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.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 39538
   :PG.Title: A Soldier's Son
   :PG.Released: 2012-04-25
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Maude M. Butler
   :DC.Title: A Soldier's Son
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1912
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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===============
A SOLDIER'S SON
===============

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   A

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   Soldier's Son

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   *By*

   MAUDE M. BUTLER

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   DAVIS & BOND

   BOSTON : MASS.

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   Copyright 1912

   by

   DAVIS & BOND

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   LINCOLN & SMITH PRESS

   BOSTON

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   DEDICATION.

   To the children in years, and the children in
   Science, this little book is trustingly and lovingly
   inscribed by the author.

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   NOTE.

   The Author wishes to state that no case of
   Christian Science healing has been cited
   in this story but such as she has known
   of a parallel case in real life.

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   |   "We may not climb the heavenly steeps
   |   To bring the Lord Christ down.
   |   \*        \*        \*        \*        \*
   |   The healing of the seamless dress
   |   Is by our beds of pain;
   |   We touch Him in life's throng and press,
   |   And we are whole again."
   |                            --*J. G. Whittier.*

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.. contents:: CONTENTS
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   :backlinks: entry

----


CHAPTER I.--HOME FROM THE WAR.
==============================

The war was over--the cruel, cruel war;
and Father and Uncle Howard were on their
way home.  Children's voices, in every key
of joy and thanksgiving, sang the happy
news from morning to night.  The white,
strained look faded from Mother's face, and
she became her old, bright self again.

Now that they were over, the children tried
to forget how long and sad and weary the days
had been during which the sight of the
post-bag, and the morning newspaper, almost took
everyone's breath away, until the columns
of "War news" had been hastily scanned
before taking letters and papers to Mother's room.

Then came the day when Uncle Howard's
name was amongst the "seriously wounded,"
and there was a brief account of how he had
saved the guns, and then returning into the
firing line to pick up a wounded soldier, had
himself been dangerously wounded.

The children thought of Uncle Howard's
delicate young motherless boy, and sobbed:
"Poor, poor Carol."

They did not know how to break the news
to Mother, because Uncle Howard was her
twin brother, and they all knew how dearly
she loved him.  Unperceived she had entered
the room, and had learned the news for
herself.  The days that followed were darker
than before, for it was not known for some
weeks if Major Willmar would live or die.
Gradually, slightly better news came, and he
was pronounced out of danger.  Later on
it was announced he was ordered home, and
Father, Colonel Mandeville, was coming with him.

As soon as the vessel left Cape Town the
children began their happy, joyous
preparations for the welcome home.  Then, in the
midst of them, when the triumphal arches
were erected, awaiting only the final floral
decorations, came a telegram from Gibraltar.
Major Willmar had suffered a relapse at sea,
and the doctors had not been able to save him.
His body had been committed to the waves.

Again the children sobbed: "Poor, poor Carol."

Mother was strangely calm and quiet.
"Carol must come to us.  We must take the
place to him of all he has lost," she said.

She wrote to the lady who had charge of
him, asking her to take the boy to meet the
vessel at Plymouth, in order that Colonel
Mandeville might bring Carol home with him.

All the children, seven in number, were at
the station when the express drew up.  Edith
and Gwendolin, two tall fair girls of twelve
and thirteen years; Percy and Frank, eleven
and ten; then three of the dearest little
maidens, Sylvia four, Estelle three, and the
sweet Rosebud, whom Father had never seen.
She had come to cheer Mother's breaking
heart in the dark days of the war, and was now
two years old.

It was an unusual occurrence for an
express train to stop at that quiet country
station.  The porters were on the alert to drag
out the luggage as quickly as possible.  A
tall bronzed and bearded man sprang out of
the train on the instant of stopping, so changed
that even the elder children scarcely recognized him.

He looked at them with hungry eyes, as if
he would take them all in his arms at once,
had they been big enough to go round, then
seized the smallest of all, the little snow-white
maiden.

"Iz 'ou Daddy?" she asked.

"I am Daddy, my little white Rosebud."  One
by one he took each in his strong arms.
All looking to him, no one noticed the boy
who had followed him out of the railway
carriage, who was now looking on with
wondering eyes.  Rosebud was the first to
speak to him.  "Iz 'ou Tarol?" she asked.
Stooping, he too folded his arms around her,
not such strong arms as her father's, but
very loving.  From that moment the little
maiden became one of the dearest things in
life to the boy.

"Where's Mother, children?"

"Mother did not feel quite able to come to
the station, Father.  She bore the news of
dear Uncle's death so well at first; then she
broke down entirely, and she has not left
her room since," Edith told him.  The
Colonel then remembered the boy who had
accompanied him.

"Children, here is Carol."

They quickly gave him the loving
welcome which their sympathetic hearts
prompted.  Father suggested sending on the
carriage, saying to the children:

"We will walk through the park.  Oh, the
sweet breath of the dear home land, after
Africa's sultry heat!"

Carol kept hold of Rosebud's hand.  The
little maiden was a revelation to him, never
having had little sisters or brothers of his
own.  His mother for a long time before her
death had been a hopeless invalid, and
whilst she was slowly dying of consumption
the boy had developed tubercular disease of
the left hip, and the physicians, who
pronounced it a hopeless case, also said one
lung was affected.  Three years the boy lay
on his back on a couch, or in a spinal carriage,
and it was generally anticipated he would
quickly follow his mother to an early grave.
But after Mrs. Willmar's death a cousin of
hers came from America to take charge of
the motherless boy, and from the day that
she came he began to get better.  Now, as
he walked with his cousins across the park,
though somewhat tall for his twelve years
and extremely slight of stature, he bore no
trace of his past sufferings.

On arriving at the Manor, Colonel Mandeville
went straight to his wife's room, mounting
the staircase two steps at a time.  The
children took Carol to the school-room, saying,
"Mother will send for you presently, dear Carol."

School-room tea was ready, and to their
great delight the three little girls, who
belonged of course to the nursery, were invited
to be present.  Before they sat down each
child had a little offering to make Carol, not
a new gift they had bought for him, but one
of their own treasures, just to make him feel
how glad they were to have him: that henceforth
he was to be their own dear brother.

It was all so strange and new to him, he
did not know how to thank them.  Rosebud's
offering of her little white bunny was
so perfectly sweet.  It became a treasure
of treasures to him ever after.  He was
strangely quiet, but there seemed no sadness
in his eyes or voice.  His cousins could not
understand it, and even wondered if he had
loved his father as they loved theirs.

Tea was just finished when the message
came for Carol to go to Mother's room.
All the children wanted to accompany him,
but the maid who brought the message said:
"Only Master Carol was to go," and she led
the boy to Mrs. Mandeville's room.

Carol had only once before seen his aunt.
She had visited his home in Devonshire
when his mother was very ill, and he himself
had been too ill to care or notice who came
and went.

Mrs. Mandeville was lying on a couch in
her boudoir.  She was a tall, fair woman, of
a gentle yielding nature, and a beautiful
countenance.  Never strong or robust, for
some years she had been subject to attacks
of nervous prostration.  The joyous excitement
of her husband's safe return, and the
grief for her brother's death, had brought on
one of these attacks.  She sobbed aloud as
she drew Carol into her arms and held him
closely to her.

"My darling boy!"

"Auntie, dear, do not grieve like this."

"Carol, I loved your father very, very, dearly."

"But, Auntie, that should make you not
grieve for him.  Cousin Alicia has taught me
to feel so glad and happy about Father.  I
could not cry or be sorry now.  I love to
think how he gave his life for that poor,
wounded soldier.  Jesus said there was no
greater love than to lay down one's life for a
friend, and it was not even a friend; it was a
stranger.  Some day there will be no more
war, because everyone will know that God is
our Father, and His name is Love.  But we
are only His children as we reflect Him--reflect
Love.  When everyone understands this,
no one will want war."

Mrs. Mandeville looked with surprise at
the earnest young face, so calmly confident
of what he said.

"It is nice to see you, Carol, looking so
well and strong.  You were very ill when I
saw you two years ago.  We have never been
able to understand your recovery.  What a
mistake the doctors must have made about
your case."

"Auntie, they did not make a mistake.
It was Cousin Alicia who taught me about
Christian Science.  Then I began to get
well, and I soon lost the dreadful pain in my hip."

"Carol, dear, never mention a word about
Christian Science before your Uncle
Raymond.  He says it is dreadful heresy, and it
makes him so angry to hear it talked about.
Did he meet you at the station?"

"No, Auntie.  I have not seen him yet."

"He said he would meet the train but he
generally manages to get too late.  He will
be here this evening for dinner."

Uncle Raymond was Mrs. Mandeville's
brother, and the rector of the parish.

"But, Auntie, if he asks anything about my
illness I must tell him what has made me well."

"I do not think he will, dear; so there will
be no need to say anything.  It is very beautiful,
Carol, for you to think Christian Science
has healed you, and there is no need for your
faith to be shaken."

"I do not *think*, Auntie, I *know*, so that no
one could shake my faith."

"Well, dear, we won't talk about it.  Tell
me, did you have a pleasant journey?"

"Yes, Auntie, a very pleasant journey;
Uncle was so kind to me."

"I am sure he would be, Carol.  You are
glad to come to us, darling--to be our own
dear son?  You will feel this is home, and
your cousins not cousins, but brothers and sisters?"

"Yes, Auntie.  I know my father wished
me to come to you--but--I am sorry to leave
Cousin Alicia.  I love her so much."

"Of course, darling, that is only natural.
She has been quite a mother to you since
your own dear mother died."

Carol did not speak; a choking sensation
of pain prevented him.  He knew that Cousin
Alicia had been more than a mother to him.

"May I write to her to-night, Auntie?
She will like to hear from me."

"Of course, dear.  Write to her as often as
you like."

"I think that will be every day then,"
the boy said promptly, with a smile.
Mrs. Mandeville smiled too.

"Dear boy, how you have comforted me.
I feel so much better for this little talk with
you.  Perhaps I shall be able to surprise
everybody, and go down to dinner this evening."

"Oh, Auntie, please do.  At tea Edith
said, 'It would be just lovely if only Mother
could come down to dinner.'  We can nearly
always do what we want to do, Auntie."

"Can we, dear?  Then go and write your
letter now, and do not mention to anyone
that I am going to try to surprise them this evening."




CHAPTER II.--CAROL'S LETTER.
============================


"MANOR HOUSE
    MANDEVILLE.

"*Dear Cousin Alicia,*

"It seemed such a long journey before we
arrived here.  Uncle was so kind and told me
about the different places as we passed
through.  But I felt I was getting such a long
way from you, as we passed town after town.
All my cousins were at the station to meet
us; but Auntie was not well enough to be
there.  I should like to describe them all to
you, but I am sure I could not.  They are
ever so much nicer than any of the children
I have read about in books.  I will only tell
you their names.  Perhaps you will see them
all some day.  Edith, Gwendolin, Percy,
and Frank, in the school-room; and in the
nursery, Sylvia, Estelle, and Rosebud.  Uncle
had never seen Rosebud.  She is two years
and three months old, and is the sweetest
little girl.  She has such pretty ways.  I do
love to hear her talk.

