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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.”