"One never tires of hearing of deeds of bravery," answered Rob, dramatically.
"Or of romantic adventures," added Pollie.
Uncle Tom looked amused; but, after some hesitation, said; "Well, I will tell you an incident recalled by this pine-wood fire. It may seem extraordinary; but, having witnessed it myself, I can vouch for its truth. You consider me an old soldier; yet, though I wore the blue uniform for more than a year and saw some fighting, I was only a youth of eighteen when the war closed; and, in spite of my boyish anxiety to distinguish myself and become a hero, I probably would never have attained even to the rank of orderly, had it not come about in the following manner:"
Our regiment was stationed at A———, not far from the seat of war. Near our quarters was a Catholic church, attended by the ——— Fathers. I early made the acquaintance of one of them, who was popularly known as Father Friday, this being the nearest approach to the pronunciation of his peculiar German name to which the majority of the people could arrive. In him I recognized my ideal of a Christian gentleman, and as such I still revere his memory.
He was one of the handsomest men I ever saw—tall and of splendid physique, with light brown hair, blue eyes, and a complexion naturally fair, but bronzed by the sun. Though in reality he was as humble and unassuming as any lay-brother in his community, his bearing was simply regal.
He could not have helped it any more than he could help the impress of nobility upon his fine features. The youngsters used to enjoy seeing him pass the contribution box in church at special collections. It must have been "an act" (as you convent girls say, Pollie). He would move along in his superb manner, looking right over the heads of the congregation, and disdaining to cast a glance at the "filthy lucre" that was being heaped up in the box which from obedience he carried. What were silver and gold, let alone the cheap paper currency of the times, to him, who had given up wealth and princely rank to become a religious! Yet, in fact, they were a great deal, since they meant help for the needy—a church built, a hospital for the sick poor. In this sense none appreciated more the value of money.
Father Friday was accustomed to travel about the country for miles, hunting up those of his flock who, from the unsettled state of affairs, either could not or would not come into the town to church. Like the typical missionary, from necessity he always walked; though, in my youthful enthusiasm, I used to think how grandly he would look upon a charger and in the uniform of a general. In his old cassock, and wearing a hat either of plain brown straw or black felt, according to the season, he was as intrepid as a general, however; and went about alone as serenely as if the times were most peaceful. Our colonel often remonstrated with him for doing so, and finally insisted upon appointing an orderly to attend him. Father Friday at first declined; but upon hearing that the duty had been assigned to me, he in the end assented—partly, I suppose, to keep me from bad company and out of mischief. Many a pleasant tramp I had with him; for he would beguile the way with anecdotes and jokes, and bits of information upon geology, botany, the birds of that section—everything likely to interest a boy. What wonder that I regarded a day with him as a genuine holiday?
One October afternoon he said: "To-morrow morning, Captain Tom" (the title was a pleasantry of his),—"to-morrow morning I shall be glad of your company. I am going some five miles back into the country to visit an invalid."
"Very well, Father," I answered. "I shall be ready."
Accordingly, the next day, at the appointed hour, I joined him at the gate of the convent, and we set out—this time in silence, for he carried the Blessed Sacrament. At first our course was through the open plain; but later it led, for perhaps a mile, across a corner of the pine forest, which extended all along the ridge and shut the valley in from the rest of the world. We entered the wood confidently, and for half an hour followed the windings of the path, which gradually became less defined. After a while it began to appear that we were making but little headway.