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Show I ...Our Boys and Girls... ! EDITED BY AUNT BUSY. K This department Is conducted solely in the Inter I ,gts of our girl ana boy readers. I Aunt Busy is alad to hear any tlmo from th fi!pces nnfl nephews xrho read this page, and to glvt ihfm all the advice and help !n her power, i Wrlt on one side of the paper only. Do not have letters too Ion-. Original stories and verses will be gladly receive I and carefully edited. 1 The manuscripts of contributions not accepted win i be returned. Address all letters te Aunt Busy. IntermountaJ Cstholic, Salt Lak City. JOHN M 'LEAN'S CONVERSION. I "Now, Uncle, tonight you must tell rue. the ..ry. You remember that, when I was here last, yu promised to tell it the very next time I came." punjild MacAIlistcr, the man whom I addressed . -I iu'le'' (he was "Uncle" to everyone within a ,,i.iius of five miles) smiled indulgently as he set-tin set-tin himself in his chair and lit his pipe. It was tic ..rdinary favor 1 aked; for the old Highlander, taikiifive enough on most subjects, had never before be-fore been prevailed. on to relate this particular incident. in-cident. It is no wonder, then, that I felt amply n-wiirded for all the sacrifices I had made in cultivating cul-tivating old Donald's friendship. Had I not left my companions scores of times to sit with him while be recounted some legend of his native Scot-;iu. Scot-;iu. or a story of his pioneer days in the wilds of ( ai Breton ( And had I not been fortunate rin mgh to drop in cn him on more than one occasion occa-sion when his supply of tobacco had run short and jk ! was no one on hand to fetch some from the uiLigc store? I3,v these and many other little at- 0 n' ion I had finally got his promise to tell me iiic -tory, which he had kept to himself for forty vmr. So be began. Well, well! I suppose I must keep my promise iind n il you about John MacLean's conversion. It U over forty years since he died, and I was then living with Ir'ather Angus MacDonald. That was i year or two after we came from Scotland. Father Angu was appointed to this parish as soon as lie iinif to this country, and nothing would staisfy liim but that I should stay with him. It was a j.ntiy rough country then, I can assure you; yet J don't think I have been happier since than I wii- during the three years I spent with Father Angu. The people were so good and kind, such a pirit of helpfulness prevailed, that it was not hard in lip cheerful, even if 1 had looked my last on ll.innie Scotland. Two or three evenings each week iiic young people would gather together, at a different dif-ferent bouse each night, until they had made the round f the settlement, and then there would be soups and stories, the music of the pipes, and sometimes a reel to limber up our legs. And then ihere was what we called the "Coommon," where we boys mot to try our skill at jumping and putting put-ting the shot and tossing the caber. We often had visitors from some of the other settlements. The young men particularly used to mine to share in our sports. It was shortly after my arrival that John MacLean began to visit from (ilea Isla. Ah, but he was a fine figure of a man, ihis same John MacLean! Tali and broad-shoul-dned be was; straight as a pire tree, and active and supple as a mountain cat. There was not a youth in our settlement who was his equal at run-nine run-nine or leaping; and even big Sandy MacLenhanf who never met his match at Highland games, 'had all be could do to hold his own. And he was so iiK-hearted and good-natured that no one could help liking him, though he was a Protestant. And let nie tell you that religious feeling ran a great deal higher then than it does now. The memory 1 f the persecution which had sent the first Catholic Cath-olic settlers across the sea for their religion's sake w;is still fresh. The young men who had voted for the first Catholic to sit in a Parliament in the Briti-h Empire since the Reformation, were only middle-aged then. So you see it is not surprising that there was a good deal of distrust of their Trot- stant neighbors on the part of the Catholics; while the Protestants, who had had the upper hand so long, looked down on the Catholics. But no one e. uld distrust or dislike John MacLean. There was no narrowness or bigotry about him, though he wn n staunch enough Presbyterian, and always ready to stand up for his creed. As a good many "1" the uld folks were ''strong" on religious ques-liniis. ques-liniis. ho found plenty opportunities of doing this, and so came in for a good deal. of free instruction ii "atholic doctrine. Well, things went on in this way for a couple if years. We heard rumors that the good Pres-lyteriiais Pres-lyteriiais of Glen Isla were much shocked at the intimacy of one of their number with the Papists But John MacLean gave no sign. The only change we noticed in him was that he spent less time on the Common, and was oftener found talking to the "Id men or to Father Angus. J low well I remember his last visit! It was on a Sunday evening, a few weeks before Easter. It rained about dusk, so we persuaded John to regain re-gain over night. It continued to rain all that day, uud the next day until dark. He waited until late Miti moon for the weather to clear up. Then, in !'!! of ,,ur remonstrances, he mounted his horse tn:d rode away. Th" road to (Jleii Isla leads over the River Ness, i'- you know. When John readied the river, he b'tind -that the wooden bridge which spanned it had l"-en earned away. There was a ford higher up; : :j i. a- he did not wish to turn back, he resolved vUk the passage. Perhaps he would have suc-''eded. suc-''eded. had it not been that his horse, heated and l'-i-spirinir. suecumbed to the cold, and sank under 'iiu in mid stream. Tie was a splendid swimmer; Mid Mie.eeded, after a terrible struggle, in getting t" -V.re. In his exhausted condition he could h; r ! walk, and barely managed to reach the near-ho, near-ho, is,., a mile away. The next we heard of him h': v.