THE LITTLE SISTERS
Time crept slowly, as it is apt to do with boys at school. To the St.
Cuthbert boys it seemed as if the year had leaden wings, but at length
the week before Christmas arrived. All were now in expectation of
coming events. If anticipation is half the joy, then most of the boys
were taking their Christmas pleasures in advance.
Already the Christmas feeling was in the atmosphere. In various
out-of-the-way places were stored bunches of holly and cedar and
laurel. At all times of the day when boys where free from lessons,
some one or other would be carrying strange wooden devices from place
to place. Now one would be seen carrying to some out-of-the-way shed
or unused classroom, wooden stars or double triangles. Another would
partially and often unsuccessfully secrete a knot of clothesline.
There never was such a demand for fine wire or binding twine.
All of which meant the mediate preparation for decorating the chapel,
study-hall, refectory, and even to some extent, the gymnasium. It was
a pretty fiction among the boys that all the preparations had to be
done in secret. It was fiction only, for the real fact was that, in
both divisions, everybody was interested and everybody knew exactly
what everybody else was doing.
None entered into the work of remotely preparing for Christmas more
heartily than Roy Henning and his friends, Bracebridge, Shealey, and
Beecham. There is a certain skill required in decorating. To some this
proficiency never comes. It is perhaps an innate quality. It had never
come to Roy Henning: He was no decorator. He could neither make a wreath
of evergreens, nor cover a device with green stuff creditably.
Owing to this defect of at least a certain kind of artistic temperament,
Henning was the subject of a good amount of banter from his friends. He
took all their teasing good-naturedly, and admitted his utter inability
to make or cover designs.
"I have been thinking--ouch!" said Henning. The last word was
spontaneous. It came from sudden pain, caused by the sharp point
of a holly leaf penetrating his finger, which member he immediately
applied to his mouth.
"By my halidom," remarked Shealey, "'tis strange!"
"Don't do it again," laughed Bracebridge, "but learn from experience
what an awful and immediate retribution follows upon such a crime.
Hast lost much blood in this encounter?"
"I think each of you fellows has a screw loose," retorted Roy, still
sucking his wounded finger. "I am sure Shealey is _non compos
mentis_."
"Sane enough to keep holly thorns out of our fingers," retorted
Shealey.
"But, fellows, I really have an idea," said Henning.
"Halt! Attention! Stand at ease! Dismiss company!" shouted Beecham
with mock gravity, and then with a military salute, he said:
"Now, colonel, I am all attention. What is it?"
"It's this, boys. It wants but five days to Christmas. Between now and
the great day all our Christmas boxes will have arrived."
"There's nothing very new in that idea," answered Jack Beecham.
"History, just at this time of the year, has the pleasantest way in
the world of repeating itself."
"You'll be accused of having brains, Jack," said Henning, "if you keep
on that way. If it is not too great a waste of gray matter, or too
violent a cerebration for you, just try to listen to me for a moment."
Jack Beecham fell against the wall, and fanned himself with his
handkerchief.
"Poor fellow! Isn't it too bad! and so near the holidays, too," he
said. "Does any one know when the first symptoms appeared?" Jack
turned to Shealey and Bracebridge. "Hadn't we better call an ambulance
at once?"
"You'll need one if you don't stop your nonsense and listen to me,"
said Roy, and he doubled up his great fist. His friends knew Roy's
blows, although given only in jest, and having no desire for sore
bones for Christmas, they were immediately all attention. Henning
laughingly relaxed his muscles and allowed his hands to fall to his
sides.
"I thought I could bring you fellows to reason," he remarked.
"We are all attention. Say on, say on," they shouted.
"My idea is this, then. When we get our Christmas boxes, we shall each
have much more than we need. Now you know the Little Sisters of the
Poor maintain a large number of men and women in their institution.
Without any settled income, don't you think it must often be a
difficult matter for them to secure enough for the old people to eat
and drink?"
"Never thought anything about it. Guess it's true, though; but how
does that affect us?"
"Just this way," said Roy. "Let us ask every boy to give something out
of his abundance to provide a feast for the old people."
"Capital idea!" shouted Bracebridge. "I do not believe there is a boy
who would refuse."
"I agree with you," said Jack.
"But the difficulty is," remarked Ambrose, "that we can not feast old
folk on cake and nuts and candy. I suppose this is about all that
comes in those boxes."
"You mistake," remarked Roy. "I am sure you will find all sorts of
cooked meats--turkeys, chickens, geese, and an unlimited supply of
canned meats and delicacies."
Bracebridge was surprised, but then he had not much experience in
college Christmas boxes. He was inclined to be slightly incredulous.
This was Ambrose's second year at St. Cuthbert's. As he had spent the
previous Christmas at home, owing to the fact that he lived but a few
miles from the college, he had not yet seen the college sights of
Christmas time.
