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GREY TOWN
J ROY STEVENS, Print.,
1-7 Knox Place, Melbourne
[Illustration: She raised the oar, and brought it down smartly across
his knuckles.--(See page 190).]
GREY TOWN
An Australian Story
BY
GERALD R. BALDWIN
Author of "Dr. Pat Cassidy," etc.
[Illustration: Publisher's logo]
Wholly set up and printed in Australia.
Registered by the Postmaster-General for transmission through the
post as a book.
"MESSENGER" OFFICE, ST. PATRICK'S COLLEGE
MELBOURNE
1922
Contents
Chapter. Page.
I. THE PRESBYTERY 7
II. MICHAEL O'CONNOR 17
III. THE QUIRKS 26
IV. PROMOTION 36
V. DENIS QUIRK 45
VI. READJUSTMENT 56
VII. "THE OBSERVER" DIES 68
VIII. JOHN GERARD 80
IX. DAYS OF STORM AND STRESS 91
X. RUMOUR, HYDRA-HEADED 104
XI. TEMPTATION 112
XII. SYLVIA JACKSON 120
XIII. DENIS REFUSES TO SPEAK 131
XIV. "AND ONE OTHER!" 140
XV. DESMOND GOES UNDER 155
XVI. THE VIRTUE OF GREY TOWN 167
XVII. FATHER HEALY'S MISSION 180
XVIII. THROUGH THE GORGE 186
XIX. "THE FREELANCE" 193
XX. GREAT IS THE TRUTH 199
XXI. THE BISHOP'S SOLUTION 211
XXII. A LINK BROKEN 221
XXIII. A SICK CALL 232
XXIV. DENIS QUIRK'S HOMECOMING 238
XXV. A PROPOSAL 245
XXVI. GOOD AND EVIL 252
POST SCRIPTUM 257
Grey Town.
An Australian Story.
CHAPTER I.
THE PRESBYTERY.
Grey Town looks down on the river and the ocean, its streets climbing up
the small hill upon which the town has been built. It is a pleasant
place in which to live, where, in winter, the air is warm, and in summer
a cool breeze from the ocean tempers the hottest day. At the feet of the
town the ocean beats restlessly on the narrow strip of beach that
fringes the shore. On the distant horizon one may often see the black
smoke, sometimes the hull, shadowy and indistinct, of some passing
steamer. But only the smaller steamers or ships can enter the bay, for
there are reefs and sand-spits, to touch which would mean destruction.
Beside the town, the River Grey enters the ocean. When the tide is high,
and the river swollen by heavy rains, there is a turmoil of waters at
the bar, ocean and river contending for mastery. Then the river, banked
up at its exit, overflows the low lands that lie to the east of the
town, turning a green valley into a muddy lake. At other times the Grey
valley is green and pleasant, excepting where the masses of grey rock
from which it has its name jut out over the river.
At the highest summit of the town stands the Catholic church, the
presbytery beside it. Years ago, when Father Healy came to his new
parish, he found an acre block, vacant and forlorn, the very summit of
the highest hill above the town.
"This has been destined for my church. In accordance with precedent, I
shall build here," said the priest.
The agent to whom he made the remark laughed doubtingly. He knew Grey
Town, man and woman, intimately; the peculiarities of Ebenezer Brown,
owner of this plot of land, were well known to him.
"You can whistle for this site. It belongs to Ebenezer Brown," he said.
"Ebenezer Brown has his price, I presume," remarked Father Healy.
"He will sell this land--to an ordinary man--for twice its real value.
To you he will not sell at any price."
"He shall have his price--from you. It will be worth four times its real
value in a few years. Go and buy the land."
Thus was the site acquired, to the great indignation and consternation
of the late owner.
"I might have named my own price if I had known who wanted it," he
growled.
"You named your price, exactly double the true value," answered the
agent.
"I could have got four times, six times, the real value, if you had
dropped a hint. I have been robbed."
"Robbed!" cried the agent. "That would be a reversal of the ordinary
routine. You old villain!" he added, as Ebenezer Brown walked out of his
shop.