-as very ill. I am sure that neither storms nor floods would ta"r kept us from going to see our friend, had we -ii-ht that his illness was serious. But, some-'"w. some-'"w. the possibility of poor John's dying never eiit. -rod our beads At the worst, it could mean "i '.v that we should not see him for a week or two.' iiuring the next few days we heard from him ;" 'juently. Now he was said to be better; another 'inn- there was no change in his condition; but al-:'.' al-:'.' he was not considered to be in any danger. 1 o' n late in the evening on Holy Saturday Father -U.us sent for me (I was helping one of the neigh-'or- with bis wood-cutting) and said: "Konald, I am going on a sick call, and I want you m come with me, for I do not know the road." "Why, Father, surely you know every road and 'ypath in the parish by this time?" "Surely I do' answered Fatther Angus; "but, '"venheless, this is a road I have never traveled. 1 am going to Glen Isla to see John MacLean. He i- dying." ' I lying T I exclaimed. "It was only yesterday . tluit I saw a neighbor of his and he told me John was better. And if he is dying, its the minister from Loch Carron he'll want." ''Whatever was his condition yesterday, he is dying now. And it is not the minister from Loch Carron he wants. So if you are coming with me, you had better lose no time. The road, I am told, is not fit for riding. We shall have to walk." Well, I got ready, and Ave started about dark. I had been so confused by the suddenness with which Father Angus had sprung his news on me that we were well on our way before I began to think it strange that he had not made the messenger mes-senger who came from Glen Isla wait for him, instead in-stead of taking me from my work. And I wondered won-dered who the messenger could have been; for there was not a Catholic from one end of Glen Isla to the other, and it was not likely that any of our own folk had been there. Then I fell to thinking think-ing of what our reception would be like ; and when' I called to mind all that I had heard of the inveterate invet-erate bigotiy of 'the Glen Isla folk, I trembled at the thought of what the consequences might be. I knew that, in their blind hatred of everything Catholic, they would show scant courtesy to the priest who thus dared to enter the fold and attempt at-tempt to carry off, under their very eyes, one of the choicest of the flock. This fear grew upon me to such an extent that I finally broke the silence we had thus far maintained, and confided to Father Angus. He replied: "Have no fear. I know the bigotry of these men, and that perhaps my life may be in danger if they discover my mission. But we will see John MacLean tonight and return home in safety. Trust in God. He will make the way smooth for us. I shall bear the Blessed Sacrament Sacra-ment with me." Seeing Father Angus so confident, I had no doubt but that he had some plan to outwit the friends of John MacLean and reach his bedside unperceived. You may well believe that it did not relieve the tension of my nerves to see him walk up to the door, after I had pointed out the house, and begin fumbling for the latch. I stumbled in after lim. The fear of a horrible, undefined something some-thing which might befall us had taken such a hold on my mind that I involuntarily closed my eyes as I went through the door. When I opened them I found myself standing in the kitchen. Father Angus was not to be seen; but I could hear a low murmur of voices in an adjoining room, which told me he was busy with his convert. On benches and chairs about the fireplace were five or six men two of them brothers of the dying man; the others friends, who had come to share the last watches in the house of death. How could the priest have got past them into the sick room? And how was it that not a sound came from any of them as I advanced ad-vanced slowly toward the fireplace ? I became even more frightened than I was before at this singular sin-gular reception, so different from what I had expected. ex-pected. Then, as the firelight, leaping up, played for a moment on the faces of the group, I saw the reason. Every man in the room was as sound asleep as if they had been drugged. They slept on while I went "in to see the waters of baptism poured on the head of John MacLean; still slept when, after an interval, during which he made his confession, con-fession, I went in again while he received, for the first and last time, the Blessed Eucharist and was anointed; and were still sleeping an hour later, when, after he had given up his soul to God, we left the house and started home. We were almost halfway home before Father Angus broke the silence. Then he said: "Well, we have done a good night's work, Donald; Don-ald; my friend. ' It should be a happy Easter for us." -"It is. wonderful," I answered, "how mueh good there must have been in John MacLean to meat such grace." . "Did you ever notice how reverently he always spoke of the Mother of God ? Those who love and reverence the Blessed Virgin will never want ' for aid in the hour of need. John MacLean, though a Protestant, did so when he was alive. For his reward re-ward he will celebrate Easter with her in heaven." I have never been able to find out how Father Angus knew of the serious turn John MacLean's illness had taken. None of our folks had been to Glen Isla that day, nor for many months before; and no one had seen any strangers about who might have brought word. Of course, I never dared to ask Father Angus himself, but I have my own opinion. Truly the Blessed Virgin has a watchful eye for her children, and they never, as Father Angus said, want for aid in the hour of need. Sylvestre Perry, in Ave Maria. |