Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1915-03-02

man paled: he gazed at tho priest with
| troubled eyes.
! "sure, l know it's not likely. Mi
chael!" Father o'Brien said, almost
answers to all these questions. you
See."
The old man drew long breath.
| Sure. then. father, I was In prison.
he said. simply.
:, ished hearers hand. and Julia Calvin,
who had been agitatedly twisting her
| apron, broke in, imploringly:
Don't be thinkin' harm OF him
father, for that same! Sure. he never
| thieve he would, and he the honestest
| man in the parish? An II he never
said Yes nor No when they asked
him was he guilty. hadn't he his own
erence. Michael?" (The old man had
made silencing gesture) Sure. he'll
| think none the worse of We. Twas
this way, father" she went on, turnin g
eagerly to him. Michael had an only
son-the very light of his eye he was
an a fine boy, too, though. maybe.
bit idle. Con never cared to work In
| the fields here. an all he wanted was
to go to America.
so Michael saved an scraped Tor MS
passage money, but 1t took long time
to get it together. an the boy was
came in his way. an he took some
money father The o theft - was atsr 1op for
Queenstown. an Michael took all the
blame on himself an made them think
he did it. So Con got on to Queens.
town. an his poor old father aiher was pu ~
without a word for the boys sake: But
sure we all know how 1t was. though
we held our tongues to please M1chael.
we're not thinking the worse OF him
20 TOT
The priest deliberately took OF his
glasses. rubbed them carefully. and
| cleared his throat several times. When
| he spoke his voice sounded husky.
may come, my son. he said, solemnly.
but his eyes rested tenderly on the
mild, worn face opposite him: But
| still. you acted from good motive. and
II-well. my son. I honor you for it.
He rose impulsively and grasped the
old mans hand; then added, gravely:
| "All errors, my son, bring their own
| punishment. and you, l fear. will lose
| your pension In consequence OF this
! one"
| Julia cried out in dismay, but Michael
only grew still paler
You may rely upon me to do my best
to prevent that. Michael" said Father
O'Brien, rising to go. Keep up your
! don't count too much on the pension"
| AS the door closed behind him Julia
burst into tears.
AN is it losing what 'ud keep We out
of the workhouse yell be. just because
We did a kind turn to the son that
never worked for We, Michael, aroon?
| she sobbed. Sure. IL / had farthins
to spare meself it's under me own root
you'd come. sooner than that, but ye
know how am wild them eight childer
and Jamesy Galvins old mother to
keep, and me widow woman this six
year.
Michael raised his head that had
| fallen forward upon his breast.
Don't be frettin. Julia. woman" he
said, patiently, sure, it's yourself has
been the good friend to me always. an
what would I have done when herself
went from me only for you? It's a
| kind daughter we've been to me, Julia
| agra. An maybe Father O'Brien will
| get the pension for me, after all. Don't
| grieve, alannah.''
He rose with difficulty from his chair
and, hobbling to her side, laid his work
| roughed hand gently upon her head.
| May God reward We for all you've
done for me, Julia Calvin" he said
and may He keep me old roof over me
until my Con comes home
CHAPTER II.
The shadows were creeping over the
cottage walls and along the floor, for
twilight was deepening into night, and
| the light stole fainter and fainter
through the tiny windows Soon only
| the dull glow of the turf fire in the
big open fireplace was left to illumi-
| nate the room. 1t played dimly on the
crockery hanging ON the dresser, on the
round table and heavy wooden chairs
! on the few gaudy religious pictures
| pinned on the wall, and on the still
figure in the armchair beside the
hearth. So it was that the freight
seemed to flicker up and peer curiously
! at it, wondering why the old man sat
alone in that attitude of utter dejec-
ton. His bent. gray head, the hands
lying listlessly on his knees, the
| dropping posture. all told Of some
crushing blow. 1t had fallen on Mi
chae1 that afternoon, when Father
OBrien, sympathetic, but poWerless to
help. had come to tell him of his failure
to obtain the pension for him.
Il went to the stipendiary, Micha ell
avic," said the little priest, wfping his
heated brow, land he was kindness it.
self, but, says he, It's bad job, I'm
afraid. for this Is a government affair
and they're very strict says he. But
he gave me letters for one and for an
other, and I went to them all and talked
me best, and they all promised to do
what they could, but the matter had to
be referred to higher authorities, and
notices had to go backwards and for
wards. SO it's only today. Michael that
| l heard for certain they wouldn't give
| it to you. It's grieved l am, my son,
! but CT rncfrv t~