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t® By RALPH CONNOR J
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"He's tlnk more for dat lcel baby dan
for de whole worl’. He's tlnk more for
jflat baby dan for me.” But she shrug*
feed her pretty little shoulders In depre
cation of her speech.
“You must pray for him,” said MrB.
Mavor, “and all will come right.”
‘‘Ah, mndame,” she replied earnestly,
“every day, every day, I pray la salnte
iVIerge et tous les saints for him.”
‘‘You must pray to your Father In
heaven for him.”
“Ah, oiil, I weel pray.” And Mrs.
Mavor sent her away bright with
smiles and with new hope and courage
In her heart
Sho had very soon need of all her
courage, for at the week's end her
baby fell dangerously ill. Slavln’s anx
iety and fear were not relieved much
by tile reports the men brought him
from time to time of Gcordto’s ominous
forebodings, for Geordle had no doubt
that the Avenger of blood was hot
upon Slavln’s trail, and ns the sickness
grew he became confirmed In this con-
ivlotion. While he could not be said to
find satisfaction In Slnvln’s Impending
affliction, he could hardly hide his com
placency In the promptness of Provi
dence In vindicating bis theory of retri
bution.
But Geordle’s complacency was some
what rudely shocked by Mr. Oralg’s
answor to this theory one day,
“You read your Bible to little profit,
it seems to me, Geordle, or perhaps
you have never read the Master’s
teaching about the tower of Slloain.
Better read that and tako that .warn
ing to yourself.”
Geordle gazed after Mi*. Craig as he
turned nway and muttered:
“The toor o’ Siloam, Is 1}? Aye, I
ken fine aboot the toor o’ Siloam an*
aboot the toor o’ Babel as weel, an*
I’ve read, too, about the blaspheemlous
Herod an’ sic like. Mon, but he’s a hot
kelded laddie an’ lacJ.is dlscreemeena-
tlon.”
“What about Hforod, Geordle?” I
asked.
“Aboot Herod?” with a strong tinge
of contempt in his tone. “Aboot Herod?
Mon, hae'yo no* read in the Screep-
turs aboot Herod an’ the wur-r-ms in
the wnme o* him?”
“CIl yes, I see,” I hastened to an
swor.
‘Aye, a fule can see what’s flapped
In his face,” with .which bit of pro
verbial .philosophy he suddenly left
me. But Geordle thenceforth content
ed himself, in Mr. Craig’s presence at
least, with ominous head shakings,
equally aggravating and Impossible to
answer.
That same night, however, Geordle
showed that with all his theories he
had a man’s true heart, for he came in
haste to Mrs. Mavor to Bay:
“Ye’ll be needed ower yonder, I’m
thinkln*.”
“Why? Is the baby worse? Have
you been In?”
“Nn, na,” replied Geordle cautiously;
“I’ll no* gang where I’m no* wanted,
but yon pulr thing ye can hear ootside
.weepln* an’ moanin’.
“She’ll maybe need ye tae,” he went
bn dubiously to me. “Ye’re a kin* o’
doctor, I hear,” not committing him-
'self to any opinion as to my profession
al value.
But Slavin would have none of me,
having got the doctor sober enough to
prescribe.
The Interest of the camp In Slavin
was greatly increased by the Illness of
his baby, which was to him ns the ap
ple of his eye. There were a few who,
impressed by Geordie’s profound con
victions upon the matter, were inclined
tQ favor the retribution theory and con
nect the baby’s illness with the venge
ance of the Almighty. Among these
few was Slavin himself, and, goaded
by his remorseful terrors, he sought re
lief in drink. But this brought him
only deeper and fiercer gloom, so that
between her suffering child and her
savagely despairing husband the poor
mother was desperate with terror and
grief.
“Ah, madame,” she sobbed to Mrs.
Mavor, “my heart is broke for him.
He’s beet noting for tree daySt but jls
dreenk, dreenk, dreenk.”
The next day a man came for me in
haste. The baby was dying, and the
doctor was drunk. I found the little
One in a convulsion lying across Mrs.
Mover’s knees, the mother kneeling be
side it, wringing her hands in dumb
agony, and Slavin standing hear, silent
and suffering. I glanced at the bottle
of medicine upon the table and asked
Mrs. Mavor the dose and found the
baby had been poisoned. My look of
horror told Slavin something was
Wrong, and,, striding to me, he caught
my arm and asked;
"What Is it? Is the medicine
wrong?”
