstock by everybody in our neighborhood, even pointed at by
the little street-urchins! My children fear me! My poor wife trembles when
I appear! Who would ever think of praying for a brute like me?"
"I," said Paula with a voice vibrant with emotion.
"You? Why you scarcely know me!"
"But I do know you, and I've prayed many times for you, Monsieur Breton. Do
you think it didn't distress me when they told me you had been put in the
prison where people say it's so cold and dark inside, and where many die
from the exposure, and what is the greater calamity--die without hope of
salvation."
"And so, while I was in prison you prayed for me?"
"Well, from the time I heard about it," said Paula, "I've prayed for you
every night, Monsieur Breton."
The poor fellow bowed his head. This young girl, so beautiful, so pure, so
innocent, had taken him and his shame, and misery and wickedness, to the
throne of Grace in her prayers each night during his recent stay in the
jail!
"You! You've been praying for me!" The Breton remained silent, overcome
with a greater remorse than he had ever felt in a court of justice.
"If I could believe," he said in a low voice, "that a man like me could
really change--but no! That's impossible! It's too late!"
"It's not too late," Celestina said, "God pardons sinners always if they
truly repent. Now you listen to what He says: 'Though your sins be as
scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson,
they shall be as wool.' And here's a bit more, 'Seek ye the Lord while He
may be found, call ye upon Him while He is near; let the wicked forsake his
way and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let him return unto the Lord,
and He will have mercy upon him; and to our God for He will abundantly
pardon.' And then St. Paul gives us God's message also with these words:
"For this is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Saviour; who will
have all men to be saved, and to come unto the knowledge of the truth. For
there is one God, and one Mediator between God and men, the Man Christ
Jesus; who gave Himself a ransom for all" (1 Tim. 2:3-6).
"Do you really believe," said the Breton, as if in a daze, "that there's
hope for such as me?"
"Yes, I do, indeed!" And here Celestina quoted,
"The Lord is longsuffering to us-ward, not willing that any should perish,
but that all should come to repentance" (2 Pet 3:9).
But the poor Breton shook his head as if to say, "It's impossible!"
Here Paula broke in, "Ask pardon now, and Jesus will pardon you! Ask it
now! Surely you don't want to go on as you have done. The Lord loves you,
and is waiting to save you. He shed His blood on Calvary's cross to take
away the guilt of your sin. Then also, would it not be wonderful to always
have bread in the house--to see that your poor wife no longer fears you,
but instead, welcomes your homecoming. Ask Him now, Monsieur Breton, and
He'll work the miracle in you just as He did when He made the paralyzed man
to walk. You would be so much happier than you are now."
She had drawn very close to him, and now she took his great gnarled
hands--those hands that so many times had worn the handcuffs. Taking them
in her own beautiful ones, she raised those wonderful eyes to the brutal,
bloated face, and said simply, "We will help you, Monsieur Breton!"
"And what are you going to do, Mademoiselle?"
"I don't know yet, but we'll do what we can!"
The poor fellow tried to thank her, but could not utter a word. Something
in his throat seemed to be in the way, and in spite of all his efforts at
self-control, great tears began to run down his cheeks.
Suddenly he turned exclaiming, "Let me alone! Don't you see you're tearing
my very heart out! For thirty long years I've never shed a tear."
Here Celestina quoted Isa. 35:8,9,10: "And a highway shall be there, and a
Way; and it shall be called The Way of Holiness; the unclean shall not pass
over it, but it shall be for those: the wayfaring men, though fools, shall
not err therein. No lion shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up
thereon, it shall not be found there; but the redeemed shall walk there:
and the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs and
everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and
sorrow and sighing shall flee away."
But the Breton already had turned the door-handle,
"You're surely not going out yet!" said the old lady sadly.
"Celestina, I must go! If I stay one minute more I know I must yield, and
I'm not going to do anything foolish. No! No! I've served the devil too
long. But look here! If you wish to help me, then you can do one thing
anyway. You can pray for me!" Saying this, the poor Breton opened the door
and was gone.
