The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1918-06-01

ana the 1aLnef began TO enumerdLo
the visits that had to be paid on the
morrow, beginning with a morning
call on an old uncle from whom the
Turner family had expectations.
"Old Uncle George cried Ted, on
hearing OF, this. Yes, of course, my
first visit must be to the old man;
but father he paused, tomorrow is
| Sunday and-and I'll have another
visit to pay" He looked up quickly
to- where the red brick campanile of
Westminster Cathedral was visible
through the window, Il must have an
hour, before we start, to go and hear
Mass in the Cathedral yonder."
If a bomb had fallen outside the
window John Turner could not have
looked Or felt more b~umbfounded.
Was it possible that his ears had
heard Alright? Ted, his son, spoke of
going to a "Popish" service in the
great building which in all the beauty
of it's severity was an eyesore to the
rabid old Socialist that he was.
"Mass!" he stammered. do you
mean-are you talking about going to
a service in that - -"
Il mean that l am going to Mass
tomorrow" replied his son calmly.
Tomorrow and every other Sunday
of my life, when it is possible"
A discordant laugh grated on the
speakers ears.
"You!" his father cried. "You
turned pious. Why" he added tri-
umphantly, you are not ever bap-
TIED"
Il was baptized before Ypres."
by a Jesuit, I'll be bound"
by an Irish chaplain. He was
killed next day"
An almost diabolical look came Over
the old mans face.
Rather than this he snarled, I'D
rather see you
He broke off. He could not bring
himself to utter the curse that was
in his heart-towards his son., and in
| the silence that followed a laugh came
| to them, through the half-closed door,
from the kitchen. Emily was laugh
ing a pure, light-hearted laugh be-
| cause Ted was home again.
Father" SO it was not only his re-
sponsibilities as a sergeant that had
brought the new steadiness of pur-
pose into his sons face. The older
man recognized this now and set him.
self grimly to combat it. We've al
ways been good pals, haven't We? You
have taught me to love justice and
liberty. Can't you let me live accord
ing to my belief, as you live accord
ing to yours?"
my belief! | believe in nothing"
You're wrong" replied the o with
| some of the grimness his father was
| feeling. in spite of yourself you be-
lieve in Something. You were going
to say more just now, but you stopped
because you were afraid Someone
would near you, and take you at your
word. You can't deny that
Damn" said MI. Turner, without
realizing that his oath was in itself
an owning to belief.
"Well, | believe in God" said Ted,
as though the other had not spoken.
Il believe in an after life. / believe
that Christianity, that the Catholic
religion, should be the religion of
| the world, and that when it is given to
one to see this, there is no choice
/ ono roIcf ioin tho ChnrPh
And wat about all | taught your
~Ereturned his father. Surely have
taught you enough to keep you safe
from this nonsense, this superstition"
"You forget, father" replied Ted,
| steadfastly, you forget that all these
months | have been living with death.
Day and night it has been near me,
| and I have seen what faith can do in
| the face of it. Night after night
have lain out in the trenches with the
stars over my head, and from the
lives, AVE., and most from the deaths,
of the chaps-and their chaplains-
I'VE learned that for all you used to
say they are Gods stars in His heav-
ems, and all the rest is only sense
Sense" growled his father; mon
sense
mo, father. Sense! Listen here to
this: I've seen officers and men out
there, clean lived. honest and brave,
men I'd have done anything to save
from suffering; and yet I've had to see
them in the prime of life, some mere
boys, cut off and suffering the tortures
of hell, you'd say, till the mercy of
death took them. And do you expect
me to believe that after the lives they
had led all this agony was to lead
them into nothing.
Sense! What sense could there be
in anything if the end of such lives
was to be the bottom of a muddy
trench? Not only that! I've seen
boys, children, as you might say, stand
ing up and facing death, not as a brute
because it doesn't know or because it
has to, but because it is a duty whose
reward will be happiness everlasting.
why, dad, our bodies are often in
L - - .e.~l- ~.& - - Sc 49,