“We shipped on a vessel, and saw Russia and Germany, Italy and France—where Uncle James said a man might live master of himself but never at all could learn the tongue. We crossed the ocean, and one night we saw against the sky a great burning torch lifted over a new land.
“Back of that torch life began. Uncle James made money in truck gardening, and sent me to school. But still, somehow, I hadn’t found my place. I followed the word of the old woman of Dublin, and finally I struck this spot. And better than anything I had seen anywhere else, I liked what the Americans were set about to do here.”
Julie’s eyes shone. “Another wanderer called!” she softly exclaimed.
“Many are called, but few are chosen,” Barry meditated. “You saw one side of the Colony last night. Father Hull could tell you about the reverse side. Others chose mighty issues in this great time, but Father Hull took as his charge the souls of his countrymen—to keep them up to their high engagement. For this is a place and a time taking crude strength to survive. Rough creatures like me are in their element. The priest has many twisted destinies under his charge, people who have suffered and fallen. He alone knows how to deal with them. He alone in this great rough-shod, forward marching colony stops to gather up those who drop behind.
“There was Blackstone! I helped Blackstone to get the contract for the big Santa Cruz bridge—the big thing that was to bring the fortune he had sought for fifteen years over the two Americas; to himself and his wife, who had waited all those years for the Wheel to turn so she could marry him.
“But it was Father Hull who managed to save him from a long sentence in a native prison, when the scandal of the adulterated cement broke forth. Blackstone’s lawyer was the Old Judge—a drunkard and a ‘Remittance Man,’ but in spells a tremendous lawyer. Father Hull got him on the case, made one derelict rise up to save another—as he did in as splendid a court scene as I have ever witnessed. I don’t know whether Blackstone was guilty or not, neither does the Old Judge; but Father Hull believes in him, and that’s enough for all of us.
“Then the Old Judge, fearing the Blackstones would starve because of the boycott put upon him, went to board with him. He suffers torture from Mrs. Blackstone’s cooking. I’ve stopped in there with him occasionally, and after one frowning survey of the burnt, meal, the Judge usually roars for the beer which he keeps on the ice in quantities.”
“But most of the Old Judge must be fine!” Julie exclaimed.
“Yes! He was long ago pensioned off by his wealthy wife, whose pride he had outraged, and told to seek other climates. He has tried the wild life of the Orient for some time, but now he is getting old and tired and lonely. He has drunk the cup to the lees, and would turn back except for the fact that once long ago he had a sentiment for the woman who sent him out; and this contract with her he will respect to the end. Oh, there are any number of others,” he broke off. “Ask Father Hull to tell you about them; he knows all about that other side which I don’t see so much of.
“Here we are! That’s the Rectory just ahead. It’s just the neglected barren outer shell that you’d expect Father Hull’s selfless spirit to dwell in. Even the old housekeeper is a pick-up too, the relict of a colonial who died from one of the swift illnesses of the East and left her stranded on these shores a hopeless incompetent whom no one else could make foot room for.”