The Conclusion: The Little Hunchback - The Priest, a Cross, and an Angel

By Rebecca Ball

Mary was the child of Roman Catholic parents, and although she had been a wanderer and an outcast for many years, subject to the insults and scoffs of those whose fortune had placed them above the wants and privations from which she suffered, still her mother’s early teachings had not been forgotten. And although taught to believe in many errors, this little disciple of a false creed wished to do what she believed to be a duty.

So, one evening, just as the sun was setting, she called Mrs. Doty to her and said, “I feel the life going out of me. I feel it right here, laying her hand on her breast, and I want to confess. Won’t you bring the priest? My mother had no priest with her when she was dying; I don’t want to die so. You’ll bring him to me, won’t you, Mrs. Doty?”

Mrs. Doty told Mary that she would go then, before the night set in, and turned to leave the bed, but Mary called her back and said, “Come very close and bend low down that you may hear me, for I want you to do something more for me.” Then drawing from its resting place, the little black cross, her mother’s gift, and kissing it, she said, “Won’t you lay this on my breast when I am dead? Lay it right here, said she, where it has ached so. But don’t let them put it in the grave with me; take it off and give it to Cathy; it will do her good, like it did me, when people spoke cross to me, and drove me from their doors in the cold winter days.”

Mrs. Doty had always been very kind to Mary and readily promised to do all things as she wished, and wiping the tears from her eyes, started for the priest. It was quite dark when she returned, with Father D------, to the shanty. He entered alone to receive her confession. Old Aunty left the room and went out and took her seat with Mrs. Doty on a pile of wood by the house door. When they entered the room, they found Mary lying very quietly, while on her face rested an expression of calm resignation; she had done what she believed to be a duty and was now ready to die.

Tightly clasped in her thin small hands, gazing on it, with a look of the deepest reverence, she held the cross. As soon as she noticed their entrance, she parted her dress in front and laid it on her bosom; then folding her hands upon it, as if to press the adored symbol closer to her heart, she fell asleep.

Before morning she grew worse and suffered great agony till nearly sunset the next day when mortification ensued, and her pains left her. But Death’s paleness was on her cheek, and her once bright eye had grown dim and misty. Still, there was a brightness on her wan face, and the sad lip of the orphan now wore a smile. The evening sun through a parting gleam, which shone through the little dusty window on Mary’s bed, but the rays were broken by the branches of the old tree, now thickly covered by the green leaves of Spring. Poor Mary, there has ever come a shadow to darken thy sunlight! But it matters little now, thou art so near the better land from whence all shadows flee away.

Darkness had again gathered around the old house; all sounds had died away without, and perfect silence reigned within. Old Aunty had grown quite sober and sat with Mrs. Doty by the side of the little sufferer, waiting for the last messenger. The room was dimly lighted by a tallow candle, which Aunty now took from the old bottle that had served to hold it and passed it several times over Mary’s face to see if she still lived, but the little breast heaved, and she replaced the candle in the bottle and again took her seat at the bedside.

She had been seated but a few moments when Mary roused up and cried in quite a low voice. “Oh! It’s so sweet, don’t you hear it, Aunty?”

“Hear what?” said the old woman, “sure it’s nothing but the dogs barking.”

“Oh, no!” said Mary. “It’s my mother; she’s singing to me, and oh, see there’s the angels, they’ve come for me.”

Aunty was about to speak again, but Mrs. Doty laid her hand upon her and said, “Whist now, she’s seen her mother’s wraith and the two women dropped instantly on their knees and began crossing themselves in great fear.

Mary then cried out, “Oh, Mother, take little Cathy! Take little Cathy, Mother!” The women rose from their knees, took their beads from their bosoms and sat counting them. Presently, Aunty got up again and once more passed the candle over Mary’s face, but this time the panting bosom was still; the heart which so often had been chilled had fluttered into rest.

The sun rose bright and beautiful the next morning; the little bird came as usual and sang its song on the old crooked tree, but the ear that was won’t so gladly to drink in the sound, heard it not, but it listened to the songs of holy angels in a better and brighter world.