"We walked from the station through the
park.  Uncle seemed so glad to see his own
home again.  The Manor House is very
old; such quaint little oriel windows, and
turrets, and gables.  I have not learned my
way about yet, but the school-room and
nurseries are quite close together.  It was
returning from Auntie's boudoir to the
schoolroom I got lost, and I found myself in quite
a different part of the house.  I opened a
door I thought was the school-room, and it
was the housekeeper's room.  Then a maid
took me to the school-room.  Percy and
Frank thought it very amusing, and said
they could find their way anywhere
blindfold, and Rosebud said 'Me tome wiff 'ou,
Tarol.'  I didn't see Auntie until after tea.
We all had tea together in the school-room,
the nursery children as well.  The governess
invited them.  Her name is Miss Markham,
she is very strict, but I think she is kind too.
I am thinking all the time of the history of
England when she speaks, and wondering
what part of it she belongs to.  The elder
children are going down to dinner, as it is
Uncle's first evening at home.

"Auntie was lying on a couch when I
was taken to her room.  She seemed so full
of grief and sadness.  She wept when she held
her arms around me.  But I just knew that
Love is everywhere, and sorrow and sadness
cannot be where Love is.  In a little while
she was quite different, and even smiled as
she talked to me.  She said I had comforted
her so.  I would have liked to explain to her
what had comforted her, but she does not
like me to say anything about Christian
Science, and asked me not to mention it
before Uncle Raymond, because it makes
him angry.  Auntie thinks I could not have
been so ill as the doctors thought, or I should
not be quite well and strong now.  Please
tell me, dear Cousin, will it be denying
Christ, if I do not tell people what healed
me?  I did so wish I could have told Auntie
some of the beautiful things you have taught
me.  Will you write to me very often, please?
I am going to write nearly every day to you.
Auntie says I may--as often as I like.  I
have such a dear little room all to myself, so
I shall be able to do the Lesson-Sermon every
morning before breakfast.  Thank you again
for giving me *Science and Health* for my
very own, and the Bible which was my
mother's.  I want to study both books so
well that when I am a man I shall know them
better than anything else in the world.  I
am to study with Edith and Gwendolin for
the present.  Frank and Percy go to a large
public school at H--.  I am to go with them
when Uncle is quite sure I am strong enough.
He does not understand that I am perfectly
well and strong.  I must leave off now.  I
have to put on my Eton suit for dinner.  I
do not feel so far away from you as when I
was in the train.  It is just as if you were in
the room with me.  I can feel your thoughts
like loving arms around me.

"Dear Cousin Alicia
    "Your loving Carol.

"*P.S.*  Bed-time.  The post-bag had gone
when I had finished my letter.  I just want
to tell you, Auntie came down to dinner.
Every one was so surprised and delighted and
we had such a happy evening.  Uncle played
games with us after dinner, and Auntie
looked on.  The time went so quickly, we
were sorry when Uncle said: 'Bed-time,
children.  To your tents: double quick
march.'  So we all had to scamper away.
Uncle Raymond came to dinner.  He is so
grave and stern, so different from Father.
He went into the study whilst Uncle was
playing with us."




CHAPTER III.--A FORBIDDEN BOOK.
===============================

Carol had always been a lonely boy.  The
companionship of other children was a
pleasure he had never known.  In the remote
Devonshire village, where all the years of his
young life had been spent, there were no
children who could be invited to his home as
friends and companions for him.  First his
mother's delicate health, and then his own,
had prevented visits to or from his cousins.
When he was seven years old a fall from his
pony caused an injury to his hip, which
eventually developed into what the doctors
diagnosed as tubercular disease of the hip
bone.  For three years his mother had been
slowly dying of consumption, and the boy
had been the joy and brightness of her life.
She did not live long after she was told that
what she was suffering from he would suffer,
too, in another form.  She died about six
months before the war broke out in South
Africa, and fulfilling a promise made some
time before, a favorite cousin, then resident
in America, whose girlhood had been spent
with her as a sister, came to take charge of
the household and the young motherless
invalid.  Major Willmar was ordered to the
front shortly after operations commenced,
but before he went he had hopes that his
boy would grow well and strong.  There had
been such a marked change in him from the
day Cousin Alicia arrived, bringing to that
saddened home love and--Truth.

It can, therefore, be easily understood that
the first few days at the Manor were to Carol
days almost of bewilderment.  As soon as
his cousins found that their joy in having
Father back again, safe and sound, did not
hurt Carol, nothing restrained their wild
exuberance of spirits.  They could not
understand the gentle, reserved boy, who spoke
with so much love and tenderness of his
father, yet had no tears or sadness because
he would return no more.

"Perhaps he doesn't quite understand,"
said Gwendolin.

"I think he does," said Edith, "and I am
sure he loved Uncle as much as we love
Father.  There is such a far-away look in his
eyes, when he speaks of his father and mother,
just as if he were looking at something we
cannot see.  Although he is so gentle and
kind, especially to the little ones, I am sure
no one could persuade him to do anything
he thought wrong.  He is a dear boy.  I am
glad he is going to study with us for the
present, because the boys at school would not
understand him.  Even Percy and Frank
are inclined to mistake his gentleness for
weakness.  Yet I could imagine him standing
and facing any real danger, when most boys
would run away."

From the first Edith had conceived a great
affection for her Cousin Carol, and, as a
consequence, she understood him better.  On
many occasions she was able to help him,
when Percy and Frank were somewhat
brusque and impatient in their treatment
of him.  They could not understand his
reluctance to join in some of their games.
He loved to look on; but everything was
new and strange to him.  He had never been
used to playing the games which were so much
to Frank and Percy.  Edith then quietly
explained to her less thoughtful brothers that
they should not expect a boy who had spent
three years on an invalid's couch to be able
to play the games in which they were so proficient.

Carol was often in the nursery, Nurse was
so big and motherly.  She had welcomed him,
as if he had been one of her own children from
the first.  It was a fixed idea amongst the
children that as long as there had been a
Manor House, Nurse had presided over the
nursery.  She was always ready to tell them
stories of their father and uncles and aunts
in the old days.  She even had tales of their
grandfather, and many past generations of
Mandevilles, and in all the stories, of
however long ago, they imagined Nurse playing
part.  One thing they never could imagine:
that was the Manor House without her.

When the little girls wanted him, and that
was very frequently, Carol was always ready
to go to the nursery, and often accompanied
them on their walks.  Percy and Frank
considered it much beneath their dignity to
take a walk "with the babies."

The improvement in Mrs. Mandeville's
health, which had commenced on Carol's
first visit to her room, continued.  In a few
days she had taken her usual place in the
household, and the children rejoiced in the
nightly visits to their bedrooms.  How glad
they were when there were no visitors downstairs,
and they could keep her quite a long time.

Upon the occasion of her first visit to
Carol's room, she found him sitting up in
bed, reading.  She had expected to find him
asleep, as the other children had detained
her so long.

"My little book-worm, what is the story
you find so interesting?" she asked playfully,
intending to tell him lovingly the next
morning that she did not like the children
to read in bed.

"Auntie, it isn't a story book.  It is
*Science and Health*.  I read it every night
and morning."

"What a very strange book for a little boy
to be interested in!  The title sounds quite
alarmingly dry."

"Oh, Auntie, have you never heard of it?
It is such a wonderful book.  I am beginning
to understand it now.  At first I could not,
but Cousin Alicia used to explain it so
beautifully to me, and now I love to read it."

"I cannot say I remember the title, dear,
but I should like to look into it.  Will you
spare it to me this evening?  I think it is
time now for lights to be extinguished."

Carol gave the book to her gladly, little
thinking it would be many long days before
he would see it again.

When Mrs. Mandeville returned to the
drawing-room, the Rector was there.  "Do
you know anything of this book, Raymond?"
she asked, giving it into his hand.  "I found
Carol reading it in bed--*Science and Health*."  The
frown which was habitually on the
Rector's face deepened.

"Indeed I do," he said, "and I should like
to do with every copy what I am going to do
with this."

He walked over to the fireplace; his
intentions were plain.  Mrs. Mandeville caught
hold of his arm.

"No, no, Raymond, you must not.  The
book was a present from Miss Desmond to
Carol, and you have no right to destroy it,
however strongly you may disapprove of
his reading it."

"I do more than disapprove.  I absolutely
forbid him to read any more of it; the
most unorthodox rubbish that has been
published for centuries.  The worst of it
is, it has taken hold of some people,
especially women, and they are carried away by it."

The Rector slipped the little book into his
pocket.  As he had not destroyed it, he meant
to make sure there should be no chance of its
falling again into Carol's hands.  He, as well
as Mrs. Mandeville, was the boy's legal guardian.

Mrs. Mandeville was sorry.  She felt sure
from the way Carol had spoken that the book
was precious to him.  Very gently, the next
morning, she told him of his uncle's decision.
She noted the quivering lips; the tears he
was bravely trying not to shed.

"Dear boy, did you value it so much?" she said.

"Oh, Auntie!"  The simple exclamation
expressed more pain and regret than many
words could have done.

"Darling, I am sorry; but we must believe
that Uncle Raymond has good reasons for
taking the book away.  He says it is fearful
heresy.  You must not forget that your dear
grandfather was a bishop, also your
great-grandfather.  I could not tell you during
how many generations there has always
been at least one member of our family a
dignitary of the Church."

"What does unorthodox mean, Auntie?"

"It means contrary to, or opposed to the
teachings of our beloved church.  Your dear
father and mother were both good church people."

"Yes, Auntie; but that did not make
Mummie better when she was so ill.  The
vicar often used to sit with her, and pray
for her in church, but she was never better
for it.  When Cousin Alicia came and I was
so ill, I began at once to get better.  That
little book, *Science and Health*, had taught
her to understand the Bible, and God
answered her prayers for me!"

"It was certainly a remarkable coincidence--your
improving so quickly after Miss
Desmond came; but it may have been the
result of some fresh medicine the doctor
was trying."

"Auntie, I was not taking any medicine.
The first night Cousin Alicia came I slept
till morning, and the next day I wanted
something to eat.  The nurses thought it was
wonderful, because they had had such
difficulty to get me to eat before.  Then when
they dressed the wounds on my hip every
morning I used to scream so, some of the
servants went where they could not hear
me.  In only one week I lost all the pain and
I did not cry at all, and very soon one by
one the wounds healed."

"It was very remarkable, dear.  But do
you associate your healing with the book
which Uncle Raymond has taken away?"

"Why, Auntie, *Science and Health* is the
Key to the Bible, and the Bible is the 'tree
whose leaves are for the healing of the
nations.'  But people have not understood
until they had that Key how to go to the
Bible for healing.  Cousin Alicia understood;
that was why she was able to heal me."

"What you say seems very strange, Carol.
If Uncle had not taken the book away, I
should have liked to look into it.  I expect
he would refuse if I asked him to let me read it."

