CHAPTER XX
_In which there is another joyful reunion, and Clarence presents an important letter to the Rector of Campion College._
“Clarence,” said Father Keenan, “there’s good news.”
“Oh, what is it? Were their lives saved? Were they unhurt?”
“Just forty miles to the East of the accident your father received atelegram. It seems there was some mining trouble in the Southwest, andhe was ordered to go there at once. Both your father and mother got offat a junction and so missed the accident.”
“Oh, thank God! thank God! And when shall I see them?”
“Very soon, Clarence. On the very day you arrived here, I sent telegramsto different cities, and had advertisements inserted in the mostprominent papers in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Cleveland andCincinnati. The ads. read something like this: Any friends or relationsof Clarence Esmond falsely reported drowned are requested to write orcall upon the President of Campion College, Prairie du Chien, Wis.”
“Did you really do that, Father?”
“Yes, my boy,” answered the Rector, as the two went up the steps andproceeded in the direction of the infirmary. “And it seems that in NewYork a member of the firm that sent the telegram to your father read thead. He at once wired your parents—and—and—” the Rector paused.
They were standing just outside the parlor, from which came the sound ofvoices.
“_They’re here! They’re here?_” cried Clarence, and burst into theparlor.
Father George Keenan considerately waited outside until the firstrapture of reunion should have died away; waited and thought withgratitude to God of his part in a romance of the upper Mississippi, aromance of childhood and innocence, and the sure, guiding hand of DivineProvidence.
The parlor door opened presently, and Clarence came out.
“Oh, Father Rector, won’t you please come in? Say, Pa, this is thepriest who fed me when I was hungry, clothed me when I was naked, tookme in when I was abandoned, and treated me as if I was a prince indisguise. Say, Ma, look at him and thank him, if you can. I can’t.” AndClarence blubbered.
“Father Keenan,” said Mr. Esmond with quivering lips, “if I should thinkof trying to thank you, I should become absolutely dumb. I am helpless;and to think that you should be the member of an Order I’ve been abusingall my life.”
Mrs. Esmond, in turn, took the dismayed Father’s hand, and tried tospeak. She failed; but her eyes spoke the gratitude her tongue could notutter.
“Don’t—don’t mention it,” said Father Keenan lamely and with a vividblush. “I’m happier than I can say to have done anything for as fine andas gifted a boy as I have ever met.”
There came an awkward silence. The Rector was confused beyond measure;Mrs. Esmond had gathered her boy to her arms, and was fondling him asshe had done when he was a little child. Mr. Esmond was endeavoring withbut ill success to master his burst of emotion.
“Say, Pa,” cried Clarence, breaking away in excitement. “There’s onething I want to say right off. You said I might choose my religion whenI was fourteen. Well, I’ve chosen. I want to be a Catholic.”
“Certainly, my boy, certainly. I never thought of your joining thatFaith; but you’ll be in good company.”
“And, Father Rector, may I be baptized?”
“Of course, Clarence, since your father so kindly consents.”
“And, Father, will you do it?”
“Gladly, Clarence.”
“Good! thank you. Come on,” and Clarence seized his hat.
“But what’s your hurry, Clarence?” asked Father Keenan, laying adetaining hand upon the eager neophyte.
“Isn’t this rather sudden, my boy?” inquired Mr. Esmond.
“It’s not at all sudden,” Clarence made answer. “I’ve been thinkingabout this and preparing for this ever since I met Dora. Do you think Iwant to go to bed to-night with original sin and all my life’swickedness on my soul when I can get it off in a few minutes? Of course,I’m in a hurry.”
“Put your hat down, Clarence,” ordered the Rector. “But I promise youthis: you’ll be baptized and made a child of God and heir of heavenbefore you go to bed tonight. And now, Mr. and Mrs. Esmond, I want youto come out and meet Dora, who did so much for Clarence and whomClarence saved from the gypsies; John Rieler, who rescued Clarence fromthe river; and Dora’s parents and big brother. For the next hour, we aregoing to hold a symposium. Clarence will tell his story from the time heleft McGregor till he took to the river; John Rieler will take up thetheme and tell how he came to make Clarence’s acquaintance; I, myself,will describe the boy’s first appearance at Campion, and with the helpof Will Benton will tell the tale of our visit to the gypsy camp andrescue of Dora.”