CHAPTER THREE
SAVED!
That night on our return we poured into Teresa's sympathetic ears all that
had occurred during our eventful visit that afternoon at Celestina's house.
Then somewhat later as I was helping her with the dishes in the kitchen,
Teresa said, "Do you know, Lisita, it wouldn't surprise me in the least to
see the Breton converted and changed by God's power into a decent,
respectable man. No one seems to be able to resist Paula when she begins to
speak of God's love. She seems truly inspired by His Holy Spirit. Child
though she is, she surely is His messenger to all with whom she comes in
contact But there's just one thing,"--and Teresa seemed to hesitate to
express herself, then finally she continued, "I cannot seem to shake off
the feeling that she will not be with us much longer. I believe somehow--I
know it sounds absurd in one way, but I have a feeling that God will call
her to His side some day soon."
"Oh, Teresa!" I cried, "how can you say such a thing! Why, she's never
sick! She's much bigger and stronger and more vigorous than even I am. And
besides, I never, never could bear it to have Paula taken from me!"
"Hush! Hush, child! Don't shout that way, Paula will hear you! Besides it's
just a foolish idea of mine, maybe. But if God should wish it--But there,
as you say, what would we do without the dear girl?"
Later when we were alone in our bedroom I said to Paula in an anxious tone,
"You don't feel sick; do you, Paula?"
She looked at me surprised--"I should say not!" She laughed, "What put such
a notion in your head? Do I look as if I was sick?"
I was so relieved! Teresa was quite mistaken!
"No!" continued Paula, "on the contrary, I never felt better in my life.
Since I had that little touch of scarletina a while ago I've never had an
ache or a pain. In fact, as I look around and see so much sickness and
suffering, I long to share my good health with these other less fortunate
ones."
And as I looked at her tall well-developed figure outlined against the
window, I laughed at my foolish fears. But a few moments later as she
kneeled there in the moonlight in her long white night-dress, and as I
looked at that pure beautiful face with the eyes closed in prayer, with its
frame of glorious hair, I knew that never had I seen anything so lovely as
this child companion of mine just budding into womanhood; and the one word
"Angel" seemed to express the sum of my thoughts regarding this dear one
who had come into my life and who had transformed so many other lives
around me.
As she rose at the conclusion of the prayer, finding me still on my feet,
she said with surprise in her tone, "Not in bed yet, Lisita?"
"No," I said, confused that she should find me still seated on the edge of
my bed, lost in my own reflections.
Paula suddenly went to the window and looked out, "Oh, Lisita!" she
exclaimed, "how wonderful! Come and see."
The storm had stopped in the late afternoon, and now the moon shone in all
its splendor, touching the snow with silver and making millions of its
crystals sparkle like diamonds in the moonlight.
"How white and pure and beautiful everything is!" said Paula. "Do you
remember, Lisita, how only yesterday we remarked how squalid and dirty the
whole village looked? And now, what a lovely change!" She hesitated a
moment, and then continued in her quiet, simple way.
"It's God that has done it! It's quite a bit like when one gives their
heart to Jesus Christ. He takes it stained and scarred with sin, and then
He makes it white like the snow. Don't you see, Lisita?"
"Yes, I see," I said.
"Do you really see, dear Lisita?" And Paula drew me quite close to her.
"Then why don't you give your heart to Him? I do love you so! You see, I
don't wish to seem to be any better than you--but when I get thinking of
the fact that you never really have given your heart to Him, and if one of
us should die--"
I could not bear another word. The very idea of death either for Paula or
myself was simply unbearable. "Stop!" I cried, in such a terrible tone that
Paula, I could see, was frightened. "You mustn't die! I cannot live, and I
_won't_ live without you! I know I'm not good, but if you weren't here to
help me what would I do?"
My overwrought nerves, due to the happenings at that afternoon visit at
Celestina's, combined with what Teresa had suggested, were too much for me,
and here I broke down completely.