It did not occur to Mrs. Mandeville that
she could obtain another copy of the book.
The confiscated copy was not the only one to
be had.  Her conversation with Carol was
interrupted just then.  The same night when
she went, as the evening before, to his
bedroom, she found him sitting up in bed.  He
greeted her eagerly with the words:

"Auntie, I have been thinking."

"Dear boy, what have you been thinking?"  She
kissed the earnest, upturned face, and
realized for the first time that he had a very
beautiful countenance, so like, she thought,
one of Murillo's child angels.

"I have been thinking, Auntie, of what
you said about unorthodox.  A good many
years ago when Protestants were called
heretics, they were unorthodox to the Church
of Rome, were they not?"

"Certainly, dear."

"But Protestants are not called heretics
now, are they?"

"I think we never hear them so spoken
of now, dear, because there are more
Protestants in England than Roman Catholics."

"Then, Auntie, when there are more Christian
Scientists than other church people,
*they* won't be called heretics."

"Will that ever be?" Mrs. Mandeville
asked with a smile.

"Yes, Auntie; it must be, because Christian
Scientists obey Jesus.  All that he said
and commanded in the New Testament,
they try to carry out.  He commanded his
disciples to heal the sick."

"His disciples of that day, dear."

"But, Auntie, didn't he say: 'What I
say unto you I say unto all.'  If we love him
we shall keep all his commandments.  That
is why I am sorry Uncle Raymond has taken
away my *Science and Health*.  I want to
understand it like Cousin Alicia does; then
some day, if I know little boys or girls ill
like I was, I could heal them.  It makes me
so sorry now that I cannot study.  I have
written to Cousin Alicia to help me.  I
know she will.  It has been so difficult all
day to stand 'porter at the door of thought.'  Such
a lot of unkind thoughts would keep
trying to get in.  I know I must not let any
of them in, and Cousin Alicia will help me to
keep them out."

"I am afraid I do not quite understand, Carol."

"Don't you, Auntie?  I have a little book
that will explain.  It is called 'At the Door.'  Our
mind is like a beautiful white mansion,
and thoughts are like people who go in and
out.  If we let unkind thoughts pass in, all
kind thoughts go away.  Self-pity isn't at
all a nice person, I have had such difficulty
to keep him out all day, especially when I
remembered that Father knew I was studying
*Science and Health*, and he did not take it
away from me."

"I will tell that to Uncle Raymond, dear,
perhaps it will cause him to alter his decision."

"Thank you, Auntie; I know it will be all
right.  I have only to be patient.  They
have all gone away now, self-pity and
indignation, and anger.  If I keep my mansion
so full of love, there will be no room for them
to squeeze in, will there?"

"No, darling.  Now go to sleep.  I will
take the little book down with me and read it."

Mrs. Mandeville remembered as she went
downstairs her visit three years ago to
Carol's home.  Then she would have
described him as a very spoilt child, making
allowance for his illness, he was fretful, selfish,
exacting.  What had wrought such a marvellous
change?  The physical healing seemed
slight in comparison.




CHAPTER IV.--A WELCOME LETTER.
==============================

Carol had been at the Manor a week before
he received the eagerly expected letter from
Cousin Alicia.  Mrs. Mandeville brought it
herself to the school-room for him.

"What a lucky little boy to get such a fat
letter!  I wonder the post-office didn't
decline to bring it for a penny," she said smiling
at his radiantly happy face.  Then turning
to Miss Markham, as lessons were about to
commence, she asked:

"May he be excused for a little time, Miss
Markham?  I know he will like to take it to
his room and read it quietly there."

"Oh, thank you, Auntie; thank you, Miss
Markham," as the asked-for permission was
quickly accorded, and he ran off with the
treasured letter.  Half an hour later he sought
Mrs. Mandeville in her morning-room.

"Auntie, would you like to read my letter?"

"Indeed, dear, I should, if you would care
for me to."

"Yes, Auntie.  I would like you to read it
very much.  I knew Cousin Alicia would
help me to understand.  It has been just
like having a talk with her.  She always makes
me feel happy."

He gave several sheets of closely written
note paper into Mrs. Mandeville's hand.

"I must not be away any more lesson time, must I?"

He left the letter with her, and returned to
the school-room.  Mrs. Mandeville opened
the pages, and read:


"WILLMAR COURT,
    S. DEVON.

"*My very dear Carol,*

"Until your first letter arrived it was
difficult to realize that the train had carried you
so far away from us.  It seemed as if a spirit
of sadness were creeping over the household,
even the dogs and birds felt the subtle
influence, and I had to dispel it by realizing
that there can be no separation in Mind.
Nothing can come between loving thoughts.
I am as near to you in thought, and you to
me as if these human arms enfolded you.
It rejoiced me to read that you felt my
thoughts like loving arms around you.

"Your first letter was awaited with eager
expectation.  I had to read parts to
everyone.  When Bob brought up your pony for
his morning lump of sugar, I caught him
brushing a tear away with his coat sleeve, as
he asked, 'Will it be long before Master
Carol comes home again?'  I told him that
was a question I could not answer, but
possibly you might have the pony sent to
Mandeville, and in that case he would no doubt
accompany it.

"The bright happy strain of your first
letter made me glad.  Before I had time to
answer it came the second in a minor key.
After reading it, a thought that something
was wrong tried hard to creep in.  But I
knew it could not be.  'Love governs and
controls all events with unerring wisdom.'  So
I just took my hat and went for our
favorite walk by the stream, to think things
out.  I seemed to feel your little hand in
mine as I walked.  I sat down on the old
tree-stump, where you used to rest when you first
began to walk; and do you remember the
thrush which was always singing on the other
side of the stream, how we used to think he
sang a special song for you, and the words
were, 'God is Love'?  He was there on the
same branch of the tree.  I feel so sure now
that it is the same bird.  'What message
have you for Carol this morning?' I asked,
and it seemed that the notes changed and the
message came so clearly: 'All is right that
seems most wrong.'

"Yes!  I knew it I Of course it is!  The
bird flew off, and I walked on, thinking of a
story I read many years ago.  It was, I
believe, an Eastern allegory.  That story has
often helped me; perhaps it will help you.  I
will tell it briefly.  The King of a great
country had many singing birds.  They were to
him as children, he loved them so.  They
were quite free to fly about the palace, or in
the beautiful gardens of the palace, and when
the King walked amongst them, they rested
on his shoulder, or on his hand, when he held
it out to them.  There was one especial
favorite--a little brown bird.  It had not
gay plumage like some of its companions,
but its song delighted the King, and often he
said: 'Sing--sing always.'  One day the
servants discovered the little brown bird was
missing.  Some one had stolen it from the
palace.  Word was brought to the King, and
he quickly sent messengers all over his
kingdom to discover where the bird was.  It
was not long before the place of confinement
was known, and, to the surprise of everyone,
the King left his little favorite in captivity.
But he strictly commanded his messengers
to watch over it, that no harm could
come to it.  Not a feather was to be ruffled.

"In partial darkness, beating its wings
helplessly against the bars of the cage, the
little brown bird yet remembered the King's
command, 'Sing, sing always'; and every
day it poured forth the song which the King
loved.  Strangers came from far to listen to
the wondrous song of the little captive bird.
Then, one day, the little bird looked up
joyfully, at the sound of a well-known voice.
The King himself had come to set the captive
free.  The cage door was quickly opened,
and the bird flew forth, and rested on the
King's shoulder, pouring forth such a song of
joy as no one had ever heard before.

"'My priceless treasure!' the King
exclaimed--the one note that was missing
has come into your song.'  And great was the
King's joy as he carried the little brown bird
back to his palace.

"I remember, when I read that story as a
girl, being sorry that it ended there.  I wanted
to know that the wicked men were punished
for stealing the bird, and that it was never
separated again from the King who loved
it so.  But now I understand the story better,
and the lesson it teaches.  If the little bird
had not been obedient to the King's
command to sing always,--even when it was in
captivity, it would never have learned that
one missing note.  And so, dear Carol, we
have to learn under all circumstances and at
all times that we are bidden to rejoice.  The
words are: 'Rejoice--again I say rejoice.'

"Having the book taken from you, as you
do not yet understand the antagonism so
many people manifest towards it, was doubtless
a great surprise, when you owe so much to
its teachings.  But, dearie, you must not let
any thoughts of injustice, or of something
not quite right, creep in.  The book will be
returned to you one day.  Love can always
find a way.  It will not be detained one
moment after it is needful for you to have it
again.  You must put in practice, live up to,
what you have already learned.  You have
only one step to take at present, and I think
that step is '*obedience*': cheerful, willing
obedience, in every detail of your life.  You see,
dear Carol, we are told only one thing of the
Master when he was a boy of your age: that
is, 'He was subject [obedient] unto them.'  Had
it been necessary, we should have been
told more.  So from you, and all children,
looking unto Jesus, to follow in his steps,
one thing only is required--perfect
obedience to those in authority over you, parents
or guardians.

"Try to picture that humble home at
Nazareth, and the carpenter's shop.  We
can never know the trials *he* had to bear in
those early years, through those around him
not comprehending his divine mission.  From
one verse in St. Matthew's Gospel we learn
that taunts and gibes were thrown at him,
because his spiritual birth was not
understood.  Yet those words have come down
through all the centuries to inspire and help
the young of all generations: *He was subject
unto them*.

"The world has given an undue prominence
to the wooden crucifix.  The cross that Jesus
carried for us he carried for 33 long years--working
out each problem of life, and finally
overcoming death, in order to show us the
way to eternal life, then bidding us take
up the cross--not the wooden crucifix--the
cross of daily overcoming error with truth; and
thus to follow him.

"When you are asked anything about
Christian Science, and your own healing, if
you are able, answer any questions quietly
and courteously, but never obtrude the
subject on anyone; or bring it forward
voluntarily.  Live Christian Science, dear Carol,
not talk it.  Be careful in all things to study
your aunt's wishes; and as she evidently
does not wish the subject mentioned to your
cousins, do not mention it.  Following in the
steps that Jesus marked--perfect obedience--can
never be denying Christ, and by perfect
obedience, dear, you will understand, loving,
willing, cheerful obedience, never allowing
any thought of wrong or injustice to find a
resting place in your consciousness.

"Write to me as often as you can, dear.
Now that you have commenced regular
lessons, you will not have so much spare
time.  Your letters will always be to me a
joy, both to receive and to answer.  I
rejoice in my stewardship, taking care of this
beautiful home for my dear boy.  Colonel
Mandeville wrote me that your dear father
expressed his desire at the last that it should
be so; and he himself also wrote a letter which
was posted at Gibraltar.  It had not yet
reached me.  I cannot understand it, as the
letter from Colonel Mandeville which was
evidently posted at the same time, bearing
the Gibraltar post-mark, arrived, as you
know, before you left.  But we know it cannot
be lost, although it is long over-due.

"Please convey my kind regards to Colonel
and Mrs. Mandeville, and to yourself,
dear Carol, unnumbered loving thoughts,
from

    COUSIN ALICIA.

