The Mother of St. Nicholas: A Story of Duty and Peril

  Produced by Al Haines

  Cover art]

  [Frontispiece: "Bearing her awful cross in the footprints of theNazarene."]

  THE MOTHER OF ST. NICHOLAS.

  (SANTA CLAUS)

  A Story of Duty and Peril.

  BY

  GRANT BALFOUR,

  Author of "The Fairy School of Castle Frank."

  TORONTO:

  THE POOLE PRINTING COMPANY, LIMITED,

  PUBLISHERS.

  Entered, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year onethousand eight hundred and ninety-nine by A. BALFOUR GRANT, in theoffice of the Minister of Agriculture.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter

  I. Watching for the Prey II. A Ministering Angel III. Still on the Watch IV. The Amphitheatre V. The Influence Working VI. The Indignation of Tharsos VII. The Perplexity of Carnion VIII. Waiting for the Victim IX. In the Arena X. The Lion XI. The Man with the Dagger XII. Discipline XIII. Night XIV. Day XV. Saint Nicholas

  THE MOTHER OF ST. NICHOLAS

  (SANTA CLAUS).

  CHAPTER I.

  WATCHING FOR THE PREY.

  Go back into the third century after Christ, travel east into thefamous Mediterranean Sea, survey the beautiful south-west coast of AsiaMinor, and let your eyes rest on the city of Patara. Look at it well.Full of life then, dead and desolate now, the city has wonderfulassociations in sacred and legendary lore--it saw the great reformer ofthe Gentiles, and gave birth to the white-haired man of Christmas joy.

  Persecution had beforetime visited Patara, in common with other partsof the Roman Empire; and there were ominous signs, like the firstmutterings of an earthquake, that a similar calamity might come again.The prejudice and malice of the common people were dangerously stirredup to fight the quiet, persistent inroads of aggressive Christianity.

  The authorities, perplexed and exasperated, were disposed to wink atassault upon individual Christians, to try them on any plausiblepretext, and to shew them little quarter. If they could arrest theringleaders, especially people of rank or wealth, whether men or women,in anything wrong or strongly suspicious, that they might applyexemplary punishment, then the irritated majority might be satisfied,and peace in the city restored.

  In a recess at the corner of a busy street, leading towards the marketplace, two men stood, waiting and watching for some particular personto pass by. They were Demonicus and Timon, whose office or duty wassomething like that of a modern detective.

  Demonicus, clad in a brown _chiton_ or tunic reaching down to theknees, was a powerfully built, dark man, with great bison-likeshoulders and thick neck, bristling eyebrows, and fierce, covetouseyes. To him nothing was too perilous or too mean where there wasstrife or the chance of gold. He was a wrestler and mighty swordsman,he had often fought in the stadium or circus, and his fame hadtravelled as far as Rome, to which he went at last, and greatlydistinguished himself for a time.

  Timon, similarly clad, was only a man of ordinary strength; but he waslithe, self-willed and shrewd, with a streak of courtesy and sympathy.

  Camels, bullocks, horses, mules and wagons were passing by--apicturesque train of noisy, dusty movement on an unpaved street--whilenow and again a carriage or a litter appeared, whose occupants wereconsidered either arrogant, or effeminate.

  "Her carriage must have passed," said Demonicus savagely.

  "It cannot be," replied Timon civilly; "the lady, though unfettered bycustom, rarely takes her carriage; she usually passes on foot shortlyafter the morning meal, and I came here to watch in ample time."

  "We must arrest her to-day on some pretext or other," mutteredDemonicus. "I shall dog her steps everywhere, and if I cannot get agood excuse I shall invent one. The bribe," added he with an impatientgesture, "is too tempting for more delay."

  Timon, though also grasping, was not heart and soul with Demonicus.When on the watch alone he had had time to reflect, and his betternature would now and again assert itself, as there stole over hisvision a beautiful figure with a noble work in hand. He wanted theprize but was not in hot haste to win it, and while it seemed judiciousit also felt agreeable to suggest delay. After a brief silence heremarked--

  "There is to be a special gathering of the Christians in the Church ofthe Triple Arch to-night. The bishop is away at Myra. But Orestes,the shepherd, is to be present, and I promise thee something will besaid that will give us a plausible backing; his words are plain, ayeven bold as the cliffs of Mount Taurus, where he dwells. Should wenot wait till then, Demonicus?"

