The little black wagon of the Sisters—and who does not know those wagons! a familiar sight in nearly every city in the Union—made several trips to the college on the Wednesday of Christmas week. Hitherto the boys had paid little attention to this vehicle as it daily drove modestly to the door of the kitchen. On this day it came triumphantly into the boys' yard, amid the lusty cheers of the generous-hearted lads. Even old “Mike,” the driver, noted everywhere in town for his delicious brogue, was an object of special interest.
Owing to the excitement of the occasion—the boys afterward declared this most solemnly—the driver performed the remarkable feat of making the old gray mare, which had seen almost as many years as her driver, canter, actually, positively canter, up to the classroom door where the provisions were stored. In the after-discussion of this startling event authentic documents were called for, and as they were not forthcoming the cantering incident remains
an historic doubt until this day. This old gray mare was known——
The boys would not let the two nuns load the wagon. There were too many strong arms and willing hands for that. At last all the boxes were on the wagon, and old “Mike” mounted his chariot once more. This was a slow operation, for the old man's joints were stiff and he was no longer active. When one of the boys put the lines into his knotted rheumatic fingers, he broke through his usual taciturnity and said:
“You are good boys: good boys. God bless yees all.”
“Three cheers for Mike,” shouted a lively youngster in the crowd. The signal was taken up, and it is safe to say that the old man never received such an ovation before in all his life.
As the leather curtain fell the cheering boys caught a last glimpse of the faces of two smiling Sisters, jubilant over the fact that they were carrying home an unwonted treasure for their old people. When the wagon had driven clear of the mob of good-natured boys, Jack Beecham ran alongside, and lifting the flap said to the Sisters:
“Twenty of us are coming by eleven o'clock to-morrow. So you are to do no work. We are going to set the tables and serve the old people. Please tell the Mother-Superior that she and the Sisters are to stand by and give the orders, and we will do the rest.”
And the feast itself! What a revelation the inside of the convent was to these gay, careless, happy boys. The sight of so much pain and suffering and dependence and resignation was to them a revelation indeed.
To Ambrose Bracebridge, who eagerly accepted the invitation to don an apron and turn waiter for