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Show ) SL ANTHONY'S CLOCK. f! - J I BT DAWN GRAYE. ' - Long, long ago, a legend tells us, there lived in the old French village of i j;ninal a skillful clockmaster named I .ntoine Turenne. His fame had spread j far and wide that the people of Xancy, Dumremy. and even Strassburg, who came to Epina! on monthly market y never failed to visit his shop in thf Grande Hue to inspect the latest f novelties his genius had evolved. For J 'ere Turenne was a human spider- never idle, never discouraged; spinning whs to calch Time in. "Time," said 3 !. "is one of th most precious things ' ihat Hie good God has entrusted to us. i.Ve must do our best, our most, with H while we can divide it into moments I ' ;ircd hours; for, ere we know, it will have slipped away from us and become . curnity." 1 About the noon of his life Pere An- j t.iine had begun the work which had ,; been his heart's dream from boyhood I ihe construction of a huge clock, full of ! hidden springs and elaborate mechan-? mechan-? j;n. which, when completed, should l fid-'rn the steeple of his native village tj Mirch. With this pious thought ever in mind, he labored for years, testing !' one, now another fancy; and wel-I wel-I coming with a pleasant smile those I curious neighbors who paused at his voik room doors to watch him. "How does my clock go? It does not ! po at all yet," he would respond cheer- ;!y. "But with heaven's blessings, it vill some day. I think, though, I have r ; ji mtoeu upiill 1 1, i Mian lie i f-o-.-ry when it's done. We have grown old together, my clock and I. It is be- come a friend a part of me. When I you hear it summoning you to holy ; j!i;tss some morning, after I have lain J under many seasons of green grass and I innnonellcs, maybe you will remember say: 'There is Pre Antojno ask- inc us to pray for the repose of his l4 j-nil, on our way.' " y And they would answer: "Readily ' 1 v .11 we do that, neighbor. But if you I j p.vr so long upon it as you have already j l.-en. 'tis our children, and our chil- : cirru s children whom it will be remind- A inn 10 pray for our souls." "Circies are the only tilings in -the- !' , i uni'l world that have no ends," persisted per-sisted Turenne. "My clock, you see, is ' I And. in truth, news went forth at S l.isi that the wonderful clock was fin- ishd: that, mounted temporarily in ourtvard of his dwelling, it would sound its first stroke at noon one day, I in Advent. ' Long before the time designated the I villagers began to assemble. Tall and ? imposing in his Fu'-dny blouse and cap, I ;';... Antoine moved among them, his honest eyes l'uil joy and ittle Antoinette, An-toinette, his favorite grandchild. ; p-r, ln-d like a birl upon his broad ; shoulder. , "It is 'Toinette who has helped me to finish it." he said, drawing her gol- '. dm head against his silver one. "In , to l.iuph for me when I was discour- j a'd. to sing for me while I worked. I hav done more than in all my life pre vious. Yes, neighbors, it is 'Toinette's cin,.. ; riot so, sweetheart?" "N. grandpere:" cried the child. "It i ih3 Rood God's clock, beeaus? there is a ' t oss on top like there is on top of Iiis Ivoise. And, dear grandpere. hush!" j's a low rumbling made it-self heard. ? "Listf-n! O grandpere, look! It is going! I To speak!" And I wish I could tell you all that J mravelous clock said and did. There ; v.p;e twelve doors, one of which I opened at each stroke of the bell. I W e may aimagine how grand it must ' have been, when all swung back in J suTfssion ,and scenes within were re- vaied: the Adoration of the Magi; a f cork that flapped its real feather wings ; find crowed thrice: our Lord on the ; row of a rocking boat, stilling the v.;ives of the sea; the twelve apostles I in stately procession: and for the last I f all, dar Pt. Anthony of Padua f J-n . !ing with outstretched arms before ision of the Christ-child. In copying copy-ing that scene from a picture that hung i above his bed, Pere Turenne had been f inspired with tenderest devotion. Never ' h;ii be been happier than when, after j repeated elf oris, he succeeded in ad- f jesting the delicate springs so that "i both arms would be extended simul- j tneously. I Little 'Toinettes had clapped her wee i bail 's with ever-increasing delight as I ihe marvels unfolded themselves: but ;' sijrht of her beloved patron saint ihl;cre rip;. led from her parted lips one of those sparkling cascades of laughter )n which childhood's suppressed ecstacy f;::ds outlet. "St. Antoine! St. Antoine!" she cried, bounding forward as though to meet a j "cognized friend. "But he is even more beautiful than in the picture over th bed. He lives, he moves. O grand-pere. grand-pere. make it strike all over again until un-til St. Antoine comes back!" "That cannot be," said Pere Tu-I'T.ne. Tu-I'T.ne. smiling. "We must wait for his hour." "Marvelous! Marvelous!" exclaimed gathered villagers. "Dur little I hur h will be famous. Quick! Let us have h" new clock in place there." P.tit Pere Turenne demurred. "Leave it yet awhile with me." he said. "After it has been going