  "I shall not," answered he, stamping his heavy, sandalled footviciously; "it would be our last chance, and the woman might not bethere."

  "The lady is sure to be," rejoined Timon, "she is the spirit of thewhole movement."

  Demonicus paced about reflecting, and having cooled down, hemumbled,--"I shall see, but I shall miss no chance before."

  Timon now stepped out and looked along the street, then turningimmediately round to his companion with a hesitating, half-regretfullook, he whispered--

  "She is coming!"

  The face of Demonicus glowed with an evil flame, as he went forwardquickly to assure himself. The lady with her attendant, a liberatedfemale slave, was seen approaching on foot, and both men retreated intothe recess and waited.

  CHAPTER II.

  A MINISTERING ANGEL.

  Pathema, the eldest daughter of a prosperous merchant, walked with herservant Miriam through the crowded street, heedless or unconscious ofdanger; then passing two pairs of eyes directed towards her veiledface, she turned at right angles into the Stenos, a short quiet streetleading towards the river Xanthus.

  Without haste, yet her progress was steady and good, with a naturalgrace set free by the loose Ionic dress--a cream-coloured _chiton_,girdled at the waist and falling from the shoulders to the feet in manyfolds, and above it a short mantle in gold-brown, bordered with white.Full of work of a high order, her dark eyes and finely carved mouthspoke beneficent purpose, while her fair countenance showed an Orientalseriousness and thought.

  Pathema might have spared herself a life of labour and risk andself-sacrifice. She might have enjoyed a life of fashion and pleasureand ease. Besides this, her beauty and accomplishments could haveeasily secured for her a home and affluence, had she so desired. Butshe had cast in her lot with One who had lived a higher life, which inworking-out had made him a man of "no reputation." Pathema was aChristian, and as such had made herself a set of determined andmalicious enemies. Her Christianity could not be mistaken. There wasno mere form about it, no casual acts of duty, no hysterical nights, noinsipidity, and no compromise,--the gods must go. It was a clear,steady, every-day light, peeping up in childhood, and burning brighterand brighter thro' the years. Though a lover of knowledge and fond ofreasoning, she wasted no time in a vain jangle about faith and works,but illustrated both in her daily life. Encouraged by her parents, andacting as their medium, and that of other benefactors, she attended tothe wants of a wide circle of sick and poor, both heathen andChristian. Like her Lord himself, she went about doing good. No onecheered and comforted the members of the Christian community more, noone was a greater inspiration, and no one was more unassuming.

  On the left bank of the Xanthus stood a large residence belonging to aman of wealth, a business friend of Pathema's father. In front therewas no altar to Apollo Agyieus, and no statue of any god, the ownerhaving distinct leanings toward Christianity. All that met the eye wasa Victor's Laurel tree, behind the house, which was much greater indepth than width, was a garden, containing such trees as pomegranat
e,orange, and fig.

  To that house Pathema went. Ascending the steps and knocking at thedoor, she was met by a porter (with his dog), who led her and Miriampast his lodge and along the narrow passage to the first peristyle--apartly open courtyard. Here they awaited the appearance of themistress. On all four sides were colonnades, under which were abanqueting room, a picture gallery, a library, servants' office,sitting rooms, and several bed-chambers. The visitors had not long towait.

  "Peace be with you!" said the mistress, with a gracious smile.

  "Joy to thee!" was the reply.

  Entering a chamber on the right, Pathema was gently conducted to thebedside of Crito, an invalid boy, his parents' pride and tender care.Crito had received a good education, and, when well, was active, wittyand intelligent. But he had been hurt internally while wrestling inthe gymnasium with an older lad, and for a time his life hung in thebalance. Several days had elapsed since Pathema saw him, and he wasnow fast asleep. She did not speak, but looked on him awhile withearnest anxious eyes. At length a gleam of hope lit up her face, andshe was about to leave softly when Crito, as if conscious of somedeparting force, suddenly opened his eyes.

