“No, indeed! Who ever heard of such a late hour for the first parish Mass in such a large parish?” exclaimed Father Morley. “We have a Mass at two a. m. for the newspaper men and other night workers, trolley men, railroaders, all those people. The next Mass is at six. Then ours is not the only church in town! There are nine churches in Beaconhite, all told.”
“Bad influence, danger ahead!” thought the wise priest. “I like the girl!”
“I could have made the six o’clock at St. Francis Xavier’s; I might have asked if there was one, but I didn’t,” Cis looked straight into the priest’s keen eyes. “I’m a careless girl, Father; I never thought so much about these things as Nan—that’s my friend at home—did.”
“Difficult to think too much of things which are unending,” commented the priest. “I approve of Nan and am glad that you have so good a girl friend.”
He smiled, with a slight sigh, and walked onward in silence beside Rodney, taking it for granted that they would continue together as their ways lay in the same direction. Rodney was at once uncomfortable and angry, angry that he was uncomfortable. There was a silent power in this priest that he felt and resisted; it annoyed him to see that Cis felt it and did not resist it. It was impossible to say wherein it lay, but it was there, strong and as unmistakable as it was indefinable. That it was the manifestation of the sum total of the gifts of the Holy Ghost did not occur to him, nor would he have admitted it, but just as those recorded in the Gospel cried out against that Power to which they would not yield, so Rodney in his heart cried out against this quiet person, walking beside him unintrusively, saying nothing remarkable, certainly nothing in direct rebuke. Yet every fibre of Rodney’s being rebelled, and he felt that Cis was accepting and readjusting to that implied reproach.
“Must have been quite a fire,” Rodney said, trying to introduce a topic that was indifferent.
“Indeed it was, a shocking fire,” Father Morley corroborated him. “It was a gasoline fire in a tenement; could anything be worse? The young daughter of one of the tenants was cleaning gloves, I understand, in a room which was dark, using a lighted lamp, and there was not much air in the stuffy place. She did not realize how far the fumes would draw to heat where there was so little oxygen. Not only that tenement burned, but the entire block. Most of these people had kerosene oil in cans. Ah, it was a frightful fire! The firemen saved every life, but several people were badly burned, dangerously so, and a child was nearly trampled to death. One of the firemen was hurt; I came to anoint him and one or two others, but none will die—thank God!”
“Well, I suppose ‘thank God’ is the conventional phrase, but it doesn’t always fit,” said Rodney with a bitter, short laugh. “I suppose, too, that all these people had palm in their houses, blessed especially for protection against fire, lightning and general violent catastrophe!”
The Jesuit frowned slightly; Cis looked half-amused, and he saw it.
“‘Thank God’ is appropriate to whatever befalls those who trust in Him,” he said. “I would imagine the blessed palm was in those tenements, since, in spite of carelessness and ignorance, against which we cannot expect protection from their lighter consequences, no lives were lost. I am glad that you recognize the Providence that intervened, Mr. Moore; many people miss the province of its workings.”