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Show I ...Our soys and 0irl$... j EDI. ED gy AUNT BUSY. l Th,s department Is conducted poIp'v m ,k . II est of cur pirl and boy readers R th 1IUer' them fU the advice M Write on cne Efle of the paper only. Do not have letterR too lone. Orijrlnal stories and verse w?i . and carefully edited be eIa.dIjr receive The manuscripts of contr'h,Hn. be returned. contribution not accepted win f f Address all letters to itmt r ) M Catholic. Salt TVke c'tr 7' Intenountaia ' ' " THE WAYOFTHE LORD. ,4 T(,An"a T- S?dljei l Eenziger's Magazine.) t The era was lashej into fury, breaking into tre- mendous white-capped waves that rushed far in-and in-and over the smooth sand. The sea-birds, flyin low against a hind sky, gave token that the storm was at hand the equinoctial storm that, in thq late September, drove all the village folk indoors? and there, upon the Long Island coast, reigned supreme for two or three consecutive days p e Ada Merrill stood arm in arm with her cousin Mary Gardner, enjoying the wild rage of the e e-' ments, the thundering waves, the rising wind, the .rawhng foam, and the sense of comimf storm and inflict m the air. Most of all she was rejoicing S the remembrance that during these two or three days of prospective tempest their dwelling would be more cosy and comfortable than ever, and that if they had to venture forth at all, it should be onlv for a hasty walk m spite of the weather, to give a new zest to life indoors.. And then there would be " visitors. - lor the actual impossibility of accomplishing accom-plishing anything, whether work or play out of doors caused visitors to come every evening or part of each ramy afternoon. h "The equinoctial is almost sure to break this evening suggested Mary Gardner, in her soft, low voice, that harmonized so well with her gentle face quiet ,mouse-like manner, and deprecating brown eyes, and as she spoke she glanced smilingly at her cousin with the pink and white rose-leaf tints, the dark blue eyes and raven hair. "Yes, it will surely break tonight,". Ada answered an-swered and we shall be practically prisoners for three days." s Both laugher, as if they found the prospect verv :: ) far from depressing, and looked away out over the sea-line Neither confided to the other in so many words the secret anticipation that was in the k ,vmi.nd ? e&ch but botk ere fully aware that it existed. j aS Wdl say ?ood-DTe to the beach " said Ada, 'for I scarcely suppose we shall venture so far in the weather that is coming." So vain is human foresight. "Do you remember," asked Mary, her brows con-f con-f , tractmg into thoughtfulness. "a little poem that Aunt Lucy used to make us recite when we were children 'The Way of the Lord' ?" . "9f ,fourse 1 remember it," cried Ada, enthusiastically, enthu-siastically, "here it is: "In fair sunshine, His ways we bless, The Lord who rules above, His glory shining o'er the earth, Reflects His tender love. "In wind and storm. His ways we sec, And bowing we adore. Behind their raging is His light, Which shines forevermore. "And should dark clouds obscure our path, That weeping we deplore, j Through darkness we shall see the cross, And bowing, we'll adore." A slight solemnity crept into the thoughts of both girls, a shadow fell upon the brightness of their faces. But perhaps it was only the reflection of that sky which momentarily became more lowering. low-ering. The storm had broken, and with a violence unprecedented un-precedented almost in that region. The tides, phenomenally phe-nomenally high, had exceeded all boundaries and swept before them boardwalks, fences, the arbors that had been put up for summer occupation upon the beach, and such belated bathing houses or boats as their owners had been foolish enough to leave within reach of the water. Over the sea line hung tho clouds, dark and heavily charged with electricity, electric-ity, phosphorescent lights played upon the surface of the waves, and the northwest blast, chilling and T' cold, sremed to drive before it the last vestige of summer. v Within the dwelling whore the two girls lived with their maiden aunt, Miss Lucy Merrill, the heavy curtains were drawn tight to shut out the rage of the elements, a tire upon the hearth leaped fi':d glowed, the lamp shed its white radiance on books ar;d embroidery and the polished surface of ni"- pisnc. At the center table sat Mary Gardner, I(.fiiy K-rting her many colored threads, drawing her i:cf;dle in and out through a vine of wild roses which she was embroidering. In a corner near the hearth sj.1 the aunt, deaf, half-blind, and already showing the pathetic helplessness of advancing age in her attitude, while the glint of her needles caught the glo-v of the burning logs. Ada Merrill stood upon the hearth, poking the hgs into a blaze, so as to send a cheerful radiance ov( r the whole rpartment. She wore a tight-fitting gown dark red, that with a certain artistic fit-ne.