I tried to put him off, but his grip
tightened till his fingers seemed to
reach the bone.
“The dose is certainly too large. But
let me go. I must do something.”
He let me go at once, saying in a
voice that made my heart sore for him,
“He has killed my baby; he has killed
my baby.” And then he cursed the
doctor with awful curses and with a
look of such murderous fury on his
facq that I was glad the doctor was too
drunk to appear.
His wife, hearing his curses and un
derstanding the cause, broke out into
wailing hard to bear.
“Ah, mon petit angel It is dat whees-
ky dat’s keel mon baby. Ah, mon
cherl, mon amour I Ah, mon Dieu! Ah,
Michael! How often I say that whees-
ky he’s not good ting.”
It wns more than Slavin could bear,
and with awful curses he passed, out.
Mrs. Mavor laid the baby in its crib,
for the convulsion had passed awny,
and, putting her arms about the wall
ing little Frenchwoman, comforted and
soothed her as a mother might her
child.
“And you must help your husband,”
I heard her say. “He will need you
more than ever. Think of him.”
“Ah, oul, I weel,” was the quick re
ply, and from that moment there was
no more wailing.
It seemed no more than a minute till
Slavin came In again, Bober, quiet and
steady. The passion was all gone from
hlB face, and only the grief remained.
As we stood leaning over the sleeping
child the little thing opened Its eyes,
saw Its father and smiled. It was too
much for him. The big man dropped
on his knees with a dry sob.
“Is there no chance at all, at all?” he
Whispered, but I could give him no
hope. He Immediately rose and, pull
ing himself together, stood perfectly
quiet
A new terror seized upon the mother.
“My baby is not—what you call It?”
going through the form of baptism.
“An* he will not come to la salnte
Vierge,” she said, crossing herself.
“Do not fear for your little one,” said
Mrs. Mavor, still with her arms about
her. “The good Saviour will take your
darling into his own arms.”
But tho mother would not bo comfort
ed by this, and Slavin, too, was uneasy.
“Where Is Father Goulet?” he asked.
“Ah, you were not good to the holy
pere de las tarn, Michael,” she replied
sadly. “The saints are not please for
you.”
“Where is the priest?” he demanded.
“I know not for sure. At de Landin’,
dot’s Ink.”
“I’ll go for him,” he said.
But his wife dung to him, beseeching
him not to leave her, and Indeed he was
loath to leave his little one.
I found Oralg and told him the diffi
culty. With his usual promptness he
was ready with a solution.
“Nixon has a team. He will go.”
Then ho added: “I wonder if they
would not like mo to baptize their little
one. Father Goulet and I have ex
changed offices before now. I remem
ber how he came to one of my people
in my absence, when she was dying,
read with her, prayed with her, com
forted her and helped her across the
river. He Is a good soul and has no
nonsense about him. Send for me if
you think there is need. It will make
no difference to the baby, but it will
comfort tho mother.”
Nixon was willing enough to go, but
.When he came to the door Mrs. Mavor
saw the hard look in his face. He had
not fbrgotten his wrong, for day by
day he was still fighting the devil with
in that Slavin had called to life. But
Mrs. Mavor, under cover of getting him
instructions, drew him into the room.
While listening to her his eyes wan
dered from one to the other of the
group till they rested upon the little
White face in the crib. She noticed the
change in his face*
“They fear the little one .will never
see the Saviour if it is not baptized,”
She said In a low tone.
He was eager to, go.
“I’ll do my best to get the priest,” he
said and was gone on his sixty, mile
race with death.
The long afternoon wore on, but be
fore it was half gone I saw Nixon
could not win and that the priest would
be too late, so I sent for Mr. Oralg.
From the moment he entered the room
he took command of us all. He was so
simple, so manly, so tender, the hearts
of the parents instinctively turned to
him.
As he was about to proceed with the
baptism the mother whispered to Mrs.
Mavor, who hesitatingly asked Mr.
Oraig if he would object to using holy
water.
“To me it is the same as any other,”
he replied gravely.
“An* will he make the good sign?”
asked the mother timidly.