The old man was wealthy, and a miser, each of which characteristics may
be corollary to the other. He made money by saving it; he saved it
because he loved it. Many things he had achieved by strategy. The "Grey
Town Observer," at one time the property of Michael O'Connor, was now
Ebenezer Brown's, won by usury. The late owner, a careless man, was
content to continue as editor, and thus serve the man who had robbed
him. He was sufficiently shrewd to recognise his employer's character,
yet at once too easy going and honest to prove other than a good
servant. But he held, and always expressed, a heartfelt contempt for his
master.
St. Mary's Church at Grey Town is large and commodious, built of
bluestone, with a square tower. Over the porch is a statue of the
Blessed Virgin, and from that position She appears to look down upon and
bless the town.
When the church was built, many, both friends and enemies, declared that
it was too large.
"It's all church, and no congregation," asserted Wise, the bootmaker,
whose custom it was to address a few disciples in the Public Gardens
every Sunday.
This remark was repeated to Father Healy, and smilingly he answered:
"The congregation will grow, but the church can't do that. Mr. Wise has
a larger church, and a smaller congregation, all said and done."
And, sure enough, the congregation increased, until there was barely
standing room for many at the early morning Mass.
In front, St. Mary's looks down on St. Paul's, the Anglican place of
worship; below it, on the further slope of the hill, stands the
Presbyterian chapel. On Sundays the three bells clang a loud discord.
Throughout the week, however, Mr. Green, of St. Luke's, and Mr.
Matthews, the Presbyterian minister, frequently visited Father Healy to
discuss any subject but religion.
Saving for Wise, chief Ishmaelite of Grey Town, and opposed to every
religious and political belief, peace prevailed in Grey Town. Father
Healy came to the town desiring concord, and, after a short and natural
estrangement, first Mr. Green, the Anglican clergyman, and later the
other ministers of the town, had offered him the hand of friendship.
There were, in fact, no greater friends and truer admirers than Father
Healy and Mr. Green. When the priest had built his school, and invited
the Bishop to lay the foundation stone, Mr. Green was present to offer
his congratulations. Many an evening the two sat at bridge with Clarke,
the solicitor, and Michael O'Connor to make the table complete.
"Let Grey Town be an object lesson to Australia," laughed Father Healy.
"Here we value one another as citizens, and overlook each other's
religious misbeliefs."
To this Mr. Green replied smilingly:
"You only need one thing to be a perfect man, Father."
"And that is to pull you over the wall beside me," cried the priest.
If St. Mary's Church were large and imposing, the presbytery was old and
diminutive. Father Healy had bought the land and the house as it stood
on a block beside the one for church and schools, and he had made no
attempt to enlarge or improve the house.
"Time enough to build when I am dead," he remarked in answer to a
deputation of his parishioners.
"But it is a disgrace to us to see you living in a ramshackle building,
half in and half out of doors," said the spokesman.
"I have built church and schools, and I am content," replied the priest.
"Let the next man erect a presbytery. What there is, is enough for me,
and who is to grumble, if not I?"
Therewith he dismissed the deputation kindly, and returned to his
study, the bow window of which looked out on the garden, a quiet
solitude, where the priest often walked to say his Office. It was like
the soul of good Father Healy, a peaceful spot, filled with
sweet-smelling, simple flowers.
This garden was the pride of Dan, who acted as general factotum at the
presbytery, and laboured and whistled the day through, with a smiling
recognition for all comers.
"'Tis the finest piece of garden in Grey Town," he was wont to declare.
"Give me the old wallflower, the rose, violet, and carnation, and let
others be stocking their beds with dahlias and chrysanthemums, which
have no smell to remind you of the old country."
There were few idle moments in his life. He scrubbed the presbytery
verandah, and cleaned the windows, groomed and doctored the priest's
horses, fed the fowls, and spent his leisure in an attempt to keep the
school children out of the presbytery garden and orchard. In the last of
his tasks he succeeded with all the scholars but Tim O'Neill. But Tim
had respect for no one, not even Dan. Yet Father Healy prophesied good
things of Tim.