As everybody following hard upon introduction insisted upon talking atonce, Father Keenan experienced no little difficulty in carrying out theproposed program. It was fully an hour before the story—the strangeromance of the upper Mississippi—was clearly unfolded to the wonderinggrown folks.
“I say,” urged Clarence, when the various adventures had been adequatelycommented on, “isn’t it time for me to be baptized?”
“Oh,” said Dora. “Is it all arranged?”
“Yes, Dora.”
“And—and—may I be your godmother?”
“Delighted!” cried the boy. “Nothing could please me better.”
“You ought to know,” observed John Rieler, “that the Church has erectedan impediment between godmother and godson. If you carry out thatprogram, you two can never marry.”
“Marry!” cried Dora, “I’m not to marry. I’m to dedicate my life toMary.”
“Marry!” remonstrated Clarence. “Who ever thought of such a thing? Doraand I don’t intend to discuss that subject ourselves; and wedon’t”—here he looked severely at John—“care about hearing anyone elsediscuss it.”
“All right, Clarence,” said John, “if that’s the case I want to begodfather.”
After supper, Clarence, alone, went to the boys’ chapel, where forfifteen minutes he prayed and recalled in sorrow all the sins of hislife. Then came Dora, John, Will and the two married couples followed byFather Keenan; and in the quiet of the evening Clarence Esmond filledwith faith and love received upon his brow the regenerating waters ofbaptism and became a faithful child of the true Church.
On the next morning the three children and Will Benton attended the sixo’clock Mass and together received Holy Communion.
Clarence frequently during that day pronounced it the happiest day ofhis life.
On Sunday evening Clarence, who had passed most of the time with hisparents, entered Father Keenan’s room.
“Why, Clarence! How happy you look.”
“That’s because I’m a hypocrite, Father.”
“Surely, you haven’t come to bid me good-bye?”
“Oh, I should hope not, Father.” Here Clarence fumbled in his pocket.“This is a letter my Pa gave me to bring to you.”
“So you were godfather for Dorcas and her children!”
“Yes, Father Rector, and Dora was godmother. Pa says it was awful goodof you to pay the expenses of Ben’s burial and to pay for the board ofDorcas and her little ones; but he’s going to do the rest. He has aninterest in the ranch in the Southwest, and they need a woman to feedthe men and keep the house. Dorcas gets the position.”
“Can she hold it?” asked the Rector.
“Oh, yes! Dora says that Dorcas cooks nicely and is fine at the needle,and is very neat.”
“I hope she’ll have a chance to go to church,” continued Father Keenan.
“There’s a church ten miles from the ranch; and the foreman is a goodCatholic. He is to bring Dorcas every Sunday.”
“Excellent,” said the Rector.
“And did you hear about Pete?” asked Clarence.
“No; how is he?”
“Pa just got word. It took him thirty-six hours to recover from the blowthat W
ill Benton gave him. He was unconscious all that time.”
“Let us hope and pray that God may bring him to repentance,” said theRector.
“The jail doctor says he’ll never do harm again. And, Father, tomorrowDorcas goes to Communion; then she’s coming up to bid you good-bye, andthen off she starts to her new work.”
“Thank God,” said Father Keenan. “And now, Clarence, sit down while Iread your father’s letter.”
