Cupid of Campion

“Very soon, Clarence. On the very day you arrived here, I sent telegrams to different cities, and had advertisements inserted in the most prominent papers in New York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Cleveland and Cincinnati. The ads. read something like this: Any friends or relations of Clarence Esmond falsely reported drowned are requested to write or call upon the President of Campion College, Prairie du Chien, Wis.”

“Did you really do that, Father?”

“Yes, my boy,” answered the Rector, as the two went up the steps and proceeded in the direction of the infirmary. “And it seems that in New York a member of the firm that sent the telegram to your father read the ad. He at once wired your parents – and – and – ” the Rector paused.

They were standing just outside the parlor, from which came the sound of voices.

“They’re here! They’re here?” cried Clarence, and burst into the parlor.

Father George Keenan considerately waited outside until the first rapture of reunion should have died away; waited and thought with gratitude to God of his part in a romance of the upper Mississippi, a romance of childhood and innocence, and the sure, guiding hand of Divine Providence.

The parlor door opened presently, and Clarence came out.

“Oh, Father Rector, won’t you please come in? Say, Pa, this is the priest who fed me when I was hungry, clothed me when I was naked, took me in when I was abandoned, and treated me as if I was a prince in disguise. Say, Ma, look at him and thank him, if you can. I can’t.” And Clarence blubbered.

“Father Keenan,” said Mr. Esmond with quivering lips, “if I should think of trying to thank you, I should become absolutely dumb. I am helpless; and to think that you should be the member of an Order I’ve been abusing all my life.”

Mrs. Esmond, in turn, took the dismayed Father’s hand, and tried to speak. She failed; but her eyes spoke the gratitude her tongue could not utter.

“Don’t – don’t mention it,” said Father Keenan lamely and with a vivid blush. “I’m happier than I can say to have done anything for as fine and as gifted a boy as I have ever met.”

There came an awkward silence. The Rector was confused beyond measure; Mrs. Esmond had gathered her boy to her arms, and was fondling him as she had done when he was a little child. Mr. Esmond was endeavoring with but ill success to master his burst of emotion.

“Say, Pa,” cried Clarence, breaking away in excitement. “There’s one thing I want to say right off. You said I might choose my religion when I was fourteen. Well, I’ve chosen. I want to be a Catholic.”

“Certainly, my boy, certainly. I never thought of your joining that Faith; but you’ll be in good company.”

“And, Father Rector, may I be baptized?”

“Of course, Clarence, since your father so kindly consents.”

“And, Father, will you do it?”

“Gladly, Clarence.”

“Good! thank you. Come on,” and Clarence seized his hat.

“But what’s your hurry, Clarence?” asked Father Keenan, laying a detaining hand upon the eager neophyte.

“Isn’t this rather sudden, my boy?” inquired Mr. Esmond.

“It’s not at all sudden,” Clarence made answer. “I’ve been thinking about this and preparing for this ever since I met Dora. Do you think I want to go to bed to-night with original sin and all my life’s wickedness on my soul when I can get it off in a few minutes? Of course, I’m in a hurry.”

“Put your hat down, Clarence,” ordered the Rector. “But I promise you this: you’ll be baptized and made a child of God and heir of heaven before you go to bed tonight. And now, Mr. and Mrs. Esmond, I want you to come out and meet Dora, who did so much for Clarence and whom Clarence saved from the gypsies; John Rieler, who rescued Clarence from the river; and Dora’s parents and big brother. For the next hour, we are going to hold a symposium. Clarence will tell his story from the time he left McGregor till he took to the river; John Rieler will take up the theme and tell how he came to make Clarence’s acquaintance; I, myself, will describe the boy’s first appearance at Campion, and with the help of Will Benton will tell the tale of our visit to the gypsy camp and rescue of Dora.”

As everybody following hard upon introduction insisted upon talking at once, Father Keenan experienced no little difficulty in carrying out the proposed program. It was fully an hour before the story – the strange romance of the upper Mississippi – was clearly unfolded to the wondering grown folks.

“I say,” urged Clarence, when the various adventures had been adequately commented on, “isn’t it time for me to be baptized?”

“Oh,” said Dora. “Is it all arranged?”

“Yes, Dora.”

“And – and – may I be your godmother?”

“Delighted!” cried the boy. “Nothing could please me better.”

“You ought to know,” observed John Rieler, “that the Church has erected an impediment between godmother and godson. If you carry out that program, you two can never marry.”

“Marry!” cried Dora, “I’m not to marry. I’m to dedicate my life to Mary.”

“Marry!” remonstrated Clarence. “Who ever thought of such a thing? Dora and I don’t intend to discuss that subject ourselves; and we don’t” – here he looked severely at John – “care about hearing anyone else discuss it.”

“All right, Clarence,” said John, “if that’s the case I want to be godfather.”

After supper, Clarence, alone, went to the boys’ chapel, where for fifteen minutes he prayed and recalled in sorrow all the sins of his life. Then came Dora, John, Will and the two married couples followed by Father Keenan; and in the quiet of the evening Clarence Esmond filled with faith and love received upon his brow the regenerating waters of baptism and became a faithful child of the true Church.

On the next morning the three children and Will Benton attended the six o’clock Mass and together received Holy Communion.

Clarence frequently during that day pronounced it the happiest day of his life.

On Sunday evening Clarence, who had passed most of the time with his parents, entered Father Keenan’s room.

“Why, Clarence! How happy you look.”

“That’s because I’m a hypocrite, Father.”

“Surely, you haven’t come to bid me good-bye?”

“Oh, I should hope not, Father.” Here Clarence fumbled in his pocket. “This is a letter my Pa gave me to bring to you.”

“So you were godfather for Dorcas and her children!”

“Yes, Father Rector, and Dora was godmother. Pa says it was awful good of you to pay the expenses of Ben’s burial and to pay for the board of Dorcas and her little ones; but he’s going to do the rest. He has an interest in the ranch in the Southwest, and they need a woman to feed the men and keep the house. Dorcas gets the position.”

“Can she hold it?” asked the Rector.

“Oh, yes! Dora says that Dorcas cooks nicely and is fine at the needle, and is very neat.”

“I hope she’ll have a chance to go to church,” continued Father Keenan.

“There’s a church ten miles from the ranch; and the foreman is a good Catholic. He is to bring Dorcas every Sunday.”

“Excellent,” said the Rector.

“And did you hear about Pete?” asked Clarence.

“No; how is he?”