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Show .Our Boys and Girls... EDITED BY AUNT BUSY. This department is conducted solely in the inter-r inter-r sts of our girl arid boy readers. Aunt Busy is glad to hear any time from the rupees and nephews who read this pape, and to give ihem all the advice and help in her power. Write on one side of the paper only. Do not havo letters too lone. Original stories and verses will be gladly received and carefully edited. The manuscripts of contributions not accepted will be returned. Address a 1! letters to Aunt Busy, Inter'mountain Catholic, Salt Lake City. J AITXT BUSY HAS HER SAY. Dear Nieces and Xephews : Aunt Busy is anxiously anx-iously waiting to hear from the girls and hoys about the holy pictures she mailed the first of the week. If the addresses sent to Aunt Busy were not. correct, she cannot be responsible if the pictures are not received. Lovingly. AUNT BUSY. A MOTHER'S PRAYER. A Sequel to '"Breaking Home Ties." Frank Carroll, the great captain of industry, w-as dying. Having, by sheer force of native ability, abil-ity, raised himself from an obscure breaker bov to a commanding figure in the world of affairs,' he Vas wont to be very frank in his dealings with his fel-'ow-man so when the nurse's reticence aroused his suspicions he sent for the old family physician and demanded that the truth be told. "Well, I regret to inform you, sir," the kindly, though blunt, doctor said, "that your hours are , numbered. The operation was successful, but blood poisoning has set in, destroying all hope of recovery." recov-ery." With wonderful self-control the magnate, whose name was a power on Wall street, smiled grimly and prepared to face the inevitable. Though thoroughly thor-oughly trained in Christian truth when a boy at his mother's knee, he had learned to forget God in his mad rush for wealth and power. Having extinguished extin-guished the last spark of faith in his soul by delving delv-ing into the materialistic literature so prevalent in our day he had convinced himself finally that man's destiny ends with the grave. His soul was indeed j a helpless, hopeless, rudderless wreck drifting aimlessly aim-lessly upon the dark ocean of infidelity. Yet even then there was at work a force, sweet and strong enough to soften the eternal justice of an angry God. for nothing under heaven is so potent as a mother's prayer. . The long June afternoon was drawing to a close, and during the temporary absence of the trained nurse the patient turned wearily upon his pillow to see the sun set for, perhaps, his last time. A dreamy stillness was in the air as if God had once more blessed the beautiful earth. The western sky was ablaze with resplendent glory; a few fleecy clouds were floating in the mellow glow like fairy ships upon a golden sea ships that soon would be dismantled wrecks stranded upon the shores of night. While the dying man watched fading from the sky the light, so like his own fast-ebbing life, the little children gathered in the village church and began chanting the Litany in honor of the Sacred Sa-cred Heart. The present was instantly forgotten, j the singing of that old, familiar chant carried the dying magnate's thoughts back to the mining ham- ' let of Harleigh. where he had spent his happiest i days. He recalled the "First Friday" devotions long ago, when he and his playmates assembled in the wayside chapel to sing the praises of the Sacred Sa-cred Heart and to recite the Rosary in honor of our Blessed Mother. He recalled, too, his early struggles, strug-gles, as a breaker bov at the mines, and how the cold water made his fingers ache on the frosty winter win-ter days. He thought of his boyhood chums, many f whom, after having attained success in other fields, had returned to marry their schoolgirl sweethearts sweet-hearts and to bear them away to city homes. He sighed at the remembrances of the noblest of them all, Father Phil, who had met death "upon the western west-ern plains, a martyr to his priestlv calling. He recalled re-called his little sister, with her wealth of sisterly affection, so unlike any other love in this world. The old school days came back, days when he used to help her climb the steep hill on the way to school during the winter they lived at Drifton. He recalled re-called the moonlit night when he parted from his sweetheart Katie, at Lattimer, little dreaming that he would never see her again in this world. Poor, gentle, trusting Katie 1 He had not meant to break her heart. If he had neglected to write, it was because he was busy building what- he thought would be their future home. But when he returned to claim his bride and carry her off in triumph to the mansion overlooking the great metropolis, they showed him her grave in the burial ground out toward to-ward Jaynesville. The world said he was rolling in wealth, but as he stood with bared head above that green mound he felt himself poor indeed. In all the lonely after years, during which he was surrounded bv the most beautiful belles of society, his heart had remained true to its early love. Yet his deepest, longest thought was of his dear old mother. Infidel though he was, he had never failed to send offerings for masses to his former pastor, now far, far away, for he felt that if there were a hereafter, he wanted his mother to be happy there. He recalled how she had called him to her bedside the night she died, and, laying her hand upon his head, had cried: "O sweet Jesus, guide and protect my boy, now and at the hour of death!" This was the last arrow in memory's quiver, and it went straight home, dispelling the dark clouds of infidelity gathered about the dying man's soul. Overwhelmed by the awful doom which he now saw impending, the poor penitent whispered, in a voice broken with sobs: "O God. have mercy upon me a sinner!" The tired eyes closed in tears, a slight tremor shook the once powerful frame, the death dew gathered upon the white brow and the poor, shriven soul passed out into the night and into the light while the children sang "Miserere nobis, Do-mine!" Do-mine!" . , ' . , James F. Gallagher, in Standard Union and Times. THE TORN CASSOCK. Father S was very much attached to his al- 1ar boys. Being something of an athlete himself, he was interested in their physical as well as their spiritual welfare, and, out of his private means, had furnished them the requisites for a baseball -nine" Besides this, he had every altar boy fitted out with black, as well as white, cassocks, with sashes in white for the large boys and m red for ihe little fellows. Naturally the boys were very proud of their appearance, as they well might be, and this is what caused the trouble. ; Robert and Frank were great friends until one night at benediction, when Robert stepped on Frank's new cassock and tore it. Going to his room that evening, I ather b . heard quarreling in the yard behind the church, and on investigation found the two boys preparing for fight. After coaxing them to be friends, and using every argument to induce them to shake hands, but without effect, at last he told them to fight it out in his presence, and he would hold the light to see that it was done fair. Strange to say, they did not seem to approve of that plan, even when Father S ' encouraged them to go ahead; and after hesitating a while, Frank held out his hand and Robert shamefacedly took it. ' There was a quiet smile on the face of Father S- as the boys, walked off together. Do you know why? Sunday- Companion. |