Had he seen the hundreds of Christmas boxes arrive a few days before the
great feast; had he learned that one of the smaller study-halls had to
be converted into a temporary boxroom for the holidays; had he seen the
contents of an average Christmas box from home, he would have been
possessed by no doubt as to the possibility of the boys, presuming they
were willing, to supply the inmates of the home for the aged poor with
as bounteous a dinner as heart could desire.
The proposal appealed to the fancy of our friends. They went at once
to the President to obtain the necessary permission.
"I give you leave willingly," said the head of the college, "and
I am pleased to see my boys cultivating a spirit of charity and
considerateness for others. It will bring down God's blessing
on you all."
"Father, it wasn't our idea at all," said Jack. "It originated
with----"
"We have another permission to ask, Father," interrupted Roy Henning.
"What next?" said the President, smiling.
"We would like to be allowed to go and serve the dinner to the old
people some day during the Christmas week."
"Dear me! What would three hundred and fifty boys do there?"
"I don't mean everybody, Father."
"Whom, then?"
"Just enough to serve all their tables."
"How many inmates are there in the Home?" asked the Father.
"About two hundred, I believe," replied Beecham.
"Very well, Henning; you may select two dozen boys to go with you."
"Thank you, Father. When may the feast take place?"
"Christmas day falls on Monday this year. Suppose you arrange matters
for Wednesday. But Wednesday night there is to be the Seniors' play,
isn't there?"
"Yes, Father," said Bracebridge, "but I do not think that will
interfere. We can have the last rehearsal in the morning, if
necessary, or we can be back by three o'clock in the afternoon."
"Very good," said the genial President; "arrange everything with your
prefect; but remember the matter drops unless the response is generous
among the students. It would not do to send half a feast."
"There won't be any danger of that, Father," said Jack Beecham
confidently.
"Very well. God bless you for your charitable intentions," and they
were dismissed.
Beecham was correct. The students, almost to a man, became enthusiastic
over the proposed feast. Abundance of provisions from the boys' boxes
was donated. Every boy, instinct with the spirit of the season, gave
something and gave it willingly. Some were offended because they were
not allowed to give as much as their generosity prompted. One or two who
were inadvertently neglected were very much vexed over not being asked
to give their share. Many wondered why the beautiful idea had not
occurred to them before. Others were so certain in advance of the
success of the banquet that they then and there proposed to make it an
annual occurrence.
The little black wagon of the Sisters--and who does not know those
wagons! a familiar sight in nearly every city in the Union--made
several trips to the college on the Wednesday of Christmas week.
Hitherto the boys had paid little attention to this vehicle as it
daily drove modestly to the door of the kitchen. On this day it came
triumphantly into the boys' yard, amid the lusty cheers of the
generous-hearted lads. Even old "Mike," the driver, noted everywhere
in town for his delicious brogue, was an object of special interest.
Owing to the excitement of the occasion--the boys afterward declared
this most solemnly--the driver performed the remarkable feat of making
the old gray mare, which had seen almost as many years as her driver,
canter, actually, positively _canter_, up to the classroom door where
the provisions were stored. In the after-discussion of this startling
event authentic documents were called for, and as they were not
forthcoming the cantering incident remains an historic doubt until
this day. This old gray mare was known----
The boys would not let the two nuns load the wagon. There were too
many strong arms and willing hands for that. At last all the boxes
were on the wagon, and old "Mike" mounted his chariot once more. This
was a slow operation, for the old man's joints were stiff and he was
no longer active. When one of the boys put the lines into his knotted
rheumatic fingers, he broke through his usual taciturnity and said:
"You are good boys: good boys. God bless yees all."
"Three cheers for Mike!" shouted a lively youngster in the crowd. The
signal was taken up, and it is safe to say that the old man never
received such an ovation before in all his life.
As the leather curtain fell the cheering boys caught a last glimpse of
the faces of two smiling Sisters, jubilant over the fact that they
were carrying home an unwonted treasure for their old people. When the
wagon had driven clear of the mob of good-natured boys, Jack Beecham
ran alongside, and lifting the flap said to the Sisters:
"Twenty of us are coming by eleven o'clock to-morrow. So you are to do
no work. We are going to set the tables and serve the old people.
Please tell the Mother-Superior that she and the Sisters are to stand
by and give the orders, and we will do the rest."
And the feast itself! What a revelation the inside of the convent was
to these gay, careless, happy boys. The sight of so much pain and
suffering and dependence and resignation was to them a revelation
indeed.
To Ambrose Bracebridge, who eagerly accepted the invitation to don an
apron and turn waiter for the occasion, the scene was one of absorbing
interest. It will be remembered by those who have read the second book
of the series of three which deal with the fortunes of the St.