And this is what Father Keenan read:
“My dear Father Keenan: I am trying to write what I have found itimpossible to say. To borrow the language of my little boy—who, Ibelieve, borrowed from the words of Christ in the NewTestament—Clarence was hungry and you fed him, naked and you clothedhim, and outcast and you took him in. He was sorrowful and you consoledhim; orphaned, and, at the sacrifice of your precious time, you took theplace of father and mother. He needed, too, someone to take hold of hiscomplicated situation and you by telegram, telephone, letter and inevery conceivable way unravelled the tangle within a few hours; and indoing so brought gladness to sad and suffering hearts; in a few hours,you effected the rescue of his dear little girl friend; and, when wearrived, had everything in the finest condition imaginable and everybodyhappy. In all this you were aided and abetted by that little saint,Dora—the most wonderful girl I have ever met—by John Rieler, thatparagon of good-nature who saved my boy’s life; and by that prince ofyoung men, _Strong-Arm_ Benton, which quick performance at the gypsycamp will never be forgotten by those who hear it told.
“To have my boy the intimate of Will, Dora and Rieler—the mostwonderful trio one could bring together—I esteem a rare privilege andan honor. Their friendship is touched with youth, and purity and faith.
“You will be glad to know, Reverend Father, that, in my opinion,Clarence is not altogether unworthy of such splendid companions. AtClermont School in New York, where he attended for three years, hemaintained a reputation for cleanness of speech and delicacy of conduct,which, among the faculty, made him a marked boy. He was the center of agroup—some seven or eight in number—who had professed and followed outlofty and lovely ideals. God, I know not why, has been singularly goodto my boy, and kept him from dangers to morals only too common in thesepagan days.
“The duty of thanking you, of showing you my gratitude, will be with me,I trust, a life task. I can never forget how when my little boy—averitable Dan Cupid up to date—arrived you took him in hand.
“His entrance into the Church pleases me more, the more I think of it.When his mother gave up hope of ever seeing Clarence again, it seemedfor a time as though she would lose her mind. She insisted that Clarencehad been taken from her untimely because she had not lived up to theCatholic Faith, in which, as a child, she was baptized. It was in vainthat I pointed out to her that she had not been brought up a Catholic,that she was raised a Protestant; that she had been in no wayresponsible. She would not be consoled. Finally, with my fullapprobation, she promised God that should Clarence be returned to us,she would once more embrace the Faith of her fathers. She intends to goto confession and receive Holy Communion before we bid an unwillingadieu to Campion. She has already called at St. Mary’s Academy andengaged a splendid nun there to give her a course of instructions.
“In a short time—by Christmas at the latest—I am going to join theChurch that received Ben and Dorcas with the same arms of welcome as itreceives the princes and potentates of the earth. This, my fixeddetermination, is sudden; but for all that, it is none the less firm. Itcame to me last night, as I watched the radiant Dora and the reverentJohn holding my boy, whose face was aflame with zeal and faith as you,Father, poured the water of baptism upon his head.
“And now, Father, I’ve been thinking much of what you did for my boy.There must be other cases like his—cases of boys being thrown uponyou—not coming in the guise of Cupid, it is true—but coming to youasking for education, board and books; but without money. In memory,then, of your kindness to my little boy, I enclose you a check for fivethousand dollars as a fund for a perpetual scholarship to carry yearafter year through Campion College some boy whom God has given brainsand ambition, but denied money. And if God continues to bless me in myenterprises, this will not be the end, by any means, of my help in thatsame line.
“And now, one more matter of business. Clarence is bent on going toCampion College. He loves the grounds, the buildings, the boys, and, sofar as he knows them, the faculty. His mother and I are almost asanxious that he should attend your school as he is. We intend to stayhere for a week or ten days to get better acquainted with our dearlittle boy—dearer a thousandfold that, having been lost, he is found.We, therefore, beg of you, Father, as a special favor, to register theboy at once; but to allow us his company till we leave. His board andtuition expenses are to begin, of course, from the opening day ofschool—two weeks back. Before leaving, I will make you a check to coverhis expenses for the entire year.
“This is the longest letter I have written since the time I was engagedto her who is now my wife. It is long because I have been endeavoring,with poor success, to express my gratitude. But the task is beyond me.Beyond me, too, is it to express the present happiness of my wife, ofClarence, of Dora and of
“Yours with a heart full of gratitude, “CHARLES ESMOND.”