-s she hrd donned as an offset to that outer dreariness. drear-iness. It f-howed her figure to advantage, and emphasized em-phasized the raven glossiness of her hair, find the delicate tints of her complexion. Her foot upon the fender, she listened with a half smile upon her lips to the fierce, howling winds that shook the very dwelling, seeming to threaten its destruction, and to the pitiless splash of the rain against the long, French windows, and upon the veranda roof. Down lower upon the soaked earth, and the gravel path, it sounded like the footsteps of many people. In her heart she was thinking that all the warring of the elements would be powerless to keep him, to keep them, from coming.. L p, The latch of the gate was lifted, there were 11 quick steps upon the pathway. The flush deepened If upon Adas cheek, and the laugh reached upwards into her eyes, as she turned toward her companion. "Here they are!' she cried, and on the pale face ; at the table appeared two spots of color, and a re- sponive smile in the dark eyes. In another instant in-stant 1 he knocker sounded at the front door, and two dark figures stood in the hall. They began at once to divest themselves of dripping mackintoshes and rubber booth. Even their faces and hair were wet. The old aunt looked out from her corner and '"Mercy on us, boys, you must be literally drowned!" "No. no,. Miss Lucy only moistened a Jittle. L answered the taller of the newcomers, while Ada added her protest to that of her aunt : . ' "You bad boys," she scolded, "to come out on such a night." . "We have been looking forward to this for a long time " replied the same speaker, advancing into the rom ami absorbing ns it were, in one eager glance everv detail of the apartment. His eye rested longest long-est however, on the radiant figure by the hearth, sill, ri16 WCnt1 and 6tood beside her, the two made a splendid couple. He in the very prime of man-ood man-ood broad-shouldered, strong and athletic, with the bronze hue of health upon his cheek, seeming to Siod8 CIPhasize the girl's radiant wo- "It is like heaven to get here," he said; "we were so lonely over at the house, just the two of us. W eren't we, Hal ?" . . The shorter and fairer man, who had already ensconced himself near the quiet worker at the tame, ta-me, assented warmly, bearing equal testimony to the delight with which this haven had been reached, -tie had a keen, clever face, this vounger brother, suggesting a quiet strength in contrast to his brothel broth-el s boyish eagerness and brightness of expression. elore the visitors settled themselves for an evening even-ing ol pure enjoyment, they produced a box, containing con-taining such sweetmeats as the village shop afforded. Just the usual village candy," said the elder brother. "I hope you won't despise it." 'Despise it!" cried Ada, "why, this fresh cocoa-nut cocoa-nut is a feast for the gods." And the girl daintily chose from the pink and white mass before her, a morsel of the delectable stuff, which her aunt had laughingly declined on the score of digestion, but winch Mary accepted with as keen an appreciation as her own. m The old aunt, with the last flicker of her waning sight, knitted and knitted. So expert was she at the gentle art, that she always declared that she could continue her favorite employment, even if she became entirely blind. And into her rows and stitches, plain and purled, she knit dreams of her own, old thoughts and fancies, snatches of memory, fragments of forgotten songs, the cadences of silent voices, and ever and above all the melody of that love poem which she perceived to be going on before her eyes. Meanwhile, the storm raged louder and fiercer. Sometimes it made the girls shudder even in their secure retreat. "It isnt a storm at all, but a hurricane," said Ada. and isn't that thunder terrific ?" ''We will have two or three days of these storms," declared the elder brother, with something like exultation ex-ultation in his tone. "'Don't you remember last year and the year before that, almost ever since we were children ? Miss Lucy always let us come here for the equinoctial storm, and Hal and I have got to think it the pleasantest time of the year." "Yes, Drew has been talking of nothing else." agreed the brother at the table, who was busy sorting sort-ing embroidery silks, "and always found me a good listener." "We went down to the beach this afternoon," said Mary, "to see the storm coming." "And we fell into a pious vein," added Ada, gleefully, glee-fully, "and what do you think we were reciting? The old verses that auntie taught us." "The Way of the Lord !" exclaimed Drew, with enthusiasm, "why, every time the equinoctial comes comes on, Hal and I say it over. It always reminds us of this house and Miss Lucy teaching it to us youngsters on every stormy day." Miss Lucy chuckled and knitted faster than ever. "I used to wonder exactly what it meant," said Hal slowly, laying the silks in neat piles beside him. 