"*P.S.*  How I should like to see the sweet
Rosebud and your other cousins!"

----

A very grave, thoughtful expression deepened
on Mrs. Mandeville's face as she gathered
the loose sheets of note paper together, and
replaced them in the envelope.  "Surely,"
she said, sotto voce, "if this is what Christian
Science teaches, Raymond does not understand
the book which he has taken away from Carol."




CHAPTER V.--QUIET DAYS.
=======================

The days which followed were quiet and
uneventful, the peaceful, happy days which
imperceptibly glide into weeks and months.
Carol worked diligently at his lessons.  He
had so much lost time to make up.

Miss Markham was surprised at the
progress he made.  Whatever tasks she set him
he mastered with ease, and never manifested
fatigue or weariness.  He was still so slight,
even fragile, in appearance, she sometimes
feared lest she was overtaxing his strength.
Once, expressing fear lest this should be so,
Carol answered lightly, "It is quite right,
Miss Markham, the more work I do, the more
I shall be able to do.  Cousin Alicia is
helping me every day."

"Miss Desmond is in Devonshire, Carol,
how can she help you?"

"I am sorry, Miss Markham, I forgot you
do not understand," he said.

He had been so perfectly obedient to Miss
Desmond's wishes in never talking about
Christian Science, that, excepting Mrs. Mandeville,
no one remembered anything about
it in connection with the boy.  But, gradually,
all the household were realizing there was
something strangely different about the boy
from other children.  No one ever heard him
complain of an ache or pain.  No one ever
heard him speak an unkind or angry word;
and if, as sometimes, though seldom, amongst
the Mandeville children, little dissensions or
bickerings arose, if Carol was near, they
passed as a ripple on water, and all was
harmony and peace again.

Nurse loved to have him in the nursery.
Miss Markham missed him when he was
absent from the school-room.  On one
occasion when he was in the nursery a heavy
box-lid was accidentally allowed to fall on
Rosebud's fingers.  The child screamed terribly
with the pain, but before Nurse could do or say
anything Carol seized her in his arms, and ran
out of the room with her.  In less than ten
minutes he brought her back again, laughing merrily.

"Naughty fingers don't hurt Rosebud
now," she said.

Nurse wondered, but, like Miss Markham,
she did not understand.

It happened only a few days afterward that
Mrs. Mandeville did not come as usual to
the school-room immediately after breakfast,
and everyone was sorrowful when it was
known that Mother had one of her old nervous
headaches.  They knew it meant not seeing
her for two or three days.  She suffered
terribly at times with her head, and had to
lie in a darkened room, unable to bear the least
noise.  The children hushed their laughter
and trod softly, though the school-room and
nurseries were too far removed from
Mrs. Mandeville's apartments for any sound to
reach her.

After morning school, without saying a
word to any one, Carol crept so noiselessly
into the darkened room that Mrs. Mandeville
was unaware of his presence, until he
softly touched her with his hand, and said:

"Auntie, I am so sorry you are suffering.
I do want to help you.  Could I--would
you let me?"

"Dear boy, how sweet of you!  I have
frequently suffered with headaches like this
for many years.  Nothing can be done, dear.
I can only be still and bear the pain until
it passes."

Mrs. Mandeville spoke as if every word she
uttered tortured her.

"Auntie, dear, won't you let me try to help you?"

"Do you mean, dear, you want to say a
Christian Science prayer for me?"

"Yes, Auntie."

"Why, of course, darling, if you wish it.
It is so very sweet of you!"

Carol softly kissed the hand she put out to
him, and left the room, as noiselessly as he
had entered, closing the door after him.  He
knew what pain was.  He went straight to
his own room and closed that door too.  He
did not leave his room until the gong sounded
for the school-room dinner.  His cousins
exclaimed as he rejoined them,

"Wherever have you been all this time, Carol?"

But Carol did not say.

In the afternoon while the children were
still seated round the tea-table, the
school-room door opened, and Mrs. Mandeville
entered the room.  There was one vociferous
exclamation of surprise and delight.

"Mother!  Are you better?"

"I am quite better," she said, "I fell asleep.
I must have slept a long time, and when I
woke I felt quite well."

No one noticed the flush of joy that came
to Carol's face.  His hands were clasped,
his eyes downcast as he silently breathed,
"I thank Thee, my Father."

Before she left the room again, Mrs. Mandeville
caressingly laid her hands on the boy's
shoulders, and bent over to kiss his brow, but
she did not allude to his visit to her room.
Neither did he.  Some sad days were to pass
over the Manor household before
Mrs. Mandeville acknowledged the help she had
received.

Carol had not been long at Mandeville
before he became almost as well acquainted
with the villagers as his cousins.  He
frequently accompanied the three little girls and
the second nurse, when they were deputed to
carry a basket of good things to any house
in the village where there was need.  In this
way he became acquainted with the village
shoemaker, Mr. Higgs, who, in his younger
days, had also acted as verger at the church.
He explained to Carol the "rheumatiz" was
so bad in his legs he hadn't been able to walk
to church for months.  He was often to be
seen sitting at the open cottage door in the
summer evenings, with an open Bible on his
knees, his hands folded on it, for the print
was too small for his failing eyesight.

Carol was thoughtful as he walked home.
When Mrs. Mandeville paid her usual visit
to his bedroom in the evening, she found him
sitting up in bed, waiting for her.  He was
always awake when she came, but since she
had desired him not to read in bed he never
had a book in his hand.  So often he greeted
her with the words, "Auntie, I have been thinking."

"Well, darling, what have you been
thinking about to-night?" she asked before he
spoke, well knowing from his attitude that he
had been thinking either of some pleasing
or some perplexing subject.

"I have been thinking of something I can
do, Auntie, if you will let me.  It is only a
very little thing, but if we do not begin with
little things, we shall not be able some day
to do big things, shall we?  I so often think
about Jesus when he was twelve years old,
he said, 'I must be about my Father's
business.'  I am twelve years old, and God is my
Father, too.  I want to be about His business.
When I was talking to old Mr. Higgs this
morning, he told me he cannot walk to church
now, and his eyes are so bad he cannot see
to read the Bible.  I thought I would like to
go sometimes and read it to him, and help
him to understand it.  Would you let me,
Auntie dear?  It is such a little thing."

"Why, of course, dear; there can be no
reason why you should not, if you wish to.
I don't think Uncle Raymond can have any
possible objection.  Anyway, if I give you
permission, that will be sufficient, will it not?"

"Oh, yes, Auntie; thank you so very much.
May I go every Sunday evening?"

"Yes, dear; and perhaps it may not be
such a little thing as you think."

Mrs. Mandeville thought of her own two
boys.  How different Carol was!

Neither of them would have dreamed of
doing such a thing.  "But," she mused,
"his long illness has changed him."

"Auntie, I often try to picture Jesus in
his humble home at Nazareth.  I wish we
knew more.  When he returned with Joseph
and Mary after the visit to the Temple, and
was always obedient to them, I sometimes
wonder if they kept him back from going
about his Father's business, because they did
not understand; and if he played on the
hillsides with the other village boys, and no one
knew until he was a man, that he was Jesus
the Christ."

"There are many legends of his boyhood,
dear, but they are only legends.  We cannot
accept anything except what is narrated in
the Gospels.  You must read Canon Farrar's
'Life of Christ.'  That will help you to
understand that the Apostles were,
without doubt, divinely instructed to record so
little of the boyhood of Jesus.  There is a
copy in the library.  I will look it out for you."

"Thank you so much, Auntie.  I shall be
glad to read it."

Then clinging both arms round her neck,
as she stooped to kiss him, he said:

"I do love your coming to my room like
this, Auntie.  I always keep awake till you come."

"I, too, enjoy our little talks, dear.  You
often give me a beautiful thought to take
away with me: something I have not thought
of before."

The boy lay awake a long time after
Mrs. Mandeville left him, thinking joyfully of the
work that had come to him, wondering how he
should open the pages of that wonderful book,
as they had been opened to him.  "Teach
me, Father-Mother God, the words of Truth
that will help him," he prayed.  Finally, he
fell asleep with the words on his lips of the
boy Samuel: "Speak, Lord, for Thy servant heareth."




CHAPTER VI.--FIRST WORK IN THE VINEYARD.
========================================

"Would you like me to read to you for a
little while this evening, Mr. Higgs?  My
aunt has given me permission, if you would
like me to," Carol asked modestly as he
entered the old man's cottage the following
Sunday evening.  Mr. Higgs was seated as
usual at the open door, watching the villagers
pass by on their way to church.

"Thank you kindly, young gentleman.
I'll be glad to hear some of the words of the
Book.  I just keep it close by me.  It don't
seem Sunday without.  But my eyes fail me,
and I just sit and ponder over some of the
Psalms I can well remember.  After the
service sometimes a neighbor'll pop in and
tell me the text Rector's been preaching
about.  A mighty fine preacher is Rector,
but often I used to say to my Missus--she's
dead and gone these five years--his thoughts
are like birds, they fly over our heads, and we
don't seem able to lay hold of them.  If he'd
just tell us something simple to help us day
by day.  I'd be glad now if I could remember
some of the sermons I've listened to, year in,
year out.  But there, it's all gone, and I've
got no more understanding of the Bible than
when I was a boy.  It's ower late to think
about it now, and me turned seventy."

"I have been taught to understand the
Bible.  I should like to teach you what I
have been taught.  Then, when you
understand, you would lose your rheumatism."

"*Lose my rheumatism!*"  The old man
repeated the words in the utmost astonishment.

"Why, yes, of course you would," Carol
said with that wonderfully sweet smile which
won all hearts.  "I had hip-disease; but
I lost it."

"Well, now, young gentleman, I can say
with absolute truth that I have never been
told that before--no, *never!* though I've been
a regular church attendant since I was a little
choir boy, and never left off going till the
joints in my old legs grew so stiff I couldn't
walk.  It'd want a lot of faith, sir, to believe
that just reading the Bible would make 'em
lissom again."

"Faith comes with understanding.  There
is another book; it is called *Key to the
Scriptures*.  I haven't a copy of that book now, but
I can remember so much of it, I shall be able
to help you to understand the Bible perhaps
a little better.  We will commence with the
first chapter of Genesis."

"Yes, now; I remember that chapter
pretty well.  I learnt it at Sunday School
sixty years ago, and I've never quite forgotten
it.  I could repeat verses straight off now."

"And has it never helped you all through
your life?"

"Well, no.  I can't say that chapter has.
I have found comfort sometimes from the
Psalms.  'The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall
not want,' I have often turned to when we'd
a growing family and work was slack."

"Let me read the chapter now and then
we will talk about it."

The boy opened the Bible, and slowly with
an impressiveness which the old man had
never before heard, he read the first chapter
of Genesis, and three verses of the second
chapter.  He read as one reads words that
are very familiar and understandable.

