The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1913-06-14
THE POWER OF A WORD.

Mother, may 1 stay up with No. 20
again tonight"
The speaker was a sweet-voiced lit
tie Irish nun, whose soft brown eyes
looked so appealing that one could
scarce refuse their mute request.
'But, Sister Gertrude, you were up
all last night, and in the laundry this
afternoon; aren't you undertaking too
much?"
ooh, no mother I think she will
die tonight, and 1 should like to be
near her Miss Adams says she has
refused all nourishment today, and is
very weak"
well, you may remain till midnight.
Miss Mullen will relieve you then"
With a grateful smile Sister Ger
trude left the community room, passed
down the corridor to the chapel, where
for some moments she remained, with
the same appealing gaze on the taber-
nacle door as that which had won her
request from the superioress. Then
she softly wendell her way down to
room 20.
A faint light revealed it's furnish
ings-a little white cot, an undraped
dresser, two chairs and a polished
floor.
On the bed lay woman, still in the
prime of life, but whose wasted form
and haggard features told all too
plainly that she had been living the
life that kills the soul as we'll as the
body. She languidly opened her eyes
as Sister Gertrude entered, but made
no response to her kindly, sympathetic
inquiries. And when, not rebuffed by
her coldness, the Sister seated herself
near the bed and began to tell her
beads, the patient deliberately turned
her back.
Devoutly the good nun prayed that
| the sufferer be granted the grace to
repent, for hadn't she an Irish name?
And wasn't that proof positive that
the regenerating waters of baptism
had been poured on her head? And
probably the Sacred Host, too, had
rested upon lips which now opened
only in complaints.
Decade after decade slipped through
the Sisters fingers, but at last she
arose and went to the window. The
moonlight shed soft radiance on the
beautiful landscape. The sensitive
heart of the nun was touched by the
contrast between the majestic calm
of the night and the unrest of that
soul fast nearing eternity.
ooh, my Cod" she prayed. Whose
mercy is infinite, Thou canst not re-
fuse this poor soul the grace of re-
pentance Thou didst pardon the thief
in his dying hours. Grant her the
same mercy, for Thy Holy Names
| sake!"
Slowly a clock in the distance tolled
out the hour of nine, and the Sister
turned to give her patient the pre-
scribed draught
sHere, take it, ashore; it will help
you"
The woman started violently, gazed
wildly at the nun, and burst into tears.
take it, asthore!"
What a flood of memories that word
ashore" had awakened! She is again
a child, tossing in fever on her little
bed; her mother stands over her, glass
in hand, with a look of tenderness
which can always be seen on the face
of mother who watches suffering
child.
''Take it, ashore" she hears, and
feels again the cool liquid on her
parched lips.
All! but bitter memories follow-her
mothers death-leaving home for the
great pitiless city. These pictures flash
through her mind, and she sobs aloud
in self-pity. Slowly the storm sub
sides, leaving her weak and exhausted
Sister Gertrude quietly leaves the
room, to return in few moments witt
priest, who hears her life's story
and the soul glides swiftly and peace
fully to her God.
The priest and Sister said the 'Dt
Profundis," but the sweet Celtic tern
of endearment was Gods way of bring
zT~sI