And so the child was baptized by the
Presbyterian minister with holy water
and with the sign of the cross. I don’t
suppose It was orthodox, and it render
ed chaotic some of my religious no
tion^, but I thought more of Craig that
moment than ever before. He was
more man than minister, or perhaps he
was so good a minister that day be
cause so much a man. As he read about
the Saviour and the children and the
disciples WbQ tried to get in between
them, and as he told us the story in his
own simple and beautiful way and
then went on to picture the home of
the little children and the same Saviour
in the midst of them, I felt my heart
grow warm, and I could easily under
stand the cry of the mother:
“Oh, mon Jesu, prenez mol aussi, take
me wtz mon mignonl”
The cry wakened Slavln’s heart, and
he said huskily:
“Oh, Annette, Annette 1”
“Ah, oul, an’ Michael tool” Then to
Mr. Craig: “You tink he’s tab me some
day? Eh?"
“All who love him,” he replied.
“An* Michael, too?” she asked, her
eyes searching his face. “An* Michael
too?”
But Craig only replied, “All who love
him.”
“Ah, Michael, you must pray le bon
Jesu! He’s garde notre mignon.” And
then she bent over the babe, whisper
ing, “Ah, mon cherl, mon amour, adieu,
adieu, mon angel” till Slavin put his
arms about her and took her away, for
as she was whispering her farewells
her baby, with a little answering sigh,
passed into the house with many rooms.
“Whisht, Annette, darling, don’t cry
for the baby,” said her husband. “Sure
it’s better off than the rest of us it Is.
And didn’t you hear what the minister
said about the beautiful place it Is?
And sure he wouldn’t lie to us at all.”
But a mother cannot be comforted
for her firstborn son.
An hour later Nixon brought Father
Goulet. He was a little Frenchman
with gentle manners and the face of a
saint. Craig welcomed him warmly
and told him what he had done.
“That is good, my brother,” he said,
with gentle courtesy, and, turning to
tho mother, “Your little one is safe.”
Behind Father Goulet came. Nixon
softly and gazed down upon the little
quiet face, beautiful with the magic of
death. Slavin came quietly and stood
besido him. Nixon turned and offered
his hand, but Slavin, moving slowly
back, said:
“I did you a wrong, Nixon, and it’s a
sorry man I am this day for it.”
“Don’t say a word, Slavin,” answer
ed Nixon hurriedly. “I know how you
feel. I’ve got a baby too. I want to
see it again. That’s why the break
hurt me so.”
“As God’s above,” replied Slavin ear
nestly, “I’ll hinder you no more.”
They shook hands, and we passed
out
We laid the baby under the pines,
not far from Billy Breen, and the sweet
spring wind blew through the gap and
came softly down the valley, whisper
ing to the pines and the grass and the
hiding flowers of the new life coming
to the world. And the mother must
have heard the whisper in her heart,
for ns the priest was saying the words
of the service she stood with Mrs. Ma
yor’s arms about her, and her eyes
were looking far away beyond the pur
ple mountain tops, seeing what made
her smile. And Slavin, too, looked dif
ferent. His very features seemed finer.
The coarseness was gone out of his
face. What had come to him I could
not tell.
But when the doctor came Into Sla
vln’s house that night it was the old
Slavin I saw, but with a look of such
deadly fury on his face that I tried to
get the doctor out at once. But he was
half drunk, and his manner was hid
eously humorous.
“How do, ladles? How do, gentle
men?” was his loud voiced salutation.
“Quite a professional gathering, clergy
predominating. Lion and lamb tool
Ha, ha! Which is the lamb, eh? Ha,
ha! Very good! Awfully sorry to
hear of your loss, Mrs. Slavin. Did
our best, you know; can’t help this sort
of thing.”
Before any one could move Craig
was at his side and, saying in a clear,
firm voice, “One moment, doctor,”
caught him by the arm and had him
out of the room before he knew it
Slavin, who }iad been crouching in
his chair, with hands twitching and
eyes glaring, rose and followed, still
crouching as he walked.
I hurried after him, calling him back.
Turning at my* voice, the doctor saw
Slavin approaching. There was some
thing so terrifying in his swift, noise
less, crouching motion that the doctor,
crying out in fear, “Keep him off!”
fairly turned and fled.
