The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1914-10-31
THE LOST CHILD

1t was a Sunday morning in early
August. Honor Casey stood at her
door looking out on the scene before
her. The sun smiled down from
cloudless blue sky, bathing with
warm light the fields where the grain
stood golden and ready for the sickle,
frightening the whitewashed cottages,
from whose chimneys the peat smoke
curled upwards like fragrant incense
at benedictiOn, glancing along the
river down to the little lake of Cara,
smile through the beech grove slum-
bering on it's shore.
The sweet music of the distant
church bell came to her ears, and
the people passed on their way to
early Mass. Happy, lght-hearted,
with merry jest and quick retort, they
went in groups of four and five; then
came two nodding bonnets earnestly
discussing the harvest, the laying
power of hens, or the prices on last
market day; again it was a noisy
group Of children, with shining faces,
racing along the road full of life and
the vigour of youth. A breezy good
morning" or God save you," came
| from all as they passed the door
The bell had ceased ringing; all had
gone out of sight around the bend
of the road, yet Honor did not move.
For a long time she remained,
rigid as a statue, gazing into the dis
lance. The stiffness and solemnity
of the morning brought peace to her
troubled heart. Her attitude, her
thoughts we're hymn of thanksgiving
to God The lines of care and sor-
row were softened in her face, the
haggard look had gone from her
eyes, the droop on her shoulders
brought by hard work was no longer
noticeable, and she was the happy
care free girl she had been seven
years earlier.
In flash the thought of her bitter
lot came back. The bright look of
happiness faded from her eyes, and
she went slowly to the little room
where her husband slept.
Get up, Mike" she said, knocking
timidly at the door, "or We'll be late
for Mass
what dye want?" he asked.
you'll be late for last Mass if
you don't hurry"
go away and don't be bothering
me. How often did 1 tell you not to
ha mo lilo bot
"But-'
Let me alone, l tell you, or it'll
be worse for YOU"
!. Reluctantly, she went away. The
tears came to her eyes. She ought
to have been accustomed to it. This
was but a repetition of many a Sun
day morning-of every Sunday morn.
! ing for the last three years. Here
was the root of the big sorrow Honor
|, clasped to her heart. Seven years
earlier she had married Mike Casey
| and had at first been happy with
him. He was strong, big-hearted
J fellow, simple as a child. How often
she prayed to God to bless their
lives. But her husband began to
drink. "a good mans fault" said the
neighbours; he hurts no one but
himself, poor fellow" Worse was to
come. Two years harvesting in Eng.
land sowed the seeds of unbelief in
his heart. He had read pamphlets,
heard lectures which he but vaguely
understood, but whose teaching he inn
bibed. He would become eman-
cipated, would free himself from the
superstition of ages, as great thinkers
had done. He told himself secretly
in his heart that he was a unbeliever
So Honor dressed little Pateen, and
made him ready for the church,
dressed herself, and both went to last
Mass. She knew not why she felt so
lonely 1t was a beautiful morning
when but an hour earlier, she stood,
with golden peace in her heart, look
ing out on the smiling fields. It was
still as beautiful, but the bitterness
of despair was in her heart. The
dark wings of fear and coming sor-
row shut out the brightness of the
, day. leaving her in the twilight gloom
LOT doubt and dread. She tried to