Part 24 (1/2)

The poor beggar woman started to turn away with tears in her eyes. An onion stalk fell from the hand of St. Peter's mother. It was bruised by its fall and covered with mud, but the beggar seized it eagerly.

”Keep it. I wouldn't use it anyway,” snapped St. Peter's mother.

St. Peter could remember nothing else to tell, so he related this story.

”Go and find the onion,” was the comment.

When St. Peter at last found that onion stalk, it was still dirty with the mud of the garden and crumpled by its fall, just as it had been when his mother had given it to the beggar.

”Hold out the onion and pull your mother in,” was the order.

St. Peter held out the onion stalk. It did not reach very far down into Purgatory, but his mother jumped up as high as she could and seized it eagerly.

Slowly and very carefully he pulled her up by it to the Heavenly Gate.

Just as she was about to enter the door the onion stalk broke.

”I'm sorry. You'll have to stay outside,” said St. Peter. ”I've done the best I could for you. The onion stalk was not strong enough to pull you through.”

Thus it happens that the mother of St. Peter has to stay outside the door of Heaven.

WHY THE OWL FLIES AT NIGHT

_A Story of Good St. Anthony_

Long ago there was an image of the good St. Anthony washed ash.o.r.e by the rough waves of the Bay of Angra. A little chapel was built to receive it on the steep slopes of Monte Brasil overlooking the bay and here it still remains.

Once upon a time a little boy named Pedro lived in a tiny cottage near St. Anthony's shrine. His mother had died and his father had married a new wife who was often cruel to him. She dressed him in ragged, shabby clothes and the other children of the parish often pointed their fingers at him in scorn because of his poor garments.

One day as Pedro knelt before the image of the good saint a strange thing happened. His clothing became new and whole. He was dressed as well as any boy in the parish.

”Where did you get clothes like this?” asked the stepmother when he came home that night. ”I always knew you were a good-for-nothing. I believe you have stolen them.”

Little Pedro told what had happened, but the woman would not believe him.

”Don't stand there talking any longer!” she cried. ”Take the water jars and go to the spring and fill them for me. Hurry, I don't want to be kept waiting for the water!”

Pedro lifted the two great water jars which stood on the floor and slowly climbed up the hill to the little spring which supplied water for the family needs during the greater part of the year. Just now the spring had failed, as the stepmother had found out that very day.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Pedro lifted the two great jars and slowly climbed up the hill]

”There is no water in the spring now,” said an old man whom little Pedro met on the way. The boy had almost reached the spring and the big jars were growing heavy even though they were empty.

”I'm so nearly there I'll go on and see for myself,” decided the lad.

”The other spring is so far away and the jars will be so heavy that I can never carry them all the long distance. Perhaps there is still a little water here.”

When he reached the spring he was surprised to see the water flowing faster than in many a day. He remembered, too, the new suit of clothes he was wearing.