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THE BULLETIN OF THE CATHOLIC
A MATTER OF COINCIDENCE OR ?
(Continued from Page 7).
floor, Father, and the room at the back, at the end
of the hall.” Father J. turned around and said:
“You had better come up with me,” but to his sur
prise the boy had gone.
Father J. went up the stairs and knocked on the
door indicated. A feeble “Come in” was heard and
the Priest went into a bare room, having only a
bed, a table and two chairs. On the bed lay a man
who seemed to be about 70. He was much emaci
ated and was lying with closed eyes. Father J.
placed his hand on the sick man’s forehead and he
opened his eyes in amazement.
“Who are you, Sir?” he said.
Father J. answered: “I am a Catholic Priest and
your grandson came and told me you were sick and
I have come to see you.”
“My Grandson?’’said the sick man, “Why I have
no grandson. In fact, I am the last of my family.
I have no living relative. But never mind Father,
I want to go to Confession.”
The moonlight was shining in at the window and
the moon was as bright as day. Before giving him
the Viaticum, the Priest asked if there was any one
living on the same floor and he answered that Mrs.
Casey’s room was at the front of the house on the
same floor
“I went to her room and roused her and she was
soon with us,” he said. “I administered the Holy
Viaticum to him. After *1 had given him the last
blessing he said: ‘Father, how did you know that
I was ill? Who went for you? I don’t think that
Mrs. Casey had any idea I was so sick.’ I told him
that a young boy came for me and told me he was
sick and brought me to the house. He asked me
who the boy was and I replied that he was a
stranger to me.
“I then told the whole story of the ringing of the
bell which aroused me, of my going to the window
and finding a young lad who promptly took off his
cap displaying a mass of curly hair, and of his tell
ing me that there was a sick man at Mrs. Casey’s
house. I added that I was very much surprised at
the boy’s dress. He wore a black velvet jacket and
knee breeches and wore a wide white collar over
his jacket. The sick man interrupted me saying:
“ ‘But, Father, how did you know he was my
grandson?’ ‘When I came down stairs,’ I answered,
‘he told me that you were his grandfather and a
good Catholic, and as he feared there was no one at
Mrs. Casey’s to send for a Priest, that he was per
mitted to come. He came as far as the front door
with me and told me where your room was. and as 1
turned to ask him to go with me, I found that he
was gone. Where is he? Does he live with you?’
“The sick man was very much affected by my
story and T saw the tears on his cheeks. Finally,
he said: ‘No, Father, he does not live with me. He
was my Grandson, I have no doubt now. God is very
good to a poor old sinner like me. The boy always
lived with me after his mother’s death, but God
took him from me ten years ago. He was a very
uious lad. The Priests used to tell me he was a
little St. Alovsius. He was full of fun. but deeply
religious for h : s age. and I really believe he never
lost his baptismal innocence.”
“I sat by his bedside for a while and then I rose
to go. Mrs. Casev said to me: ‘Father, I believe
he is dead.’ And he was. I made every effort to
trace the bov who came for me that night and failed
Our town is small and we have only one church
here, and yet. from that day to this, I have never
seen or heard of the boy with the curly, yellow
LAYMEN’S ASSOCIATION OF GEORGIA 13
hair, dressed in the black velvet suit. I am fully
persuaded tne old man was right and that a good
and merciful Lord sent the boy to me that his
Grandfather might not die without the Sacraments.”
IV.
My next story is commonplace enough, and yet
it may have a claim to a place here. It was merely
one of those triumphs of Divine Grace with which
all Priests are familiar.
On the eve of the First Friday of June I was sit
ting in my Confessional, with quite a crowd of pen
itents outside. There were three other Priests hear
ing Confessions, and so, after an hour, I found no
one coming. I drew aside the curtains and saw
there was no one outside and I was preparing to go
into the house when I heard the steps of some one
coming up the aisle. I remained for a while and
then thinking that the newcomer might not know
there was a Priest in the Confessional, I drew the
slides. The person rose from the pew and came
towards my _ confessional, but stopped at the pew
in front of it and sat down. Again I moved the
slides and the curtains opened and a woman came in
and said: “I am not going to Confession” and left.
I waited for a while and once more moved the
slides and immediately she rushed in and kneeling
down said, “I will not go to Confession. You are
trying to make me go and I will not go.” And then
burst into tears.
I said to her, “Madam, whether you go to Confes
sion or not is a matter of no importance to me, but
I think it is a matter of great importance to .you.”
She remained absolutely silent for a long time and
then went to Confession.
That evening the servant told me there was a
lady in the parlor who wished to see me. I wen+
down stairs and found a lady standing in the center
of the room. She said. “Father, I arrived here to
day from New York and went to the hotel. After
lunch, as it was my first visit to your city, I took
a little walk. I saw the spire of your church and
through curiosity I came to have a look at it. I
found the door open and walked in. To my great
surprise I passed through a large group of people
just inside the door.
“I walked up the aisle and meeting a child I said
to her: ‘Why are all these people in church?’
“She looked her surprise and answered: ‘Why to
morrow is the First Friday. Don’t you know?’
Father, I did know once but had forgotten. I had
not been to Mass nor Confession for thirty-five
years. I said to myself: ‘What is the First Friday
to me?’ But while doing so I walked on and sat
in the front pew.
“I was angry at myself for having come into a
Catholic church. Had I known it was a Catholic
Church I would not have gone in. And then I heard
a oueer noise and turned around to see what it was,
and I knew there was a Priest then hearing Confes
sion. Just from curiosity I watched to see the one
coming out. No one came and I heard the same
noise, and I said the Priest wanted me, and I laugh
ed. I was not going to Confession. Again you made
that noise and I recognized it as the sliding back
of the little door. Something told me to go and
I got up, but when I got near the Confessional I re
sisted and went in the near pew. Again vou slid
the door and I rose and rushed in and told you I
was not going to Confession. Father you know
the rest. Thank God I entered the Church and oh,
how much I thank Him that T went to Confession.
You will never see me again Father, but I had to
come and thank you for being so kind and patient
with me.”