"*Thus the heavens and the earth were
finished, and all the host of them, and God saw
everything that He had made, and behold it was
very good.*"  He repeated the words from
memory, looking with a kindly smile at the
old man, as he asked the question: "If God
looked upon everything which He had created,
and declared it very good--where do the
things come from that are not good?  Who
created them?"

"Well now, young sir, that is a question
I'm not prepared to answer.  I can only say
like that little black girl in the story, ''spose
they growed'."

"But everything must grow from
something, mustn't it?  Every tree and plant has
its own seed.  God created every living
creature after its kind, and bade it be
fruitful and multiply.  So you see everything good
was created by the Word of God.  Is
rheumatism good?"

"'Deed no, young gentleman!  It's cruel bad."

"So is hip-disease.  It's very, very 'cruel
bad,' and because it is the opposite of good
it was not amongst the things which God
'beheld.'  Our dear Heavenly Father did not
create poor suffering little children maimed
with hip-disease, and sometimes blind.  He
created them in His own image and likeness,
and God could not be suffering sometimes with
one disease, sometimes with another, so that
His image and likeness could have it too,
could He?  See, if I hold my hand up so it
casts a shadow on the wall, that is an exact
image or likeness of my hand, is it not?
Now if I just hold something--only a slip of
paper between my hand and the reflection,
the reflection is deformed, isn't it?  But my
hand is not affected by it.  So when we are
bound by any cruel disease, there is
something between God and His image and
likeness, something that was never created by
Him--was never created at all.  It is only a
shadowy mist--a belief: and we have to get
rid of it, by knowing its unreality.  We have
to know that because we are God's children,
His spiritual creation, we must be perfect,
even as He is perfect.  Jesus came to teach
people this.  He said, 'Be ye therefore
perfect, even as your Father in Heaven is
perfect.'  But, my cousin says, the world has
been slow to learn the lesson.  Sin and disease
will disappear from our midst just as soon as
we do learn it.  When she came to me, and I
was very ill, she taught me that nothing was
real except what God had created, and
pronounced good, and He never created
hip-disease.  Because she understood this so
clearly, and taught me to understand it, I
soon began to get better.  I should like to
help you to understand it, so that you would
lose your rheumatism.  I think I have stayed
as long as I had permission to-night.  Would
you like me to come again next Sunday?"

"'Deed, and I would, young gentleman."

"My name is Carol," the boy said simply.

"Thank 'ee, Master Carol, you've given me
something to think about, I shan't forget
during the week."

"I should like to teach you the Scientific
Statement of Being.  It is in that book I
told you of, which explains the Bible.  If
you would learn it, and try to realize it, it
would help you so much.'

"My mem'ry 's none of the best now, but
I'll try," the old man said regretfully.

"Perhaps it will be better for me to write
it for you in large writing, so that you can read
it until you know it.  I will bring it with me
next week.  These are the words: 'There is
no life, truth, intelligence, nor substance in
matter.'  He repeated the words gravely and
slowly to the end, the old man gazing at him
the while with wondering eyes.  The sun was
setting; the crimson light streamed through
the lattice window upon the boy's upturned
face, so sweet, so grave, so loving, and so earnest.

"The words seem difficult to understand
at first," he said, "but you will soon grow to
love them.  It is the truth which Jesus
promised should make us free.  It has made me
free.  It will make you free."




CHAPTER VII.--"I KNOW."
=======================

Carol bounded through the park with a
light, joyous step.  On reaching the Manor
House, he would have gone straight to his
aunt, but there were visitors with her.  So
he rejoined his cousins in the school-room.

"Where ever have you been, Carol?" they
questioned, as he entered.

"Somewhere Auntie gave me permission to
go," he replied quietly.

Miss Markham looked at the boy's beaming
face, and she too wondered.  He had been
absent from the Scripture lesson, which she,
and sometimes Mrs. Mandeville, gave the
children every Sunday evening.  She felt a
little remorse that she had been conscious
during the lesson of a feeling of relief, on
account of the boy's absence.  Carol so often
asked a question in a quiet, thoughtful
manner, which she was unable to answer:
and the question would often recur to her
afterwards.  She had an intuition that the
boy had a firmer grasp of spiritual truths
than she herself possessed.  Many times she
would have liked to discuss a subject with
him.  But Mrs. Mandeville had warned her
that the boy had been taught much that was
unorthodox, she therefore refrained from discussion.

Though it was much later than usual,
Carol was wide awake when Mrs. Mandeville
came to his room that night.  She had
found all the other children fast asleep.

"Auntie, I did want to tell you, I had a
very happy time with Mr. Higgs.  He's
such a nice, interesting old man.  I was able
to tell him so much that he had never thought
about before.  Thank you again for letting
me go.  He will like me to go next
Sunday--I may--mayn't I?"

"Of course, dear; as it seems to make you
so happy; and I am sure it must be very
nice for Mr. Higgs to have you read to him,
as he is so troubled with rheumatism.  But
you must really settle down to sleep now,
Carol.  You have no idea how late it is."

"Yes, Auntie, I shall soon be asleep, I
wanted to tell you first.  I feel so happy
now, I can say one verse of Mrs. Eddy's
beautiful hymn to-night which commences:

   |   'My prayer some daily good to do,
   |   'To thine for Thee;'

"Cousin Alicia used to sing it to me every
night when I was ill.  I loved it so much,
because its measures *did* bind the power of
pain.  Often I had fallen asleep before she
came to the end."

"You must repeat all the hymn to me some
time, Carol, I shall like to hear it."

"Yes, Auntie, in the morning.  I have
been thinking whilst I was waiting for you to
come that when we want to do something
for Truth very, very much, Love finds the
way.  When I am a man, I shall want, more
than anything in all the world, just to do
what Jesus said, those that loved him were to
do, 'Go ye into all the world, preach the
Gospel, and heal the sick.'  I cannot help
remembering there are so many little children
lying now, just as I used to lie, always in
pain; and they could be healed, just as I
was healed, if there were more people who
understood what Jesus meant by 'The truth
shall make you free."

"And you are quite sure, Carol, it is that
which has made you free?"

"Oh, Auntie, dear, I can never let even the
tiniest thought of doubt creep up and make
me question that.  I *know*.  When Uncle
Raymond read in church last Sunday 'I
know that my Redeemer liveth,' I felt I
wanted to stand up and tell all the people
*because* He liveth, I am well.  That is
'knowing.'  I do long for the time to come when I
shall be able to tell them so, and I can give
all my time and my money to spread the
glad tidings, to fight for Truth."

"Maybe there is a great work, a great
future before you, dear boy, surely the
instrument has been prepared in a fierce fire,
and has come forth strong for the battle.
Now, good-night, and God bless you, darling."  He
clasped both his arms round her neck,
holding her tightly, as in earlier years he used
to cling to his mother.




CHAPTER VIII.--A SECOND VISIT TO THE COTTAGE.
=============================================

The next Sunday evening when Carol
entered the shoemaker's cottage, he was not
alone as before.

"This is my daughter, Mrs. Scott, Master
Carol, and her little girl," he said to Carol.
"We thought, maybe, you wouldn't object
if she listened to the reading too.  She
cannot often go to church, because the little
girl has been subject to epilepsy since she
was two years old.  She's just turned eight
now.  I told her mother what you told me
last Sunday, and she'll be right glad to hear more."

"That I shall, Master Carol.  I know
something of hip-disease, and if you could be
cured of that, I'm sure my little girl could be
cured of the fits."

"Why, of course she could.  You will be
able to help her ever so much only by knowing
that God never created fits; they belong
to the mist which we read about in the
second chapter of Genesis.  I am going to read
that chapter to Mr. Higgs to-night.  Then
you'll understand.  I will begin at the fourth
verse, because the first three verses belong
really to the first chapter, which is an account
of the first creation, when God made
everything that was made and it was spiritual
and perfect.  No one could ever alter or
undo God's perfect work; it remains, and
always will remain, perfect.  When we
understand this, and realize it, the mist will
disappear, and all the things which belong to
the mist--sin, disease, and death."

Father and daughter looked at the boy
with wonder and perplexity.  Opening the
Bible he read:

"These are the generations of the heavens
and the earth when they were created in the
day that the Lord God made the earth and
the heavens."  He continued to the end of
the chapter.  "Now do you see how different
this account of creation is from the first?"
he asked.  "Who was the Lord God who
took the dust of the ground and formed man
over again, after God had already created
him, and pronounced His work very good?"

The old man shook his head.  "I can only
say, as I said last Sunday, Master Carol, in
all the sermons I've listened to that has
never been explained to me.  I don't think
I should have let it slip, if it had.  It's just
the first time I've ever known there were
two creations."

"There were not really two creations,
though it reads as if there were, because
there are not two creators.  The sixth verse
explains it, 'There went up a mist from the
earth and watered the whole face of the
ground.'  That mist covered everything
which God-Spirit had created--all the host
of them; birds, beasts, and flowers,
mountains, seas, lakes, rivers, even man: God's
own image and likeness.  Because the mist
is over everything we do not see the world
and man as they really exist.  So people
have come to believe that God made man
from the dust; for the mist that is spoken
of is not a mist like we see rising from the
sea, or in the fields of an evening.  It means
false belief, misunderstanding of God and
His spiritual creation.  But, my cousin has
told me, there is a woman in America who
once caught a glimpse of God's real creation
as she was passing through the death valley.
And that one glimpse restored her to health.
Then she devoted her whole life to learn
more of the truth that she might teach
others how to see through the mist, and to
shake off their old beliefs.  She has written
a book called *Science and Health* with *Key
to the Scriptures*, which explains all that she
has discovered.  Simply reading and studying
that book has made hundreds of people well."

"Where could we get a copy of it, Master
Carol?  I'd like to know for my little girl's
sake," Mrs. Scott asked.

"I do not quite know, but there are
Christian Science churches in London.  If you
were to write there perhaps someone would
tell you.  I wish I had a copy to lend you.
I have written the Scientific Statement of
Being from memory.  I am sure it will help
you.  I am trying to realize it for you, and
for the little girl.  Think always of that
first chapter of the Bible.  In the beginning
God created everything that was created,
and it was very good.  None of the things
we want to get rid of could be included in
God's *very good*, could they?  Jesus came to
teach men to understand God better, and he
said, 'that which is born of the Spirit is
spirit.'  So all that came from God and all
that still comes is spiritual.  If you could
quite realize this, Mr. Higgs, you would soon
lose your rheumatism.  I am only telling
you what has been told me so many times;
and I know it is true, because I was very ill
when my cousin used to teach me, and I
grew better as I began to understand.  She
helped me, because she saw me always as
God's perfect child, and knew that He had
never created hip-disease, therefore it never
was created; it belonged to the mist, and
it would disappear under the light of Truth
as hoar frost disappears when the sun shines upon it."

"It is wonderful and strange what you are
telling us, Master Carol, I've never heard
the like before, but somehow I can't doubt
it.  I call to mind what the Bible says,
'Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings
God ordains strength.'  I'd dearly love the
girl to be free from those dreadful fits.  My
rheumatiz is very bad, but I'm an old man,
and can't expect to 'scape one o' the signs
of old age."