  "Hail! Pathema; steal not thyself away," said he smiling.

  "I steal but a gem of hope--surely a lighter load," was the laughinganswer.

  "And yet thou hast left it in my breast, thou absent-minded robber."

  Bending down, Pathema kissed his bosom, saying, "And I am glad to leaveit there."

  "And go forth hopeless?" queried he.

  "Yes," said she, shaking her head in feigned solemnity, and Critolaughed.

  Leaving figures of speech, Pathema expressed her joy that thereappeared to be good ground for hope. Then they entered into ananimated conversation about the Iliad and the Odyssey, books that theHellenic people used as we do Robinson Crusoe, Shakespeare, and theBible. Before parting they conversed about the Memoirs of theApostles, called in our day the Gospels.

  "I love the Nazarene's moral courage," said Crito.

  "Yes," replied Pathema, "to be invited, for instance, to dine with anumber of the learned, and without personal provocation to feelcompelled to denounce them as hypocrites, must have been a severe trialof his courage."

  "It seems easier to face wounds and the loss of blood than the loss ofreputation," rejoined Crito.

  "It is, but, of course, the full test is to face both. The applause ofhis comrades, of the whole army and of his nation, fires the spirit ofthe brave soldier that climbs the frowning walls of a besieged city;but the Nazarene had not the applause of a single soul when He facedthe certainty of cruel death upon the cross; worse, there was derision,and He himself even cried out that God had forsaken Him."

  "The cross means a great deal," said Crito reflectively.

  "It was endured in love for us," was the reply.

  "The love was great," remarked the boy.

  Pathema now rose up to go, and Crito was very sorry; but he knew thatthere were many other poor and tried ones waiting to welcome her, andhe urged himself to resignation.

  "Come back on the morrow," said he, "and stay with me longer; I wearymuch for thee."

  Having kissed her hand respectfully, the boy looked after her wistfullyas she departed like a heavenly angel.

  Going next into the humble abode of an old man, whose only attendantwas a little granddaughter, Pathema with her maid proceeded at once toput the place in thorough order, aiding the slender one with theheaviest work, such as it was. The child had always done well, butstronger arms could of course do better, and everything was soon inspecial dress. Then Pathema had a comforting talk with the grandfatherand with his faithful little servant-maid, ending by telling her acharming tale of a Forest Nymph. Before leaving she placed a silvercoin in the old man's trembling hand; and as she departed, he couldonly say, "God bless thee," while the child clung to her sympathetichand for some distance along the street.

  Thus Pathema, accompanied by her servant, went from house to house amessenger of mercy. The harvest-field of suffering and privation wasthen, as ever, white; but the reapers were few, and of modern reapinginstruments--hospitals and "homes"--there were none. How muchChristianity has done, yet how much to do!

  Partaking of a plain mid-day meal of _maza_, barley bread, and figs,with a venerable heathen widow whose heart was opening to Christianity,she also supplied this poor one's need, and resumed her journeyrefreshed.

  The afternoon was well advanced when they passed underneath the TripleArch of the city wall on their way outward to a sheltered spot not farbeyond. In a clump of olive trees and beside a limpid spring, theycame upon a hut occupied by motherless children, alone and unprotected,the hireling having left the day before. Sadder still, the only oneold enough to give material help, and who did help as long as she wasable, Biona, a girl of twelve, was dying of consumption. The sight toPathema was very distressing, but she attended promptly to the wants ofthe sick one, laving her face and hands, and giving her a littlenourishment, while Miriam looked after the younger children and thehouse.

  Biona was somewhat revived, and Pathema sat down beside her to whisperjust a consoling word or two at intervals. The girl expressed heirgratitude briefly, showing it more in her large, hollow but brillianteyes, which rested for a time in peace on her visitor's tender face.The peace was of short duration, for Biona was very feeble. She movedher head and hands uneasily in the hot air of the little room, and atlast exclaimed in a low plaintive voice--"Oh! for breath and rest,rest."

  "Let me carry thee out, my dear, as thy father does, and lay thee amongthe olive trees," said Pathema, feeling keenly, while she held theinvalid's thin, white hand bearing the marks of toil.