Cuthbert's students, that at this time Ambrose was a convert to
Catholicism of about six months' standing, and consequently had seen
little or nothing of the workings of the vast fields of practical
charity within the Catholic Church. The immense Catholic charities of
almost every imaginable kind which dot the land are so familiar to
ordinary Catholics that they scarcely cause comment or notice. To
Ambrose Bracebridge all was new and wonderful. As a waiter on the old
people he did not prove a success. He did not do much serving, but spent
most of his time watching the old people feasting, and the good Sisters
looking after their comfort.
"A penny for your thoughts," said the chaplain of the institution as
he came up to Ambrose.
"I was thinking, Father," said Ambrose, amid the rattle of knives and
forks, "what a wonderful charity this is."
"Yes? What impresses you most deeply?"
"The retiring modesty of the Sisters, I think, and the wonderful way
they have of managing these old people."
"Anything else?"
"Yes, I am impressed with the docility and evident gratitude these old
people show toward the Sisters. How is the institution supported,
Father?"
"By the charity of all classes. Have you not often seen the Sisters'
modest wagon on the streets? It seems to me that this one charity has
touched the tender spot in the heart of the American people. Did you
ever know a merchant, or a hotel manager, Catholic or non-Catholic, to
refuse the Sisters?"
"Never," replied the boy.
"Yet, after all, this is Catholic charity working in only one
direction. Did you ever realize what the Catholic Church is doing for
the State in this country? It seems to me that the State would be
simply overwhelmed if all the Catholic orphanages, asylums, hospitals,
academies, protectories, deaf-mute institutes, and, above all, the
vast system of parochial schools, which make, literally, a network of
Catholic charity over the land--if, I say, all these were closed and
the State had to do the work."
"Some, of pessimistic view," continued the chaplain, who was evidently
quite optimistic in his own views, "are always grumbling over the fact
that many non-Catholic institutions of learning are so richly endowed,
and that Catholics of the country are doing nothing for education. I
believe there never was a greater mistake. It is true that, as yet,
there are few large Catholic endowments. They will come in time. The
money paid by Catholics in the interest of Catholic education--and,
mind you, at the same time they are paying their pro rata share of
taxes for the support of all secular institutions, including the
public schools--the money paid by Catholics, I say, throughout the
country, makes a magnificent showing when compared to the few highly
endowed secular universities."
"Is not this a rather optimistic view, Father?" asked Bracebridge.
"I do not think so," was the reply. "Ponder over it, and you will see
that what I say is correct."
"Here, you lazy rascal--oh! excuse me, Father--here, Ambrose, you lazy
rascal, get some of that cranberry sauce from that table. You would
not earn your salt as a waiter, Brosie," and Roy Henning, red-faced
and excitedly busy, laughingly pushed Ambrose in the direction of the
sideboard.
Thus the talk with the chaplain was abruptly broken off. Nevertheless,
Bracebridge had received much food for thought for future days. He
pondered to good effect, and the result was that his graduation speech
at the end of that year was on "Catholicity, a State Aid," which was
subsequently the cause of much comment.
One event occurred during the old folks' dinner which was of great
interest to some of our friends. Roy Henning, during the latter part
of the feast, when the demand for the services of the voluntary
waiters was not so urgent, frequently passed a few words with the
chaplain who had acted as a sort of honorary general superintendent of
the banquet.
On one of these occasions Jack Beecham happened to be passing with a
plate of fruit for the table in one direction, and Bracebridge was
carrying something in the opposite. Both were near enough to
inadvertently hear portions of what appeared to the priest to be a
very interesting revelation. Both boys heard the end of a sentence:
"Seminary! You?"
"Yes, Father, please God."
"When?"
"Next year."
"For this diocese?"
"No, my own."
"Ah! I am sorry."
Bracebridge and Beecham exchanged glances as they passed each other.
What a revelation was here for both in regard to Henning's conduct.
Did not this explain a thousand things?
As soon as the services of the two amateur waiters could be dispensed
with, they came together in one corner of the room, and while wiping
their fingers on the aprons the thoughtful Sisters had provided for
them, they eagerly discussed their accidental discovery, but in a
rather curious fashion.
"Please, Brosie, give me a good kick," said Jack.
"Why?" asked his companion.
"Just to think, numskulls that we are, that we never thought just this
about dear old Roy."
"I do not see how we could. Roy never gave us the slightest hint."
"No, but if we were not such ninnies--Oh! I say, Ambrose, do you think
it is true?"
"No doubt of it. 'Seminary--next year--his own diocese' tells the tale
most conclusively for me."
"I'm so glad! If any one of us fellows is worthy of being a priest, it
surely is Roy."
"Amen. But why has he kept it such a secret? Now all his actions are
clear to me, although I confess I think some of them are mistaken or
ill-advised."
"I won't admit that until I know more," remarked loyal Jack.
"That's right, too. But knowing what we now know, we can make things
much pleasanter for Roy than they have been so far this year."
"Yes; if only for that I am glad we were involuntary eavesdroppers."