Mrs. Maggie Gorman was housekeeper at the presbytery, a woman whose sour
face concealed a kindly heart. She and Dan were for ever disputing, yet
each held the other in profound respect. Let anyone traduce Mrs. Gorman,
and Dan was bristling all over like an indignant porcupine. Say one word
disrespectful of Dan before Mrs. Gorman, and you might wish that one
word unspoken. Molly Healy, the priest's sister, declared that they
quarrelled, yet loved, one another, as if they had been sister and
brother.
Molly Healy herself spent a large part of her life in a struggle for
precedence with Mrs. Gorman. But the housekeeper contrived to hold her
position of authority.
"A child like you," she remarked, "to be troubling herself with the
grocer and butcher! When you are as old as myself, I shall let you have
your own way all the time."
To this Molly acquiesced of necessity; there was no appeal to her
brother.
"Now, peace! peace!" he would say. "I am here to look after the souls of
the parish, and you must not trouble me about the affairs of the flesh.
Let Mrs. Gorman take care of the meat, since it pleases her. If you
don't, she will be poisoning us."
Molly Healy was a notability in Grey Town. Saving the school children,
no one called her any other title but "Molly," or "Molly Healy." If a
friend had chanced to do so, it would have caused Molly bitter pain, for
she was a kindly soul. Plain, yet not unpleasing, she had a
superabundance of bright Irish humour, and a quickness of repartee that
amused all, but offended none.
"It's only Molly Healy," people were accustomed to say, "and she's the
sweetest, kindest creature, that wouldn't hurt a fly, of intention."
When she first came to Grey Town the girl had been desperately
home-sick, and many the longing glance she had cast at the ocean,
wishing that it might carry her back to dear old Ireland. But now she
was content to live in the bright, friendly land that was so kindly a
foster-mother to her. And there were a multitude of duties, mostly
self-imposed, to keep her mind and body busy.
In the presbytery grounds there was a veritable menagerie of animal
pensioners dependent on her--two dogs, three cats, with a numerous
progeny of kittens; a cockatoo and magpie, marvellously gifted in slang;
two seagulls, kept for the benefit of the snails that infested the
garden; an aviary of small, brightly-coloured birds; and, lastly, a
miserable sheep, rescued from death by the roadside to live in an
asthmatic condition of semi-invalidism.
Then there were the human pensioners, men and women of any belief, who
came periodically for food. They worshipped Molly Healy. But her kingdom
was over the ragamuffins and rapscallions of the town, with whom she
stood on the friendliest terms.
"Sure, I am reforming the imps," she was accustomed to say.
But it was a notorious fact that her young proteges rarely developed
into moral perfection.
Such was the presbytery of Grey Town and its inmates in the days of
which I am writing.
Father Healy was eating a perfunctory dinner in the dining-room, Mrs.
Gorman and Dan wrangled in the kitchen, but Molly sat in the playground
of the school, with Tim O'Neill, the culprit, facing her, and a circle
of grinning children's faces as a background.
Tim had the face of a cherub, if we can conceive a cherub with an
habitual grime on his countenance. Curly yellow hair, innocent blue
eyes, for ever twinkling, a dimple in each cheek; add to these a
dilapidated suit of clothes, and a sorely battered hat, and you have Tim
O'Neill, the scourge of Grey Town.
"You will confess now, Tim O'Neill," said Molly Healy, with an assumed
severity.
"It's to the Father I'll be confessing," replied the boy.
"No, Tim; it's to me. The Father is too gentle, and you know it. Didn't
I see you with my own eyes?"
"Where's the need of me telling you, then?" asked the unabashed Tim,
careful the while to keep beyond the reach of her hands.
At this retort the audience giggled. They admired the audacity of Tim,
although most of them were model children. For, as his distracted mother
often said, in excuse of her own leniency, "Tim has such a way with
him. You couldn't help but smile, even when he is at his wickedest."
