The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1916-08-26

over this piece OF good news. Then
suppose, when you were little they
didn't call you Father Ambrose, but
just Ambrose Barton"
well, no, when I was small they
called me Roy-Roy Barton. 1 re-
ceived the name Ambrose later" the
priest explained
While Father Ambrose and Harvey
were busy talking, Mrs. Barton sat at
the foot of the bed listening but silent.
When the priest made the last re-
mark, however, she started, and
turned deadly pale.
why, Father Ambrose" she gasped
family, that was my oldest boys
name. Oh, tell me-tell me something
about your early life!''
with pleasure, Mrs. Barton" he
said, wondering why she had suddenly
become so interested in his past life
But it will be sad story and | am
not wont to speak of it. My home
was in Italy and have been in this
country but four years. Ny earliest
recollections are of a beautiful home
in the mountains of northern Italy,
where l was brought up by a noble
lady, whom for many years | SUP
posed to be my mother. Although she
had every luxury that riches could
buy, and ruled as a queen in her
mountain villa, still she was always
melancholy, except when l was about.
Then she seemed to forget her secret
sorrows. After | had completed nv
elementary education under private
tutors, 1 began the study of modern
languages and the classics under the
direction of a learned and sanity
franciscan friar, who lived in lonely
convent hidden among the rocks and
pines not far distant from our villa.
1t was then that | began to conceive
great longing to become a friar like
my venerable teacher. When | in
formed my mother of my resolve, she
gladly supported me in my holy voca-
ton, and | accordingly entered the
Franciscan Order at the age of eigh-
teen.
Several years later" Father Am
brOse continued, my mother fell very
i'll, and when all hope of recovery had
fled, she begged my superiors to per-
NIT me to visit her for the last time,
as she had some very important COM
munications to make to me. Imagine
my astonishment, when the woman,
whom I had loved and cherished with
all devoted child's tenderness and
| fidelity, informed me that | was not
her child, and that she did not know
who or where my mother was. Then
she related with many tears and sobs,
how as a young widow she had lost
her only child by death, when he was
but three years of age, and that she
had never been able to recover from
the terrible blow. One day, as she
was walking in the garden of her beau
tiful but desolate home in the suburbs
of Rome, bewailing her sad loss, a
little tot, the exact image of her be-
loved Lorenzo, came toddling up the
gravel path toward her. On seeing the
smiling dark eyes and the raven curls
of the little stranger, she rushed
| toward the child, clasped him to her
bosom and showered kisses on his
laughing face.
Then a wild and daring thought
came to her mind. I'll keep him,
she thought, mo one will know, for
will take him to my mountain home
where no one will think of searching
for him.. 1t was a terrible resolve
| that obsessed the broken-hearted
mother, but half crazed as she was
with grief, she did not weigh the aw
| full consequences of her act Conceal
ing me in an inner room, where she
| feted me with sweets and toys, she at
once made arrangements for secret
| departure that same night. Taking a
| faithful old servant, who was deeply
attached to her family, into her con.
fidence, and Diminishing all the other
servants of her city home, she has
| tened with me to her summer villa in
| the mountains of northern Italy, and
successfully eluded every effort made
by my parents to recover their stolen
child
. "She called me Lorenzo after hel
own child, and as none of the servants
in the villa had seen him since he
was small baby, and had not heard
OF his death, no one doubted my
| Identity. Thus | grew up, gladdening
her mothers heart and filling the void
caused by the death of her own child
| But strive as she would, she could
never stifle the voice of conscience
which left her no rest. day or night
During the day she was in constant
fear that her secret would be discov
cred, and at night her sleep was
haunted with dreams depicting the
| grief into which her theft had plunged
my poor parents, and she imagined she
could hear their cries of anguish anC
malediction.
When death at length drew near
she could bear it no longer, and, as
have already related, she sent for me
and told me all. The only clew she
possessed to my identity was small
gold ring that had worn on that fate
full day, and which bore the inscrip
ton, Roy Barton from Mother"
Mrs. Barton, who had been listenins
with breathless interest to the priest:
story, now gave muffled cry and fel
| fainting from her chair. Harvey: