A TRUE STORY. "WHEN THE VICAR LIED."

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 7, 30 April 1920, Page 2

A TRUE STORY. "WHEN THE VICAR LIED."

The Rev John Stewart, the vicar of one of the poorest parishes in the East End of London, was, without donbt, the best loved man in the whole of the district, ar.d it would have been amazing had this not been so, for his life was made up of one constant endeavour to relive the sufferings of his less fortunate fellow-heings. Tle practised the Christianity he preached; and his duties within tho church presented only a smaU part of his week's work. During the time when England had been plunged in wai f are his duties had been doubled, ay, trebled, for he had been untiring in his efforts to start funds for the j relief of those who had been anected, and Le had spared himself neither time, money nor work in ordea* to ensure the prompt service he walked briskly along towards One evening after the usual week-day and proper administration of the funds. his home, feeling at peaee with all the world, for now that so many of his parishioners had been demobilised, and had returned to the bosoxns of their families, hi; duties had lightened considerably. Reaching the vicarage at the end of the road, John Stewart passed in through the gate and up the steps. The house was in darkness, for the vicar lived alone and employed only a charwoman who came daily to attend to his wants. John Stewart opened the front- door and stepped inside. Just pausing to light the b all g.as, he passed into the small diningroom, where his supper had heen set out. He turned up the gas and was upon the point of sitting down, when he paused suddenly and stood staring across the room with a puzzled frown. The object which had attracted his attention was a man's foot, and it was just visible beneath the heavy cnrtains which were drawn across the window. In no way disturbed by the possibilit-y that a despcrate man might be lurking behind the hanging, John Stewart walked swiftly across the carpeted floor and with a sweep of his arm, pulled the cnrtain aside. Behind the curtain stood a man! He was shabbily clad and his face, which bcte a beard of several days' growth, looked white and drawn. His general attitude when the clergyman discovered him was clearly intended to be one of defiance but there was a look of hopelessness in his eyes which could not be mistaken. With a shrug of his thin shoulders he stepped forward from his hiding-place, anct there he stood gazing down with unseeing eyes at the ground. It was quite apparent that he intended to make no bid for freedom. He was a beaten man — beaten in the fight for life. "Hadn't you better send for the police, guv'nor," he said at last. "I've got no fight left in me, and I'll give you no trouble." Tho vicar moved nearer to the man and regarded him intently. "You came here to steal?" he said quietly. "I did," confessed the stranger; "hut somehow I don't think I should have done very well out of the job. I've had a good look around and have come to the conclusiv n that I should have had to content myself with a bit of grub and that gold watch in the stand, on the mantelpiece. There doesn't seem to be much else worth haying. " "You're right," agreed the vicar, with a smile. "I have very little of any value at all, and I should not have rninded your taking a moal, but I should have been deeply grieved by the loss of the watch. Tt was bought by a number of my poorest parishioners ; it has a great sentimental value to me and I prize it before auy other possession." The man glanced up and grinned. The vicar's ingenuons manner apparently amused him. I snppose this i3 not tihe first time you have done anything of this sort?" asked John Stewart after a while, regarding the other steadily. It is the first time eincfi I came out of qnod after serving a sentence of seven years for honsebreaking. " Shocking ! ejaculated the clergyman, witl; a pained sigh. "But surely you realise that if you don't try and mend your

f>r ways, there can be only one end to such a life?" "I realise only one thing, guv'nor," answered the man bitterly, "and that is there is no end worse than that of starvation, and a man wiil risk almost anythiDg to avoid that. But you don't understand. You are a clergyman, and a good man, but if you are really all that you are supposed to be, perhaps before you send fov the police you will give me a bite of something to eat. I haven't had a meal of any sort for two days, and I feel ravenous Instantly all the sympathy in the vicar's I nature was aroused. "Sit down, my poor fellow," he said, indicating a chair. "There is plenty of fcu 1 here, and you are welcome to all you need. I will join you, and we can tlien perhaps decide what is best to he done." With a bewildexed glance at the vicar, the man took his seat and then hastened to avail himself of what he considered an amazing offer. John Stewart took his seat and the meal was proceeded with in silence. The burglar was the last to finish, and when done so, he sat back in his chair and looked at the vicar. "I cannot thank you sufSciently for ■ that, sir," he said gratefully. "And 1 am qmtc ready to be given in charge, the moment you say. After all, my visit here to-night has not been in vain, even if it means another long stretch!" "It need mean nothing of the kind," returned John Stewart. "From the law's point of view, it was wrong of you to break into the house to-night, but I can understand your clesperate condition. Erom your manner I should imagine that you have received a very good education, a.i.l that makes it harder for me to understand you." The man gave vent to a bitter laugh. "I received a 'Varsity education," he said "But I was never any good in anything save sport. All my time was spent in achieving fame on the field, instead of paying attention to the serious things of life. There I made my mistake, for when rry father died, leaving me a heritage of debt, I was beaten. The only things I excelled in were of no use to me and so I quickly went wrong." "You are still a young man and there is yet a chance to live down the past!" declared the vicar emphatically. "It's too late now, retorted the man. "A chap who has spent seven years in prison stands no chance of earning an honest living — there is no place in the world for a gaolbird." "That is only your idea," said John Stewart, with a faint smile. "But I am going to ti'y and persuade you that you are wrong. Where did you sleep last night ?" "On the Embankment. That's where I have slept for the past week." The vicar rose to his feet. s "To-night then, you will stay here with me," he said. "There is a spare room upstairs, and in the raorning we can have a chat." The burglar stared in amazement at the clergyman. He was quite convinced that a man, especially a clergyman, who would invite a burglar to spend the night in his house, must have taken Leave of his senses. I mean what I say," went on ihe vicar, noticing his visitor's bewiiderment. You are welcome to the shelter of my house for the night. If you are ready, I Mili show you to the spare room." T he man rose to his feet, and without a word, followed John Stewart upstairs. When John Stewart knocked upon the door of the spare room the following I morning, he received no answer. Several I i times he rapped, then under the impres-s;c-i> that his visitor was still in profound slumber he turned the handle, a.nd peered into the room. The room was empty! Of the man, whom he had conducted there, there was no sign. ith a pained and pnzzled expression upon his face, John Stewart made his way to the dining-room, and looked about him. Jhen he glanced in the direction of the ciock, to make sure of the hour.