"But you must not expect.  You must
know that it is not a sign of old age in God's
man.  You must always remember the man
whom God created in His own image and likeness."

"I've heard those words many times
before, Master Carol, but somehow they never
seemed to come home to me as you put it.
Why, of course I ought not to suffer with
rheumatiz if I *am* God's image and likeness.
But what about all the poor dwarfed and
stunted creatures that are crippled from
infancy?  There's a little hunchback in the
village.  He was dropped when he was a
baby, and his back grew crooked, so that it's
a hump now.  How can he be God's image
and likeness?"

"The hunchback is not the likeness of
God, but the real child--the spiritual child is,
and God sees His child as He created it."  The
boy put his hand over his eyes a moment,
realizing that of himself he was not telling
these simple-minded people anything.  Then
he said:

"Suppose a great sculptor carved a beautiful
statue out of a block of marble.  Before
he began his work, he would have in his mind
the form he wished the marble to take.
Gradually, as he worked at it, the marble
would become what his thought of it was.
Then one day he would see it finished and
perfect--just what he intended it to be.
Then he would work no more at it.  Afterwards,
suppose some one came by, and took
clay and mixed it with water into a paste,
and then daubed the beautiful statue all over,
till the limbs looked crooked, and the beauty
of the face was spoiled.  But it wouldn't be
really spoiled, would it?  The statue would
still be the work of the great sculptor, finished
and perfect; the clay and the marble would
be quite separate and distinct.  Nothing could
make them one.  So when we read the chapter
I have just read to you--the Lord God took
the dust of the ground and made man--God's
man was already made, finished and perfect,
and the dust, like the clay, could only seem
to hide the perfect creation.  But we have to
know this and to realize it, if we are to
get rid of the dust, and the clay, and the
mist.  When my cousin was explaining all
this to me one day, she said, 'It is not
known how or when the belief in a Lord
God who made man of dust arose; but
from that false belief came sin, sorrow,
disease, and death.  Jesus came to teach us
the way back to God; to teach us to see
ourselves as the children of God, not of the
dust; and he said all who believed in him,
in what he taught, would never see death.'  The
day will come, my cousin said, when all
men will so believe in Jesus the Christ,
and will so understand and realize that God
is their Father, that death will be overcome.
Every case of sin and disease which is healed
by this knowledge--by the Truth--is bringing
that day nearer."

The look of bewilderment deepened on the
old man's face.  Surely, the boy was throwing
a different light upon words with which he had
been familiar all his life.  "We'll think over
what you've told us, Master Carol--me and
my daughter.  It sort o' goes to me that it's true."

Again the words came to him, "Out of the
mouth of babes and sucklings."

The church clock chimed the half-hour.
Carol stood up to go.  "The time has gone
so quickly.  I must not stay longer now.  I
will come again next Sunday, and all the
week will you try to know that God's work
was finished and perfect in the beginning, and
everything that seems to have been added to
it--rheumatism and fits--has no right to be?"

"We will, Master Carol, we'll just think
of the marble statue and the clay.  It will
help us."

"I will hold the right thought for you and
the little girl, and I know that soon you will
find that both the afflictions, which seem so
real, belong to the mist."




CHAPTER IX.--"IT IS THE TRUTH."
===============================

Carol faithfully kept his appointment on
the following Sunday.  His cousins ceased
to inquire, though not to wonder, what
became of him every Sunday evening, and once
appealed to Mrs. Mandeville for information.
She smilingly replied, "It is a little secret
between Carol and me.  Perhaps you will
be told some time, but not just yet."

As Carol entered the cottage, Mr. Higgs
rose from his seat, and stood upright.

"Master Carol," he exclaimed in a voice
of suppressed excitement, "it is the Truth,
the blessed Truth you've told us.  I can't
say I've lost my rheumatics entirely, for the
joints are like rusty hinges that want a
lot o' oiling after being idle so long; but I've
just been free from pain all the week; and my
little grand-daughter hasn't had one fit all
the week."

"No, Master Carol, she has not,"
Mrs. Scott added.  "I won't say she has never
gone a whole week without one before, but for
the last twelve months I don't think she has,
until this week."

"Try not to remember anything that has
been.  Think it was all a dream, and she is
awakening from it.  I had a very cruel dream
once, but I have awakened from it.  God's
children must cling very closely to Him, then
nothing can hurt them.  It is when shadowy
fears come between God and His image and
likeness that dreadful things seem to happen to us."

Mr. Higgs and Mrs. Scott did not understand
yet how the boy had all the week been
working for them--fighting error with the sword of Truth.

"I want to read a chapter from the New
Testament this evening," Carol said, opening
the Bible.  "It is always a favorite chapter,
but one verse, my cousin said, seemed never
to have impressed people as applicable to the
present day.  Yet the words are so simple.
I will read the chapter first, then we'll talk
about that one verse."

He read the 14th chapter of St. John from
the 1st verse to the last, then asked quietly,
"Do you remember that Jesus once said,
'Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my
words shall never pass away'?"

"Yes, Master Carol.  I remember those words well."

"Then is there not a verse in the chapter
I have just read which seems as if Jesus'
words *had* failed?"  The old man looked puzzled.

"I can't say that I know what you are
alluding to, Master Carol."

"I will read it again.  It is the 12th verse.
'Verily, verily, I say unto you, he that
believeth on me, the works that I do shall he
do also, and greater works than these shall
he do, because I go unto my Father.'  What
were the works that Jesus did?  Was it not
healing the sick, cleansing the lepers, raising
the dead, feeding the hungry?  Well, if no
one can do these works to-day, his word has
failed or else no one has sufficient faith
(faith may sometimes mean understanding).
Many centuries rolled by, and the sick were
not healed, nor the lepers cleansed, in Jesus'
name.  But now we know his words never
failed.  It was the faith or understanding
of those who thought they believed in him
which failed; for the sick are being healed
now, and the lepers cleansed."

"It is very wonderful as you put it, Master
Carol.  I can't say it has ever been explained
like that to me before."

"Is it not very simple?" Carol asked.

"Why, yes.  It has always seemed to me
the Master's words were very simple, a child
could understand them.  But when you come
to the Epistles, and the creeds of the Church,
there's many things that I have never been
able to understand; and often the sermons
I've listened to puzzled me more than the texts."

"In the 15th verse Jesus says, 'If ye love
me, keep my commandments.'  Jesus did
not give many commandments to his
followers.  He told them many things, but of
strict commandments he gave only a few.
One was, 'Go into all the world, preach the
Gospel and heal the sick.'  If you had a son,
and you commanded him to do two things
and he did only one, and left the other alone,
would you be pleased with him?  Would he
be obedient to your commands?"

"Certainly I shouldn't be pleased with him,
and I'd soon let him know that, if he didn't
do all I commanded, he needn't do anything."

"Yes, but Jesus just makes it a test of love.
He says so gently, 'If ye love me, keep my
commandments.'  To those who keep all
his commandments he will one day say,
'Well done, good and faithful servant,' I
do hope that some day he will say those
words to me."

"I'm right sure he will, Master Carol.
It is just wonderful the way you are helping
an old man to understand.  It amazes me
that a boy of your years should have such an
understanding."

"Oh, please don't think I am telling you
anything of myself.  It has all been explained
to me many times.  I am only telling you
what has been told me.  I wish my cousin
could talk to you.  She would help you much
better than I can.  But we must not
withhold what we have because some one else
has more, must we?  We must hand on the
good tidings as well as we are able."

"That's it, Master Carol.  Maybe I'll do
a little that way myself later on."

"Yes, I am sure you will, but don't talk
about your rheumatism being better just yet.
Wait until the evil is quite cast out.  When
I come next week I will explain to you how we
learn in *Science and Health* that God gave
man dominion, and what God has given can
never be taken away.  God says His word
shall never return unto Him void.  When
He decreed anything, it was forever.  You
could not think of the sun, moon, or stars
moving out of their appointed courses, could
you?  It is only man who seems to have
wandered from his native sphere.  We have
to learn that this is not so; we have not
really lost the dominion which God gave His
children in the beginning.  St. John says,
'Now are we the sons of God; and it doth
not yet appear what we shall be, but we know
that when He shall appear we shall be like
Him, for we shall see Him as He is.'  That
verse helped me so much when I was ill.  I
learned I had not to die to become a son of
God.  God is my Father here and now, and
God's child ought not to believe a lie.  It was
a lie that evil could have power over me, and
bind me.  It is a lie that evil can have power
over you, and bind you.  If you acknowledge
God as your Father, God's child should
not go along believing he has rheumatism,
should he?"

"Thank you, Master Carol.  I'll take hold
of that.  I can understand it.  I wish Rector
would talk to us sometimes like this.  I
know it is all in the Bible, yet it never came
home to me before."

Mrs. Scott listened attentively to all the
boy was telling her father, but made no
remark.  Her little girl was sitting in the porch
nursing her doll, crooning a lullaby.  Carol
left them with the promise to come again
next Sunday.




CHAPTER X.--AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER.
====================================

With thoughts so joyous and uplifted,
Carol's feet scarcely seemed to touch the
springy turf of the park as he returned to
the Manor.  The uplifting joy, unlike
anything that earth can give, which comes from
the consciousness that work done for, and in
the Master's name, is accepted of him, was
his; the promised signs following.

He did not see Mrs. Mandeville until she
paid her usual visit to his bedroom.

His young face was radiant with joy and
happiness.  "Auntie," he said, "Mr. Higgs
is beginning to understand; and he is losing
his rheumatism."

Mrs. Mandeville smiled.  There was so
much love and tenderness in her smile the
incredulity was not apparent.  She put a
loving arm around him, drawing the boy closer to her.

"Is that what you have been thinking to-night, dear?"

"Not altogether, Auntie.  I have been
thinking of what it means by the words,
'The mind that was in Christ.'  That was
what I was reading when I came to bed.
If we are to have that Mind, we should understand
what it is.  But, Auntie, I can't get any
farther than *love*: the mind that was in Christ
was love.  God is Love, and Jesus said, 'I
and my Father are one.'  So, Auntie, when
our hearts are filled with love for the poor
and afflicted and sorrowing, it is the Christ
mind that comes to us.  Because Jesus loved
all who came to him, he was able to heal them.
He said, 'I can of myself do nothing, it is the
Father that worketh in me.  He doeth the
works.'  Jesus was a perfect mirror,
reflecting the love which is God.  That is why he
said, 'They that have seen me have seen
my Father also.'  Cousin Alicia explained
this once to me, but I did not quite
understand it at the time.  I see so clearly now.
When we reflect love as Jesus did, we shall
be able to do the works that he did.  I often
wonder, Auntie, why Uncle Raymond and all
the clergy who preach the Gospel don't help
people when they are ill.  It is not being
obedient, is it?"

Mrs. Mandeville's face was grave.

"Ought I not to question this, Auntie?"

"Perhaps it would be better not, dear,
until you are older.  I do not understand
myself.  It is a subject I never seriously
considered until you came to us.  Now I think
I must say good-night, my little lie-awake."