  "Thou art not able," replied Biona huskily, and with grateful tears,adding to herself in a dreamy whisper--"My father, poor father!"

  But Pathema was wiry and enduring, easily fit for the fragile burden,and having by a word persuaded the sufferer she wrapped her in a longwhite _chiton_, and carried her with great tenderness out into thecooler welcome air, beside the refreshing spring.

  "How delightful is rest!" said the dying girl, as she gazed up throughthe olive branches into the clear blue sky.

  "There is abundance of rest in store, my beloved, even the rest thatremaineth for the people of God."

  Biona lay quietly, enjoying a measure of peace. Her pet white dove,flying from an overhanging branch, came down beside her; it hopped uponthe pillow, and with gentle wing softly brushed her pallid cheek. Sheturned her head toward it, and gazing fondly upon the affectionatecreature, forgot her weariness for a time--a little time. Then shebegan to move her head restlessly, whispering often and with yearninglook the word father.

  The watchful attendant changed the weary one's position, and gave herrest again. This was done as often as it was needed, and the need hadno end. Pathema prayed earnestly for the sufferer's recovery orrelease. Her voice was the heart's melody, soft and soothing, if tosoothe were possible.

  The father, a big sympathetic man, had by this time reached thebordering olive trees, on his way home from a brief search for aid.His clothing was very simple and plain: a dark _exomis_ (a shortsleeveless frock), and shoes of leather, studded with nails. As wascommon, he was bareheaded. He had a melancholy foreboding thatcalamity was near at hand. His oxen stood idle in their stall fromearly morning. Noticing with surprised relief that his child wasalready out in the grove, with some merciful one reclining by her side,he stole up a little nearer and halted unobserved.

  "Oh! for rest, rest," his daughter faintly cried; and the strong manshook with emotion. "Oh! that I might be at rest!" she cried again, asif a last feeble effort, "but how hard it is, how hard! to leave mylittle brothers and my poor lonely father."

  Creeping closer, Pathema raised Biona's weary head and placed ittenderly in her own bosom. Feeling that the spark of life was low (forthe little hands were getting cold), and that words were unavailing,she closed her eyes and became absorbed in silent prayer.


  A little interval and then, with pleading face, the simple words of thechild--

  "Father in heaven, take into thy kind care my father and brothers;"

  And then, with a peaceful smile--

  "Oh mother, I come!"

  The father came forward delicately and softly behind and looked down,his eyes full of tears. The child raised her languid eyes and smiled,a strange, yearning heavenly smile; then she drew a deep breath andfell asleep--her rest, the long last rest, had come.

  Let the veil lie drawn tenderly over the poor father's sorrow. It issufficient to say that everything was done for his beloved one and hishome that could be done before Pathema and her faithful servant left.The mourner's gratitude, deep and full, was their comfort and reward.

  "My mistress," said Miriam, in an entreating respectful voice as theyturned towards the city in weary sad silence, "thou art much in need ofrest; wilt thou not proceed home, for the gathering of our people willbe well-nigh broken up ere we pass by?" Miriam was wise and good, sheloved her mistress fervently, and was trusted and treated as acompanion, not as a liberated slave.

  "We pass the door, my Miriam, and it would be a rest to turn aside andlisten to the life-giving Word," answered Pathema, looking tenderlyinto the devoted woman's tired face; "yet for thy sake, thy needfulrelease, I shall go on with thee."

  "No, my mistress, no,--thy desire is good and right."

  The Church of the Triple Arch was not far away, and the two ploddedpatiently and trustfully back into the city, thinking not of any dangerthat might come. Their day's work was done--hard and heart-trying, yetbeautiful, and as an exercise of mercy, beneficial to subject as wellas object, for "there is that scattereth and yet increaseth." Goodwere it for the world if all mankind did their possible and necessaryshare. The moon shone high and clear in the star-lit temple of thesky. The night was calm, and nothing broke the stillness save thediscordant, mocking cry of a laughing hyena far behind, with anoccasional, distant shout rising from the city in front. As theyemerged from the olive-grove, the pet white dove, pursued by aswift-winged night-hawk, swept like an arrow across their track, as ifan omen of coming trouble.