One glance was sufficient to tell him what had happened. The gold watch was missing from the stand ! Tho vicar sank down into a chair, and with & low moan, bnried his face in his hands. n. John Stewart was not to be given a chance of forgetting the matter, for less th&n half an hour latcr the woman who acted a,s hi$ Eervant ushered three men into his room. The first he reco-gnised immediately as Thomas Hobbs who carried on a business of jeweller and pawnbroker in the district. He was followed by a policeman who led a shabbily dressed individual into the room. The third man was the vicar's tmbidden guest of the night before. "I'm extremely sorry to trouble you, sir," began Hobbs awkwardly. "But I have come about a rather serious matter. About half an hour ago this man came to pawn somethiug at my shop, and as I thcnght I recognised it as your property, I took the liherty of coming along to see you before I did anything in the matter." He advanced towards the vicar. "It was the gold watch which was presented to you by the parishioners some little time ago," he explained, and drawing the watch from his pocket, he placed it on the table.

John Stewart gazed down at the watch, and then into the drawn, hopless face oi the thief. The watch was, without doubt, his most treasured possession, and he had been bitterly grieved when he had discovered the loss of it. But on the other hand, the burglar 's immediate future restod upon the vicar's answer, and that was a serious matter. The haggard-faced man waited for what soemed the inevitable and he was resigned to it- He seemcd almost to have lost interest. John Stewart looked at Thomas Hobbs and shook his head slowly ; then, picking uji the watch, he handed it to the burglar. "You have made a mistake!" he remarked abruptly. "This man is not a thief; I gave him the wa-tch!" It would be difficult to gay which of the rr.cn was the most surprised — Hobbs, the policeman, or the thief ; At all events, the officer was the first to recover, and he released his hold upon the burglar. With a long puzzled glance at the clergyman, the jeweller turned to the policeman, and together they passed from the room. For some moments after they had gone the burglar stood in silence, clearly xmable to speak. Then, holding out the v/atch, lie said- brokenly : "For Heaven's sake, take it back, sir, and let me get away!" "No. I have said that it is yours and you may keep it," answered the vicar gently. "But I couldn't — I couldn't after that!" stammered the man brokenly, placing tho watch upon the table. Then, without another word, he staggered from the room aml out of the house. The vicar rvatched him go and a smile of wonderous kindness came to his face. "May Heaven forgive me for that lie," ho said simply. "But I truly believe that Ihe ielling of it has saved that man's soul !"

ra. On the oceasion of tlie chDdren's Sunday School treat, the Rev. John Stewart, with a band of, workers, took the youngsters to Marley Lock, one of the quiet upriver resorts not too far from London. The day began happily, and during tlie afternoon, the senior members of the party hired rowing boats and took the younger ones on the river. John Stewart, fjf.m the bank, watched the eager, happy faces of the children, to whom the outing was a day of undreamed joy and complete happiness. But it was when ev'erything seemed happiest that the grim shadow of trageoy stalked in among the party. Suddenly from above the sounds of happy laughter of the youngsters, a shrill scream sounded from somewhere over the water. The vicar sprang to his feet and glanced about him. Some distance down the stream, he saw two rowing boats collide violently. A mcrnent later one of the boats, in v/hich a boy of about sixtecn years old and three tiny youngsters had been seated, terned on to its side and completely capsized. Screams of horror rent the air, as the children were fiung into the water and almost immediately disappeared beneath the surface. 1 he other boat contaming a young girl scliool-teacher and three little boys,' was only a few feet away, and as the boy clasping one of the little ones rose to tj 16 surface, the girl leaned over and heiped the pair into the boat. Of the two other chidren there was no sign.