"I always fall asleep soon after I have said
'good-night' to you, Auntie."

"That is right, darling.  I do enjoy our
little talks; they are very sweet and helpful
to me, Carol."

Then, after a long, loving embrace, she left
him, a grave, thoughtful, but happy expression
on her face.

The following Saturday morning after
breakfast the three little girls told Carol,
with delight, that they were going to the home
farm in the afternoon, and begged him to go
with them.  Carol promised.  He never
refused to go anywhere or to do anything when
Rosebud asked him.  It was different with
Percy and Frank.  They were always too busy.

Carol knew how great a delight a visit to
the farm was to the little girls, where each
had a special pet of her own which the farmer's
wife kindly took care of for them.  Carol
had visited the farm once before, and was
almost as interested as the little girls in
the animals and poultry yard.  The schoolroom
children had grown out of the interest
they once had in visiting the farm.

Saturday being a school holiday, the boys
were at home all day.  After lunch Percy said:

"I say, Carol, some fellows are coming
this afternoon; we are going to have a game
at rounders.  You can manage that.  Will
you come?"

Carol was never asked to join in a game
at cricket or football, as his uncle and aunt
feared it would not be good for him.  "I am
sorry, Percy; I cannot.  I promised Rosebud
and Sylvia to go with them to the farm
this afternoon."

Percy turned impatiently away.  He was
annoyed.  Carol caught the muttered words:
"Milk-sop prefers a walk with the babies."

He was not versed in school-boy slang, but
naturally felt it was an opprobrious epithet
applied to himself.  A crimson flush rose to
his face.  On the way to the farm, he asked
Jane, the second nurse, who accompanied them:

"Can you tell me what milk-sop means, Jane?"

"Well, Master Carol, it's what school-boys
call one another, sometimes.  But it's not a
nice word.  I suppose it means something of
a coward."

Carol fell behind.  The crimson flush
returned and dyed his cheeks again.  "Percy
did not mean it.  He spoke without thinking.
He forgot I am a soldier's son.  *I am not
angry*.  I will not let you in!"

"Were you speaking, Master Carol?" Jane asked.

"I was only telling Mrs. Anger and Mr. Anger,
and a lot of little Angers, there is no
room for them in my mansion.  Love is
there, and cannot be driven away."

"You do say such funny things, Master
Carol," Jane remarked.

"But there is nothing funny in that, Jane.
You see our mind is our mansion, and if we
keep it filled with loving thoughts, angry
thoughts cannot creep in.  Some angry
thoughts were just trying to force their way
in, and I had to tell them there was no room."

Still Jane smiled, but she, as everyone else
at the Manor, loved the gentle boy, who had
what seemed to them such strange thoughts.

A messenger always appeared to go in
advance and tell the farmer's wife when the
little ladies might be expected.  She never
failed to have such a lovely tea spread on a
snowy white tablecloth, and her best china
gracing the table.  Tea in the farm kitchen
was quite different from the usual nursery
tea at home.  Such delicious scones and
tea-cakes!  (It really would not have pleased
cook to hear the praise bestowed upon them,
as if she did not make quite as good.)

After tea they went around the farmyard
to inspect their pets.  A little gosling,
quite tame and friendly, was chosen for
Carol's especial pet.  The hour, which was
all nurse had allowed them, passed very
quickly, and they started on the homeward
walk.  They had not gone far when a
drizzling rain began.  Jane then suggested the
advisability of crossing a field which would
shorten the distance considerably.  When
they came to the field, she was surprised to
find the gate fastened.

"This gate is generally open.  I wonder
why it is padlocked to-day, but it is not too
high to get over.  If you climb over first,
Master Carol, I can lift Rosebud over to you."

Carol soon mounted the five-barred gate,
and landed safely on the other side, then
received one by one Rosebud, Estelle, and
Sylvia, from Jane's arm, as she lifted them
over.  They had walked about two hundred
yards when Jane stood still in an agony of
fright, as an animal, which had been lying
unperceived in a distant corner of the field,
rose up and came towards them with a loud bellow.

"Oh, Master Carol!  What shall we do?
It's the bull!  He's a terror!  I've heard of
him.  He's a tosser!"

"Don't be frightened, Jane.  Just walk
quietly.  The bull won't hurt us, if we are
not frightened."

Jane caught Rosebud in her arms, and with
Estelle and Sylvia clinging to either side,
walked as quickly as she dared towards the
stile on the other side of the field.
Fortunately, it was a stile easier to mount than
the five-barred gate had been.  It was but
the work of a moment and the three little
girls were lifted safely to the other side.  Then,
Jane turned to look for Carol.  He had
walked only a third of the distance, keeping
always between the bull and his cousins, and
now he stood face to face with the animal,
a few yards only between them.  Another
low bellow, and then the animal bent his
head to the ground, prepared for a spring.

"Run, run, Master Carol," Jane screamed.
It was a fatal appeal.  The mesmerism of
fear seized Carol.  He turned to look after
his cousins.  The next instant he was on the
horns of the animal, tossed high in the air,
as if he had been no heavier than an India-rubber
ball.  Mercifully, he fell on the other
side of the hedge, which divided that field
from the next.  With a roar of baffled rage,
the animal stampeded the field, seeking to
toss his victim a second time.




CHAPTER XI.--PERCY'S REMORSE.
=============================

The three little girls set up a piteous cry
of "Carol," "Carol."  Jane was speechless,
only wringing her hands in her extremity.
What could she do?  It was half a mile to
return to the farm for help, and a mile to the
nearest lodge belonging to the Manor; and
there was no house between.  She could not
see where Carol had fallen.  But she knew
it was over the hedge into the next field.
She feared the infuriated animal would force
its way through.  Though she could not in
any way protect him, it seemed terrible to
go from the place, even to get help, and leave
him there.  Many moments were lost in her
frenzied attempts to force an entrance into
the field from the lane.  It was in vain.  The
thick, high hedge was impregnable.  She
called again and again to Carol to speak,
to answer her, but there was no response.
It seemed an eternity before there was the
welcome sound of a horse's hoofs in the lane,
which drew nearer until a stanhope came in
sight, containing Colonel Mandeville, a friend,
and a groom.

The three little girls cried: "Daddy, Daddy,
the bull has tossed Carol!"

Colonel Mandeville sprang from the
vehicle on the instant, scarcely understanding
what the children said.  Their distress was
evident.  That was sufficient.  Jane then
tried to explain.

"We were crossing the field, sir.  I did not
know the bull was there.  He has tossed
Master Carol over the hedge into this field,
and we cannot get at him."

Colonel Mandeville uttered one low, sad
exclamation.

"Where is the entrance into the field?" he asked.

"There is a gate into it from the field where
the bull is.  Oh, please, sir, it isn't safe;
the bull is awfully enraged," she added, as
Colonel Mandeville walked towards the stile.

He turned to say to the groom: "Follow
me," and to his friend: "Manton, drive to
the village and bring Dr. Burton along.  I
fear we shall want him."  To Jane he said
briefly: "Take the children home."

Then he mounted the stile, and entered
the field, a gun in his hand, which the groom
had handed him from the stanhope.  The
gentlemen had been shooting.  The bull was
standing in the middle of the field.  He sprang
towards the fresh intruder with a bellow.
Colonel Mandeville pointed his gun; there
was a report, and the next instant the beast
rolled over on his side, dead.  The groom
then followed his master.  They had a little
difficulty in opening the gate into the next
field, but succeeded at last, and were able to get in.

Under the shadow of the hedge Carol was
lying--still, motionless.

Colonel Mandeville knelt beside him.

"Carol, Carol," he said softly, but there
was no response.  "Go to the farm as quickly
as you can.  Tell them to improvise an
ambulance.  Bring it along.  Lose not a
moment," he said to the groom.

Then he knelt on the ground, trying again
to awake the boy to consciousness: "My poor
wife, how will she bear this?" he said to
himself, knowing well that Carol was as dear to
her as her youngest born, the Rosebud of the
family.  The signs of life were so faint, he
could not hope the boy would ever regain
consciousness.

Dr. Burton was fortunately at home.  In
an inconceivably short time he arrived on the
scene; and the groom returned with an
ambulance, followed by the farmer, his wife, and
some of the men, all anxious to give any
assistance they could.

Dr. Burton and Colonel Mandeville very
tenderly lifted Carol on to the ambulance,
a faint moan was the only sign of life, but
all were glad to hear even that.  Dr. Burton
would not make any examination until they
could lay him on a bed, and cut off his clothes.

There was no question of breaking the news
gently to Mrs. Mandeville; she was returning
from a drive as the little girls reached the
gates.  They ran to her sobbing broken-heartedly.

She was very calm, but her face grew
deadly white, and wore again the strained
expression which had been so frequent during
the sad days of the war.  She could not
remain inactive, and walked to meet the sad
procession.

As soon as Colonel Mandeville saw her,
he advanced quickly to her side, and turned
her steps homeward.  He would not let her
see the boy as he lay on the ambulance,
looking so like death.

Only Colonel Mandeville was with Dr. Burton
when he made the critical examination.
There were no broken bones, he said,
but added that there are things worse to deal
with than broken bones, and hinted gravely
at concussion of the brain and spinal
congestion.  There were two terrible bruises
where he had been caught on the bull's horns.
He could not hold out any hope to them, but
desired a second opinion, and a telegram was
at once despatched to a great London physician,
who, it was calculated, would be able to
reach Mandeville that night if he caught the
evening express.  Then Mrs. Mandeville took
her place by the bedside.  She could do
nothing, only watch in tearful silence the pallid
face that had become so dear to her, lying so
still, so calm, it seemed at times the lips
were breathless.  The reply telegram came
quickly.  Sir Wilfrid would be able to catch
the evening express which would stop at
Mandeville by request.  He would reach the
Manor about ten o'clock.

Not until the physician's arrival, when he
and Dr. Burton held a consultation together,
did Mrs. Mandeville leave the bedside.  She
then retired to her own room for a little
time.  Miss Markham came to her there,
begging her to go and speak to Percy.  "His
grief," she said, "is quite uncontrollable.
I have done all I can to comfort him.  But
nothing I can say seems to touch him."  Mrs. Mandeville
went at once to Percy's room.
He had thrown himself undressed on his bed,
and was sobbing hysterically, as she entered
the room.

"Percy, my dear boy, you must not grieve
like this."

As soon as he was aware it was his mother
beside him, he flung his arms round her neck.

"Oh, Mother, I can never, never, be happy
again if Carol dies.  If he had not been there
with them, the bull would have tossed my
little sisters.  Jane said he stood between
them and the bull.  He is the bravest boy,
and I--I--called him a--a--"  He could not
repeat the word he had so lightly,
thoughtlessly uttered a few hours previously.

"If only I could tell him I did not mean
it, and ask him to forgive me, Mother.
Oh! won't he ever be able to speak to me again?"