'But you know now," exclaimed Ada. Both had unconsciously raised their voices, so as to be heard by Miss Lucy in her corner, and who now interposed: inter-posed: "No, children you will have to be as old as I am before you know that." Silence fell upon the group with these words, and without there seemed to be a momentary lull in the storm. The flashes of lightning became less frequent, fre-quent, and the wind died into a sullen murmuring. Presently conversation began again, and the brothers, broth-ers, becoming each absorbed in what he was saying to the girl beside him, paid little heed to what was going on outside. Had the aunt's hearing been acute, she might have heard through the growling of the tempest, many pretty phrases, wherein youthful youth-ful love expressed its present happiness, and future hopes. But it was not destined that this little drama of yoi.thful love and domestic peace should remain uninterrupted. In the noises of the storm which had begun to rage again with greater violence, those within the room failed to hear the tramping of hurried feet on the path outside, even when they reached the veranda, so that they were startled by the sound of loud and continued knocking upon the outer door. The girls turned pale. The aunt, who did not hear, pursued her knitting placidly, until she saw that the four had arisen and were regarding regard-ing one another with surprise and consternation. "Who can it be at this hour and in such wcjiher?" cried Ada. ! "We shall soon see," said the young men simultaneously, simul-taneously, as they flew to open the door. The girls stood still with clasped hands, trembling, though the: scarce knew why. The aunt, perceiving that something was amiss, dropped her knitting needles and peered with anxious glance into the hallway. Scarcely was the key turned, when the door burst open, from the very force of the wind, the lamp in the hall flickered, and the roaring of the wind and the noise of the heavy rain penetrated the apartment with the icy northern blast. A voice was heard, -m,rc portentous even than the voice of the storm: "For God's sake, come quickly, Master Andrew and Master Harry. You're wanted at the beach. There's a schooner struggling out in the water and we're going to man a boat and see what we can do." "We'll go at once." cried the two brave brothers. They were accounted among the best sailors thereabouts, there-abouts, these handsome and fearless lads, and their services were invaluable just then. The girls made no remonstrance. They knew that it had to be, but into their minds flashed, by a common impulse, the concluding lines of that little bit of poetry learned long ago in their childish days: "Through darkness we shall see the cross, And bowing, we'll adore." The old aunt, having been made to understand what was impending, cried: "Have you got your scapulars, boys?" "Yes, yes, Miss Lucy," answered the two, simultaneously, simul-taneously, "and our beads in our pockets." "Don't forget your Act of Contrition before going go-ing into danger," warned the old woman earnestly. "No, no, we won't forget," promised the young men "and we were at Communion yesterday morn- The two were already in the passage, struggling into their rain coats, and drawing on their rubber boots. Drew's face had a high, almost exalted look upon it, while Hal's, paler and graver, was none the less determined. "Pray for us, Miss Lucy," the latter said, and. wringing the girls' hands in a quick, farewell grasp, the brothers rushed through the door, which it was difficult to close after them even with the assistance of the two maid servants. Swift steps' were heard upon the gravel path, and at the gate two flying figures paused an instant to wave to the girls, who had drawn aside the curtains and were watching their departure. The lamplight and firelight streamed forth from the window, revealing re-vealing the young men fully before they disappeared disap-peared into the darkness. Ada stood still for a few moments, her hand upon Marys shoulder, gaving at the sky that was a lurid yellow, and listening to the wind as it swept over the lowlands and the sea. "I must go," said she, at last. "Where?" asked Mary, in consternation. "To the beach, of course," Ada answered, "I could never endure the suspense of waiting here, and perhaps we may be of use." The more timid girl shrank a second, appalled at the suggestion. Then she said bravely: "You are right. It