The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1914-01-17
Continued from Page 81
A BUNCH OF RED ROSES.


light as gloriously crimson as if they
were the true young heart which was
unanimously making them rise and
fall, in spite of Jennie's outer calm.
Bareheaded and lovely she went her
way down the quiet street of the town
where she and her father before her
had been born, and which loved her,
old and young. A church stock back
beneath trees farther down the street,
gray stone church, surmounted with
a cross, and with ampelopsis growing
half way up it's southern side and
quite around and over the southern
arm of it's transept. Beside the church,
within it's enclosure, stood a small
house, marvelously neat and shining.
Jennie turned in at the gate and came
up the walk to the church; then she
hesitated. The outer door of the
church was ajar, with only the inner,
green leathern screen doors closed,
but Jennie decided against going into
the church first. She longed to see
the dear old priest-old only to par
ishioners of Jennie's age; in reality
Father Moore was not above sixty.
He had baptized her, and buried her
mother and her father, and had taught
her all that she knew of Divine things.
He had taught her more than she real
lied of other things, too, for Father
Moore was one of those ripe, book
loving, wise and tolerant philosophers
whose knowledge of mankind was
profound, touched with that spirit
which makes priest urge ever high
er, yet in his heart feel that they did
not do so badly, not so badly, poor
things! One can't look for great
things from mere men and women"
1t is type rarely found outside the
Catholic priesthood man who
combines the highest standards, the
greatest earnestness of endeavor with
the largest liberation and pity for hui
manity's limitations. Not even a lit
tie girl could have grown into youth
with such friend and guide without
having learned much that would never
be forgotten, nor ever expressed.
Jennie knew that if she made a
visit to the church she should cry
there, alone before the altar, and she
wanted to talk to Father Moore-and
not to cry. Therefore she crossed the
walk to the right and came to the
door of the house. 1t stood open to
the June afternoon, and the fresh
smell of smoke, mingling with the
scent of many ng-extinguished pipes,
prepared her for being hidden to
Come I'M" in Father Moore's reson-
ant voice.
"Ah, my little Jennie-Wren, Robbins
sweetheart" said the dear old priest,
this being his favorite version of Jen-
MES name what has gone wrong,
child?' he added, instantly perceiving
Jennie's altered face.
Father, it's Jack" said Jennie
Nonsense! It's nothing of the sort.
Jack is all right, to my certain knowl-
edge, and fonder of our Jennie than
she deserves maintained the priest
stoutly.
You told me he cared about me;
you said you did it to warn me not to
f1irt with him. And I didn't" said
Jennie. 81 did not flirt with him,
Father"
'Now, never tell me you wish you
had!" cried Father Moore, with a
twinkle.
20, Father, dear, it isn't a joke!"
protested Jennie. 81 didn't flirt with
him, so, as I've been as nice to him as
l knew how, it proves doesn't it?"
THAT you love him? Of course.
And I'd be ashamed of you if you
didn't love him. You'd be a disgrace
to my teaching if you couldn't recog-
nize true man when you had the
great good luck to find one. What
then, little Jennie?" said the priest.
Haven't vocation, Father
Moore?" asked Jennie, with tiny
smile.
81 think so; there's no more i'm
portant one; to be the best sort of
wife and mother" replied Father
Moore.
ST meant for the convent" explain
ed Jennie, this time with more sue
cessful smile. TN novels the damsell
with a broken heart always takes
refuge in the cloister."
"And in real life the heart gets
mended before she can fit herself for
life that especially requires her
whole allegiance, while a perfectly un-