John Stewart, though unable (/ . ran quickly towards the scene to ^ what aid he could in the face nf ^ catastrophe. 1 the Frantic at his own helpiessn,., , looked about in gearch oi A ;xat ^ fc« same moment he noticed a man twenty yards away, in the act of 'fli* of; his coat and shoes. ^ i With a murmured prayer of thankfnL I ness, the vicar hurried towards him t 1 before he could reach the spot, the ne 1 comer ran to the water 's edge, and^ j raoment later, sprang from the bank J I struck out for the place where the child I re.i had disappeared. A3 the swimmef I passed the boat he shouted to the frtn I cned girl to stand by, and then plnnged I down into the water. Fifteen seconds passed and then he r* 1 appeared and handed up the tiny of one of the children. A cheer'of en, I couragement rang out from the onlookea ^ as the man dived again. It seemed an ■ terminable period before he rose to the ' surface, and it was to find himself some distance away from tlie spot -where he \ haJ takai the plunge. His mission had been successful for hj i was supporting the second child. Jj ^ struck out boldly for the boat, hut tb | eurrent was running swiftly, and it vas a apj>arent to the onlookers that he waj belng swept rapidly away from the smdll craft. The swimmer seemed to readiso it;> S>

too for, ignoring the boat, he turned ha 't head towards the bank, and struck oet'' desperately for the shore. He was a powerful swimmer, but with / every yard he progressed he was carried. yards down the stream. For fully ten ' minutes he struggled fiercely until he vm • abh: to make no head way at all agaimlf the strong eurrent. His strength was failing fast, while hii " burden hampered his movements con- g sidera'oly. Still he fought on, and despk i all his efforts, he was unable to prevejl ihimself from being carired swiftly mj S down the river. Just when he was giving up hope,b| became conscious of a boat being rowed S rapidly in his direction. It was mannedl by John Stewart, and the clergymai! wa,a l steering the boat directly in the course ! oi the helpless swimmer. As a prayer of thankfulness escaped the | unfortunate man's lips, an ominous sovmd? from behind him caused the mutteredl words to die on his lips. It was the sound of rushing waters He half turned his head, and his bloodl shot eyes fell upon a large board standinjl out of the water about twenty yardi I away. It bore the word "Danger." The spot was a famons one, and oi K ti. e instant, the man recognised it as Mor- ■ ley weir. A tbriR of horror ran through his fem « ■ a-d clutching tbe senseless form still m eloser, he looked back at tlie boat. It was still some distance awa;;, andle A lcrew that long before the couli reach him, he would be swept- cvet to weir. For tbe sake of the child he made one . *• last desperate attempt to strike fov tle bank, but his efforts, though amazingly f u courageous were futile. And so, at length : | with no fight left in him, his eyes closedjg^ as all other sounds were drowncd in tli Y. roar of the rushing torrent.

A moment later, still clasping the chil8||| firmly in his arms, he was carried to tlt/H edge of the weir, and fiung bodily over the seething foam into the rusbiif:^ waters below. Some hours later, in a cottage within '-J sl;ort distance of Marley weir, a man lying unconscious. It was the swimntfH who had risked his all to save the cbiUH ren from the river. And this man proved himself capable of the lovc was also the man who had brofH int-^ the vicar's house and abused "■ good man's kindness and trust by !ri highly prized gold watch ! By the bedside of the dying ni-"n. Rev. John Stewart knelt praying f'" H "soul of a brave man. At length opened his eyes and half turned m the vicar's direction. A' fa^r'^ '^9 recognition caused a wan smiik to a? ' I on his face. , "Funny meetmg again likn tlus, '■ he murmured weakly. H "An act of Providence, my dear^'9 answered the vicar gently, bendi , J the bed. The dying man man spoke ago"1"Where is the little one?'' , fjJp "Thanks to you she is i-i a few days will be none the '• the accident," . ,fh « The man on the hed smile p1 « "Is the end very near? he v I after a pause. "Not the end," answered " ' gently; "only the beginning— it ning of a gi-eat and lasting alBj]el'^ The man on the bed smile a I snpreme happiness. (Continued on pag0

"WHEN THE VICAR LIED." (Continued from page 2.)

" I am — glad — very glad," hemurmured. "[ have not lived. a good life and I should have ceoiinued bad to th« aad, b oi istt you." The vicar did not speak. "You told a lie to save me," went on the man, "and that wa s the turning point in-my life. From that moment what manhcod remained in me came into being again. Since then I have, starved and sufered, but I would have gone to my death gladly rather than the lie which you told to save me should have proved in vain. From then I made up my niind that notliing should make me go wrong again !" "God bless you, my son," whispered John Stewart brokenly. A silence fell upon them, for the clergyr.ian was praying, and while he prayed, the soul of the man passed into the Beyond. The Rev. John Stewart sat, as his desk and gazed at the small gokl watch. It was the gift from his parishoners, but it had been the means of working strange thir.gs. It had been tho cause of changing a worthless outcast into a hero ; it kai brought about the saving of two precious little lives ; and for the man who had played his part so well, it had won a peace which passes all earthly understanding. The end.