would be worse waiting here." The aunt strove to dissuade them both at first from what seemed ft hazardous undertaking, but something in their faces checked the words upon her lips. Both girls kissed her as though they were taking a solemn farewell, and they inquired if she would be too lonely. "Not at all," she answered, "with two servants in the house. All my anxiety will be for you and the boys." And as the two went to make ready, donning short skirts, raincoats and motor caps tied securely over their heads, the aunt, left alone in the firelight, exchanged her knitting needles for a Rosary. There was a slight lull in the tempest which gave the girls confidence, though they had occasionally to turn back or cling to fences as they passed. All around them were the devastating traces of the storm, uprooted up-rooted trees lying across the road, and the fragments frag-ments of fences and outhouses. Occasionally, it seemed to Ada and her cousin, as if the trees still standing above their heads must come down upon them, or as if they would be bodily lifted up and carried off their feet. But at last they found themselves at their destination. Stretched before them were the sands of the shore, gray and sodden from the rain that had perforated them with innumerable tiny holes. Beyond was the waste of waters, the breakers hurling themselves with resounding re-sounding fury on the land, and casting showers.of white foam in every direction. A number of men with lantern! were moving about the beach, and in a boat that had just put out the girls could dimly perceive, through the murky darkness, the figures, indistinguishable one from another, an-other, of those who manned it. The watchers knew, as they clung together and waited helplessly that among them were the two who had so lately passed through the gate waving their hands in farewell. "This is no place for womenfolk," muttered a stern old sea-dog, who flashed his lantern into their faces "Best get home, as quick as you kin." "No," answered Ada, resolutely. "If that boat weathers the storm, and brings back the others," and she pointed to where a signal light showed the location of the doomed vessel "there may be some- ' thing that we can do." . I "There's no one but God Almighty that kin do j anything, Miss Merrill," said the man, speaking! with more respect as he recognized her, "and it's my i belief that neither one nor other of them crafts will ever touch land agin." And so it proved, though the girls, with pallid faces, shudderingly repudiated the prophecy, and 1 watched with strained eyes till the dawn broke on ' a wild, weird scene, strewn with strange wreckage. 1 and a sullen sea, subsided now to comparative calm t But no mortal eye saw ever again a vestige of that j struggling vessel that had been swallowed up far out in the offing, or of those who had gone forth to give their lives for their fellowmen. : A M. X .. .. I 7S- In the parlor of a convent sat a Sister of Char- ' ity, conversing with a smaller woman, who, despite ; her secular dress, somehow suggested a similarity of aims and interests with her of the conventional garb. "Ij is ius ten years ago, Mary," said the Sister, but I can never help shuddering when this time of year comes round, and people speak lightly of the equinoctial storms." "How we use'd-to look forward to them!" said Mary, wistfully. , "Yes, in the thoughtlessness of youth until that dreadful night." The eyes of the Eeligious filled With tears, as she continued : "But in spite of all we suffered then, I have always al-ways felt that it was very truly 'the way of the Lord.' For our two brave boys, so well prepared-to go, an early death, and for us what God wished. 1 ou, with your charities and the splendid home you have founded, and I an humble Sister of Charity, . doing my little share in caring for God's poor. How delighted, after all, poor aunt would have been." "I don't think she ever recovered from the shock," said Mary, who still had her moments, perhaps, per-haps, of revolt, or at least regret for what had been. "It hastened her end, I am sure," agreed the Sister, Sis-ter, "but the end could not have been very far off in any case, and we can't grudge her having gone a littlo sooner to heaven." She laid her hand affectionately upon Mary's shoulder as she added gently: "You wouldn't have had it different, would you, " dear?" , r "No," answered Mary, whose brow was knitted fi into a frown of deep thought, "I suppose not." R "His ways we'll still adore," quoted the Sister, K for believe me, dear, He who doeth all things well ft has brought us, every one, to the greater happiness, j.5 Aunt Lucy has gone home, we have found peace, ti and as for the rest, 'greater love hath no man than h this, that he lay down his life for others.' " H t,i |