"Oh, Lisita!"--there was real consternation in Paula's voice, "I'm so sorry
I hurt you! You must get to bed, and don't let's talk any more tonight."
I dreamed of Paula the whole night long. I saw her either dying or dead, or
in heaven with the angels; but in the morning all my fears had disappeared
and a few days later I even forgot the whole thing.
A week passed, and we had seen nothing of the Breton. Paula mentioned him
several times, and I know she was praying for him. Teresa had gone to see
Celestina, but she hadn't seen anything of him either. Apparently he had
gone out early each day, and had returned very late. He had been the
principal subject of our conversation as each night we came together in the
big warm kitchen on those long winter evenings. Finally one evening just as
we were finishing the dishes, there came two hesitating knocks on the outer
door.
"I wonder who can be calling at this hour," said Rosa.
"It sounds like some child that can't knock very well," said Catalina.
"Open the door, Lisita!"
Only too glad to abandon my towel, I ran to open the door, but hardly had I
done so when I remained petrified and dumb with surprise, hardly able to
believe my own eyes. There stood the Breton twisting his battered cap
nervously between his bony fingers. The little oil lamp, which we always
kept lighted at night in the passageway, illuminated his pale face and
gaunt figure.
"Good evening, mademoiselle," he finally managed to say, and then he
stopped, apparently as embarrassed as I was.
"Who it is?" said Teresa, as she started to come to my rescue.
"It's the Breton," I said.
"Well, tell him to come in," said the old woman kindly.
As timidly as a child the Breton advanced over the threshold a few paces,
looking about him in a kind of "lost" way until his eyes encountered Paula,
and then he seemed to recover his ease of mind.
"I wish to speak with the Master," he said--directing his words to Teresa.
She led him into the study where my father sat, and left them together and
then joined us in the kitchen once more.
"I declare!" said Rosa. "Think of the Breton calling on us! I thought he
hated father since that day he discharged him from the factory two or three
years ago."
"The Breton knows very well that when your father got rid of him he well
deserved it," said Teresa, as she adjusted her spectacles and settled down
to her knitting.
My father did not keep him long. From the kitchen we could hear the door
open and my father's voice bidding the Breton a kindly "good night"
Evidently the interview, although short, had been quite a cordial one.
"Go, tell the Breton to come into the kitchen, Lisita," said Teresa.
I wondered as I saw him enter with such a humble, frank air, and with a new
look of peace that seemed almost to beautify the brutalized face.
"Mademoiselle Paula," he said as he stopped in the middle of our kitchen,
"I wish to say a word or two."
"To me alone?" said Paula rising.
He hesitated a moment. "No," he said finally, "I think it's better to say
it to you before everybody here. Do you remember how you spoke to me on the
afternoon of the great snow? I don't remember very well what you said. My
head wasn't in very good condition as I'd left my wits behind at the liquor
shop. But I know you spoke to me of my mother and you also said that God
would change me if I really desired. I didn't dare believe such a thing,
Mademoiselle--it seemed just a bit too good to believe. That night I simply
couldn't sleep. I seemed to feel my hands in yours and to hear your voice
saying, 'I'll do what I can to help you.' At last I couldn't stand it any
longer. I got out on the floor and kneeled there before God, and I asked
Him to have mercy on me, and change my wicked old heart if it were
possible."
Here he stopped to wipe away the great tears that were rolling down his
cheeks. Then pretty soon he continued, "God did indeed have mercy on me. I
deserved to be refused, but apparently He doesn't treat people as they
deserve to be treated, and now, mademoiselle, will you continue to help me
as you promised to do?"
"Yes, of course," said Paula; "What can we do for you?"
"Just one thing. Pray for me! That's what I need more than anything else. I
want to be faithful to Him and serve Him, but I don't know how to begin,
and when one has served the devil as many years as I have it's hard to
change masters."
"The Lord Jesus will help you," answered Paula.