He was too late. Like a tiger Slavin
leaped upon him and without waiting
to strike had him by the throat with
both hands and, bearing him to the
ground, worried him there as a dog
might a cat.
Immediately Oraig and I were upon
him; but, though we lifted him clear
off the ground, we could not loosen
that two handed strangling grip. As
we were struggling there a light hand
touched my shoulder. It was Father
Goulet.
“Please let, him go and stand away
from us,” he said, waving us back.
We obeyed.
He leaned over Slavin and spoke a
few words to him.
Slavin started as if struck a heavy
blow, looked up at the priest with fear
in his face, but still keeping his grip.
“Let him go,” said the priest.
Slavin hesitated.
“Let him go l Quick l” said the priest'
again, and Slavin, with a snarl, let go
his hold and stood sullenly facing the
Father Goulet regarded him steadily
for some seconds and then asked:
“What would you do?”
His voice was gentle enough, even
sweet, but-there was something in it
that chilled my marrpw.
“What would you do?” he repeated.
“He murdered my child,” growled
Slavin.
“Ah! How?"
“He was drunk and poisoned him.”
“Ah! Who gave him drink? Who
made him a drunkard two years ago?
Who has wrecked his life?”
There was no answer, and the even
toned voice went relentlessly on:
“Who is the murderer of your Child
now?”
Slavin groaned and shuddered.
“Go!” And the voice grew stern.
"Repent of your sin and add not an
other.”
Slavin turned his eyes upon the mo
tionless figure on the ground and then
upon the priest
Father Goulet took one step toward
him and, stretching out his hand and
pointing with his finger, said:
“Go!”
And Slavin slowly backed away and
went into his house. It was an ex
traordinary scene, and it is often with
me now—the dark figure on the ground,
the slight, erect form of the priest with
outstretched arm and finger, and Sla
vin backing away, fear and fury strug
gling In his face.
It wdi3 a near thing for the doctor,
however, and two minutes more of
that grip would have done for him.
As it was, we had the greatest difficul
ty in reviving him.
What the priest did with Slavin aft
er getting him inside I know not—that
has always been a mystery to me—but
when we were passing the saloon that
night after taking Mrs. Mavor home
we saw a light and heard strange
sounds within. Entering, we found
another whisky raid in progress, Sla
vin himself being the raider. We stood
some moments watching him knocking
in the heads of casks and emptying
bottles. I thought he bad gone mad
and approached him cautiously.
“Hello, Slavin!” I called out. “What
does this mean?”
He paused in his strange work, and I
saw that his face, though resolute,
was quiet enough.
“it means I’m done with the busi
ness, I am,” he said in a determined
voice. “I’ll help no more to kill any
man, or,” in a lower tone, “any man’s
baby.”
The priest’s words had struck home.
“Thank God, Slavin!” said Oraig, of
fering his hand; “You are much too
good a man for the business.”
“Good or bad, I’m done with it,” he
replied, going on with his work.
“You are throwing away good mon
ey, Slavin,” I said as the head of a
cask crashed in.
“It’s myself that knows it, for the
price of whisky has gone up in town
this week,” he answered, giving me a
look out of the corner of his eye. “Be-
dad, it was a rare clever job,” refer
ring to our Black Rock hotel affair.
“But won’t you be sorry for this?”
asked Oraig.
“Belike I will, and that’s why I'm
doing It before I’m sorry for it,” he re
plied, with a delightful bull.
“Look here, Slavin,” said Craig ear
nestly, “if I can be of use to you in any
way, count on me.”
“It’s good to me the both of you
have been, and I’ll not forget it to
you,” he replied, with like earnestness.
As we told Mrs. Mavor that night,
for Craig thought it too good to keep,
her eyes seemed to grow deeper and
the light in them to glow more intense
as she listened to Craig pouring out
bis tale. Then she gave him her hand
and said:
“You have your man at last.”
“What man?”
“The man you have been waiting
for.”
“Slavin?”
“Why not?”
“I never thought of it”
• “No more did he or any of us.” Then,
after a pause, she added gently, “He
has been sent to us.”
“Do you know, I believe you are
right,” Craig said slowly and then add
ed. “But you always are.”
“I fear not” she answered, but I
thought she liked to hear his words.
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