Evening public ledger. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1914-1942, 1919-03-18
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great DullulIBS. lueIe "ele many
clattering wagons, and cars rushed
past and the bishop was intent upon
his reins He did not speak. Yes,
1t was a dream. 1t was only more OF
that unspeakabe jostle and hurry and
tumult of the city he had been hating
and fearing-its dreadfulness put into
more hideous contrast by that serene
figure at his side-and all for his woe
and his undoing-for he must waken.
Clack-clock, click .clack-on and on!
Through canyons of roaring streets,
across squares where humanity flowed
and eddied. What devils were those
fiends who sent such dreams as this
TO torture the soul OF poor fiddler
who had tried so hard and had failed.
Then, at last, softened blows of the
hoofs upon loose gravel.
The white horse had drawn them
under the archway OF the bishops
gate.
Billedeau could hear his heart beat
now, beating like the sound Of gallop.
ing hoofs.
Under the sunset gloom Of the porte
cochere! The oak door was flung
wide. No longer the jealous crack of
an opening that had greeted the poor
petitioner from Attegat. Obsequious
attendants came trailing their robes
to the carriages side. They gave hands
to the bishop.
Follow me, my SON" directed the
reverend man. Leave your bucket. 1t
will be cared for"
Anaxagoras Billedeau had no side
glances for the astonished faces Of
those who received the bishop His
eyes, as round and as hard as marbles,
were on the venerable, bowed figure
ahead of him.
Through the bare and echoing hall,
up broad stairs, past double portals,
- - '~f'-'- -""rn where he stood.
not daring to raise his eyes!
When he did lift them, at last. at
sound Of the bishops voice his star,
tied vision took in the broad band of
purple that incased the great man S
waist, the purple fringe of the little
cape, and he saw the great purple
stone Of the bishops ring. He sank to
his knees. No, this could not be a
dream.
"Rise-rise, my son! Sit there. We
are to have a talk, you and I. 1t
seems that should know some things
concerning your parish that I have
not understood"
He began to question gently. He
patted the packet of papers. He asked
about the names.
And, after a time. the great lump in
the throat Of the fiddler was pressed
down by his trembling fingers. At
first he quavered answers to questions
But he dared to raise his eyes above
the purple band. The face he saw
was benignant, placid, reassuring. The
eyes were brown and tender. The
mouth that could set itself SO straight
ly on occasions, the brows that could
knit, as the wrinkles so plainly in.
dicated, now expressed liberation
kindness, expectancy. The bishop of
the diocese knew men; and he had
been touched to his depths by this
appealing emissary from the north
this poor man who expressed humility
and reverence and awe so profoundly
A psychological instrument! Saga
cious old patriarch-Clifford, a man
who had studied men! You would
have reveled in that scene in the great
chamber Of the bishop Of the diocese
For Billedeau. heartened, sympathy
drawing language from him as natu
rally as the sun draws moisture from
the sea, gave out his story from the
full reservoir of his being.
The bishop leaned his head back
against the dark leather OF his chair
interlaced his long, white fingers, ant
gazed at the ceiling.
AS Billedeau talked, the simple elo
quence Of his full heart rushing from
his lips, the bishop saw strange pic
lures take form in the shadows of the
ceilings holdings.
He could look into the homes, thu
plain little homes which dotted tn,
green hills of the valley OF the fal
st. John. He could hear the plain
tive whirr of the spinning wheels. thu
chatter OF the children, the Groom o.
the old Acadian chansons. He coult
see the quiver of the blue blaze above
the hillside farms, the sheen of the
lights on the ripples Of the river. HI
could hear the tinkle Of hoe agains
the stones of the narrow farms.
He heard the thrill of the music
when the poor folks lightened theil
toll with dance ON the grass.
He heard the mellow bell Of The par
ish church of Attegat peal its sum
mons across the meadow where the
sunday calm breathed above the alder'
and hushed the brooks. He saw the
4 long lines OF buckboards winding Gown
toward the village square under the
banners OF white dust. He saw little
rather Lsclair walking from the stons