"He's already done it, Mademoiselle," said the Breton. "If not, how could I
have endured these last days. At first I had a raging thirst for more drink
until I nearly went crazy. Then my old companions called me out and urged
me to go and drink with them, and I had almost yielded when suddenly I
cried to the Lord Jesus to help me, and then a wonderful thing happened!
All desire for the drink went away, and I've been free ever since! Then
too, I had no work, and my wife taunted me with that, and I wandered up and
down looking everywhere for something to do. Unfortunately everybody knew
me and knew too much about me, so there was no work for such as me." Then
suddenly the poor, thin face was illuminated with a smile as the Breton
triumphantly said, "I came to this door tonight as the very last resort,
never dreaming that my old master really would employ me, but just see the
goodness of God! I can face the world again, for I'm going back to my old
bench at the master's factory!"
"My! How glad I am!" exclaimed Paula.
"Yes, Mademoiselle, but I have you to thank for your great kindness to me."
"I," said Paula surprised; "why what have I done?"
"You, Mademoiselle! You made me feel that you really loved me. Also, you
persuaded me that God loved me, miserable sinner that I am. But if tonight
in this district you find one more honorable man and one criminal less, let
us first thank God, and then you, Mademoiselle!"
"Do you own a New Testament?" said Paula as the Breton started to leave.
"A New Testament; what's that?"
"It's a book--a part of the Bible--that tells us about the Lord Jesus, and
how He saves us from the guilt and power of sin, and how we can serve Him."
"Well, Mademoiselle," replied the Breton, "if it's a book, it's of no use
to me. I don't know how to read!"
Paula looked at him with a mixture of surprise and pity.
"I might have been able to read," continued the poor fellow. "My mother
sent me to school, but I scarcely ever actually appeared in the
school-room. The streets in those days were too attractive a playground."
"But you could begin to learn even now!"
"No, Mademoiselle," and the Breton shook his head sadly, "It's too late now
to get anything of that sort in this dull head."
Paula said nothing more at the time, but I could see that she had something
in her mind relative to this new problem.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE YOUNG SCHOOL-MISTRESS
The following day Paula had a word with my father regarding the matter.
"Now don't worry any more about the Breton, Paula," he answered. "He knows
enough to do what's necessary to gain his living, and if he wants to work
faithfully and not spend all his money on drink, he can do that without
knowing how to read. However, if it bothers you because he cannot read, why
don't you advise him to go to night-school? I can't imagine what could have
happened to him, but he's changed mightily, and for the better. I only hope
the change in him will last!"
* * * * *
The days grew longer, the snow disappeared and the trees and fields began
to put on their spring clothes. Week by week the Breton's home also began
to show a marvelous transformation. The pigs who formerly found the garden
a sort of happy rooting-ground now found themselves confronted with a neat
fence that resisted all their attacks, and the garden itself with its
well-raked beds, showed substantial promise of a harvest of onions,
potatoes and cabbage in the near future. Spotless white curtains and shiny
panes of window-glass began to show in place of the dirty rags and paper
which used to stop part of the winter winds from entering, and the rain
which formerly kept merry company with the wind in that unhappy dwelling
now found itself completely shut out by shingles on the roof and sidewalk;
and a certain air of neatness and order so pervaded the whole place that it
became the talk of the little town.
"That's all very well, but it's not going to last long," said some.
"Well, we shall soon see," said others.
The Breton had to stand a good many jests and taunts from his former
companions but he took it all without either complaint or abatement of his
courage.
"I don't blame you one bit," he said to one of his tormentors, "for I was
once exactly the same--only I hope some day you'll be different too. In the
meantime, comrade, I'll be praying for you."
"You must admit I'm a changed man, anyway," he said one day to a group who
made sport of him.
"That's true, right enough," said one of them.
"Well, who changed me?"
Various opinions were offered to this question.
"Well, I'll tell you!" he thundered, and that stentorian voice which always
used to dominate every assembly in which he mingled, held them spellbound!