"I saw you stealing the apples," cried Molly, disregarding his
rejoinder. "Do you know that it's a big sin to steal the priest's
apples? It's"--she hesitated for a moment, anxious to leave a lasting
impression--"it's sacrilege."
The corners of Tim's mouth dropped, and his face became grave.
"Is it, miss?" he asked soberly.
"Now, listen to me, Tim, and I will teach you logic. Of course you know
what logic is?"
"Is it a pain here?" asked Tim, pointing to the region below his
waistcoat, the twinkle returning to his eye. Molly sternly repressed a
tendency to giggle.
"No, logic is the art of reasoning," she replied, gravely. "Is that the
presbytery, Tim?"
"What else?" asked Tim, scornfully.
"And to whom does it belong?"
"To the Father, to be sure."
"No, Tim; you are wrong."
Mrs. Gorman hailed the group from the kitchen door.
"Is Miss Molly there? Then send her to her dinner."
"I am busy, teaching logic. Sure the dinner can wait," replied Molly.
"Now, Tim, and whose is it?"
"Is it the bishop's, Miss?"
"Wrong again. It belongs to the Church, and to steal from the Church is
sacrilege. That's a big sin for a little boy to carry on his conscience,
Tim O'Neill."
"It was only for a lark I took them, miss. Joe Adams there dared me to
do it." And, his face brightening at the thought, "I have them in my
pocket."
"Have you tasted them, Tim?"
"They have been bitten--by someone, miss," replied Tim, feeling in his
pocket as if to assure himself of the fact.
"Let me see them," said the relentless Molly.
"There is not much left to see."
"Was it you that tasted them?"
"Me and Joe, miss. He was hungry."
"Then you and Joe will die, Tim," cried the tormentor in a melancholy
voice.
Tim's face became gloomy, while Joe Adams rubbed his eyes with his
knuckles.
"No, miss. Don't be saying that," sighed Tim, now thoroughly repentant.
"Yes, you will--and so will I--and the doctor, too."
"I really am ashamed of you, Molly. This is persecution of an innocent
boy."
The big, gaunt man, with deeply-lined face and iron grey moustache, who
had paused to smile at the conversation, feigned an expression of
disapproval as she looked up smilingly into his face.
"Persecution! For shame, Doctor Marsh, to be making such a suggestion.
It's logic I'm teaching Tim--the apples, Tim, the apples!"
"They're not apples, miss," replied Tim.
"What are they, then?"
"They're cores, miss."
This reply was greeted with a shout of laughter, often repeated as Tim
produced the remains of four apples, one by one.
"There you are, doctor. Now, what would you do to Tim," asked Molly.
"Tell him to take what he wants and change him from a criminal to a
law-abiding citizen."
"There you are, Tim. Do you see the doctor's watch--it's a fine gold
repeater. Take it, if you are wanting a watch!"
Tim riveted his eyes on the doctor's watch-chain, and the latter put
his fingers on it to assure himself of its safety.
"Run away, Tim, and don't be stealing again," he cried. "And you come
inside with me, Molly, and eat your dinner. It will do you more good
than a ton of logic. I have business with Father Healy."
The children scattered in all directions, saving for a group around Tim
O'Neill. To these he related an amended version of the late
conversation.
"'D'you know what sacrilege is?' says she.
"'Sacrilege!' says I, scratching my head. 'Will it be telling lies?'
"'It may be, and it may not be,' says she.
"'Then I think it is sacrilege you're after, yourself. To be telling
lies with a brother a priest is sacrilege, sure enough.'
"With that she wiped her eyes with the back of one hand. I think it's
shamed she is." A burst of laughter rewarded the young sinner, and he
darted off for home to gobble down a cold dinner.
"Is Michael O'Connor worse?" asked Molly, anxiously.
"He is dying," replied the doctor.
"What will Kathleen and Desmond do?"
"Desmond can battle for himself, but Kathleen's future needs
consideration."
"Why not go to the Quirks, at Layton?"
"I would not allow Kathleen O'Connor to go to everybody. I must discuss
the matter with Father Healy," replied Doctor Marsh.