a few days, imper-2-i iions may appear, a spring may get our of order, or the like." And as he foresaw, so it happened. Those who came next day to witness a J '-petition of the clock's performance found the maker working upon its It Lad stopped, the hands pointing to flVior-k. "Ha. ha!" commented Epinal's rival in 'ockmaking. "t)ld Turenne's clock v- iii n'-ver be placed in our steeple. "I ts a pretty toy lor him to. play with till ho dies." Rut the majority clung to their be-3!"f be-3!"f m their skillful neighbor. " j was simply a spring out of order; b" who made a thing could surely 2i'nd it." And his workshop once again became te village lounging place, tilt the morning they found its doors for the m-st time closed, and Turenne, looking down upon them from an upper window win-dow cnlnlncft (Vioin in a n criiicliofl ar. cnts. to speak softly, tread lightly. "'Little Antoinette is sick sick unto 0"ath." Like a broken lily the child lay in br white bed. the eyes opened wide f-ftd the smile flown from them. Wak-mg. Wak-mg. fevered and delirious in the night, 'be had suddenly passed from a state ef excitement into a lethargy. "God help you. friend." whispered ; th ni doctor. "The loss of a child baves a wound that never heals. Give j this potion every hour: but unless she 'an be aroused from this stupor, I see j little hope." I "Antoinette!" murmured Tere Tu- j r'-nne. "Heart's love, doth thou not j l-ar me? Look up. The sun will 1 t-or.n be dashing around with his red norses. and we must open the morning's morn-ing's gate for him. And maybe a wild goosp win come f ying over, calling. 'Good day,' to us in his hoarse voice; "r-d if thou art not listening, thou wi'.t Jiot be ready to ask him how his great- j pr'at-eieat-grandrr.other's cold is. that Fho caught on that first Christmas ihou rememherest Fpecding through tht- bitter midnight to offer hr downy white feathers to the blessed mother 1o make a pillow for the dear Babe '"sus. And there is a bud on thy ( -osebush. Doct thou not wish to po i ith me to gather it?" ' j But the little girl did not hear. I "Darling! darling!" cried the old man. "I will do anything to please j thop." I "Make the clock strike tiU St. An- j toine comes." he murmur faintly. "L't. mo se dear St. Antoine." His heart sank. That which his darling asked wa- byo'id his power. , "His clock-has- stopped. dearet,"-he-' applied. "I have not had. time to make it good. If thou are better tomorrow tomor-row " "Oh, no, no now!" moaned the child, fretfully. "Now!" The old clockmaker raised his eyes beseechingly, with a wordless prayer, : to the picture of St. Anthony, that ' hung above his bed. "Mignonne." he said, after an instant, in-stant, "grandpere will go and try. But , he cannot leave thee. If thou wilt be i I very good, he will wrap thee warm I and carry thee down to where thou ' canst watch him whilst he works. But it must be many hours yet before St. Antoine comes. Now it is just sunrise, ' and his hour-is noon." As tenderly he laid her 'in the bed of j pillows' he had prepared for her beside him on the scaffold that surrounded the great clock, her heavy eyes fiut- ' tered open, and, brightening, rested on j us laminar race. "Hush, grandpere! It is going to speak! Wait a minute!" she exclaimed, suddenly. "No, 'Toinette, darling; it will not strike yet." he answered, sadly. But just then there was heard a low-rumbling low-rumbling in the unwound wheels; the hidden heart began to throb steadily tick, tick, tick; and clear and strong on the dawn, rang out twelve strokes at each one a door opening according accord-ing to the original design. At the first stroke a quiver passed over 'Toinette: at the last the impeded current of life rushed back. Starting up. she clapped her little hands, no longer fevered: and from her parted lips there rippled once again that sparkling cascade of rapturous laughter. laugh-ter. "St. Antoine. dear St. Antoine!" she cried aloud. "I am so glad to see thee again! I have been sick! sick! but now thou hast made me well!" "Hola!" remarked the neighbors. "St. Anthony's clock is growing erratic. There it is striking twelve when it is only five, true time." But when they beheld Pete Turenne come hastening out, with 'Toinette rosy and smiling in his arms, on his way to church, to give thanks to God and his blessed saint, they, when it was recounted to them, failed not to rejoice with and for him, like good friends and good Catholics. And we are told that, until its destruction de-struction during the revolution, the wonder-working clock filled its place in the steeple of the church for which its pious maker destined it marking sad and happy hours, without ever losing one. And for years after 'Toinette's 'Toi-nette's grandchildren were old men and women the children of Epinal were wont to call 12 o'clock "St. Anthony's An-thony's hour," and taught to twine thrir noon Angelus with this prayer: "O doar St. Anthony, who so loved little children and was beloved by tbem, we are little children. Bless us, pray for us; and let there be no moment of our lives that thou wilt not come to help us in our need." |