"Dear Percy, I hope so.  Sir Wilfrid
Wynne is with him now, and everything
possible will be done for him.  I am sure,
darling, he would not like you to grieve like
this.  He always has such loving thoughts
of others."  The remembrance of all his
gentleness and loving thought for others
was too much for Mrs. Mandeville.  Clasping
her boy closely to her, she wept with him.
Heaven was still to her a locality, and death
the gateway to it; and Carol had always
seemed so very near to the Kingdom of Heaven.

All the household awaited with cruel
suspense the great man's verdict, trusting to
him, forgetful that human skill had failed
the boy once before in his hour of need,
forgetful of that friend in Devonshire who
loved him as her own son.  No message had
been sent to her.




CHAPTER XII.--THE PHYSICIAN'S VERDICT.
======================================

Sir Wilfrid Wynne gave his verdict, and it
was almost a repetition of what Dr. Burton
had said.  He could do nothing.  There was
little hope he would regain consciousness.
If he did, it would be but a passing flash
before the end.  He might linger in his
present condition twenty-four hours or longer;
and he might pass away any moment without
a struggle.  It would be cruel to wish him to
live; the shock to the spine had been so
great, if he lived, he would inevitably lose
the use of his lower limbs.  Sir Wilfrid was
grieved; he had known the boy's father.
He would gladly have remained, had there
been any hope of doing anything for him.
He took his departure by motor-car to catch
the mail train at a junction ten miles distant.

Mrs. Mandeville returned to her place by
the bedside, calm and still, after her
paroxysm of weeping.  Colonel Mandeville was
with her, and presently the Rector came
into the room.

"Raymond, pray for him," Mrs. Mandeville
said.  "He is in God's hands.  No
human power can help him."

They all knelt and the Rector prayed
aloud.  He did not petition for the boy's
life to be spared.  He humbly asked that the
hearts of those who loved him might be
submissive to God's all-wise decree.  "Thy
will be done," was the dominant note of the
prayer.  When they rose from their knees,
there was an expression on Mrs. Mandeville's
face which no one had ever seen before.
The prayer had not helped her: it
was not submission nor resignation in any
degree which had come to her.  She turned to
the Rector.

"I do not believe it, Raymond.  This is
*not* God's will.  God could not order
anything so cruel to befall a child, so loving and
dutiful--whose faith in God's loving care of
him has always been so beautiful to me to
witness.  Could I, who know only human
love, suffer anything like this to befall my
little Rosebud, or any of my children?  Is
human love more pitiful and compassionate
than divine love?  This dear boy could
easily have saved himself; he stood between the
cruel beast and my little girls.  All three
of them might be lying as he is lying now
but for his self-sacrifice.  Don't tell me it is
God's will!  If I could believe it, I would
wish I were a heathen, and worshipped a
god of wood and stone!"

The Rector could only gaze in pained
astonishment.  Such an outburst was so
unlike his usually calm and gentle sister.  He
judged she was beside herself with grief.
She stood with clasped hands, wide-open eyes,
unseeing, yet seeing, gazing beyond the
confines of that room, catching a momentary
vision of that light which 'never was, on land
or sea.'

She became calm again--serenely calm.

"I see it," she said.  "I understand.  This
is *not* God's will.  It is not *His* work.  His
compassions fail not.  His love is over all
His children.  With Him is the Fountain of
Life.  Does He not say, 'I will redeem them
from death'?  He will save this dear child
from the grave.  Leave me, please.  I want
to be alone--alone with Carol and God.  I
want to realize it.  Yes; *God's will be done*.
Life, not death, is God's will.  I see it, I see
so clearly."

To her husband she said softly, "I will ring
if I want anything, dear.  Don't let anyone
come into the room until I ring."

When all had left the room, and the door
was closed, she knelt beside the bed, with
outstretched arms.  It was a mother's cry
to God for the life of a child that was as dear
to her as her own.  Hour after hour passed,
and still she knelt.  Words failed her,
petition ceased: the realization came to her that
God is Life: in Him we live, and move, and
have our being.  In Infinite Life there is no
death.  Death never is, and never can be
God's will.  The knowledge, the understanding
of God as All-in-all vanquishes
death!  "O, death, I will be thy plagues.
O, grave, I will be thy destruction!" (Hosea
XIII., 14.)

The morning dawned, the bright sunbeams
stole into the room.  The boy opened his
eyes.  "Auntie,"--she was bending over him--"I
have been dreaming.  I thought I was in
a field, and a bull tossed me high up into the
air.  But I knew in my dream, 'underneath
are the everlasting arms.'  Then I dreamed
again, and two men were turning me about,
and moving my arms and legs, and one said,
'There is not a broken bone, nor even a
dislocation.  It's a miracle.'  I tried to say
'underneath are the everlasting arms,' but
I could not speak."

The words were very faint and low.  She
bent close to catch them, then stopped them
with a kiss, a pæan of joy in her heart.  He
spoke again: "Auntie, something is hurting
me very much.  I can't move."

"Do not try, darling, lie quite still.  I will
sit beside you and hold your hand."

A spasm of pain passed over his face, and
he fell again into unconsciousness.  But she
had no fear, she knew that death had been
vanquished by the knowledge that had come
to her of life.

A low knock came to the door.  She opened
it, and found her maid there with a cup of
tea.  She took it from her saying: "Tell
them all he lives, and he will live.  But I
wish to be alone with him for the present.
No one is to trouble about me, I am quite well."

So she sat down again beside him, waiting
and patiently watching, knowing that he
would awake again to consciousness.  It was
nearly noon when he opened his eyes and
spoke again.  His voice was stronger:

"Auntie, was it a waking dream?  Was I
really in a field, and a bull tossed me?  I am
so aching all over me."

"Yes, darling."

"I think I remember now, Auntie.  Rosebud
and Estelle and Sylvia were there, and
Jane called to me, 'Run, run!'  They were
not hurt, were they?"

"No, darling, not one of them."

"I am glad.  Error is telling me I cannot
move my legs and arms, Auntie.  But it
is not true.  God's child cannot be bound like
that.  Does Cousin Alicia know?"

"I am sorry, Carol.  I fear no one has
thought to send her word."

"Will you send word now, Auntie--something
quicker than a letter?"

"A telegram, dear?"

"Yes, Auntie, and put in, 'Please help Carol'."

"I will ask Uncle to send the message at once, dear."

When she opened the bedroom door, she
found Colonel Mandeville pacing the corridor
without.  As a sentinel he had kept watch
there throughout the night and a great part
of the morning.  He came into the room, and
stood with one arm around his wife, looking
down at Carol.

"Well, little man, so we are going to cheat
the doctors?"

Carol didn't at all know what 'cheat' meant.

"Carol wishes you to let Miss Desmond
know, dear.  Will you wire at once?  And say
in the message, 'Please help Carol.'  She will
know what he means."

"I will gladly do so.  Dr. Burton is downstairs,
Emmeline.  He had better come up now."

An expression of distress came over Carol's face.

"Auntie," he said, "don't let the doctor
do anything to me, please."

"No one shall touch you, dear.  But I
should like Dr. Burton just to see you.  He
will tell me what I may give you to eat."

"I don't want anything, Auntie, only something to drink."

"Well, dear, he will tell me what will be
best for you to have."

"I would like only water, please."

"You shall have some, dear, at once, and
after that something else, I hope."

Dr. Burton came to the room, felt the
patient's pulse, took his temperature, and
looked at his tongue, but mercifully refrained
from turning him about, to examine the bruises.

"I will send some medicine at once," he
said to Mrs. Mandeville.  "Give him a dose
every hour.  He has a very high temperature."

Downstairs he told Colonel Mandeville:
"He may pull through if meningitis does not
supervene."

But he left the house holding a very strong
belief that meningitis would supervene.  Not
even the medicine, which was to be given
every hour, could prevent it.




CHAPTER XIII.--THE RECTOR'S REFUSAL.
====================================

Mrs. Mandeville remained with Carol
throughout the day, suffering no one to
relieve her for one hour.  As soon as he was
told the telegram had been sent to Miss
Desmond, he rested quite satisfied.  But as
the day wore on to evening, Mrs. Mandeville,
standing over him, saw he was suffering acutely.

"You are in pain, darling," she said.

"Auntie, please don't ask me.  I am trying
to deny it.  Couldn't you deny it for me, too?"

His lips were quivering; tears he strove
bravely to keep back were stealing down his
cheeks.  How could she deny it?  She would
have given anything to be able to do so.

"Cousin Alicia must have had the
telegram by this, Auntie, mustn't she?"

"Yes, dear; I think so.  Being Sunday,
it has taken longer to get through.  Uncle
has heard from the postmaster at W--, the
nearest town, as the village telegraph office
would be closed.  The message has been sent
on by messenger on horseback.  So I think
Miss Desmond must have received it by this time."

"She might have been out when it arrived, Auntie."

"Do you expect to feel less pain, dear,
when Miss Desmond receives the telegram?"

"Yes, Auntie, I know I shall."

Seven o'clock--eight o'clock--nine o'clock
passed.  No reply telegram came.  Mrs. Mandeville
wrote a letter to go by the evening
post, giving more details, and describing
Carol's great desire to have a message from
her.  Dr. Burton came again at night.  His
instructions had been carried out.  The
medicine sent had been given every hour.  Still
the patient's temperature was higher, the
pain he was suffering more acute, and the
symptoms which pointed to meningitis more
pronounced.  "If he could sleep--a long
natural sleep might save him," Dr. Burton said.

During the night Mrs. Mandeville was
persuaded to take a little rest on a couch in
the room, whilst Nurse and Colonel
Mandeville kept watch beside the bed.  Carol
offered no opposition to anything that was
done for him, and drank the medicine without
a murmur, when the spoon was put to his lips.

In the morning, when Mrs. Mandeville
was again alone with him, he said, "Auntie,
I wonder why it hurts me to try to think.
I tried so hard to go to sleep in the night and
I could not.  Then I began to think about
Jesus when he was a little boy.  We are not
told that he was ever ill, and had to lie in
bed, are we?  But I felt quite sure, if he ever
did, he would do just what his mother wanted
him to do, wouldn't he?  I know medicine
and the bandages are not doing me any
good, but it makes you happy for me to
have them, doesn't it, Auntie?"

"Yes, darling; it seems all that we can
do for you."

"If you understood Science, you could
help me now, Auntie."

"Indeed then, I wish that I did, Carol."

"Sometimes the room seems to go dark,
Auntie.  In the night, two or three times,
it was just as if the lamp went out, then
lighted up again."  Mrs. Mandeville
understood enough to know this was very grave.

"Darling, will you try to lie quite still,
and close your eyes--try not to think about
anything?"

"Yes, Auntie, but I do hope a message will
come from Cousin Alicia to-day.  You will
tell me when it comes, won't you?"

"Instantly, dear."

"I wish I could go to sleep, Auntie."

"I wish so too, my poor, dear boy."

"Could you move me a tiny bit, Auntie?
I ache so lying in the same position.  It seems
so strange not to be able to move myself at
all.  Error seems very real."

Gently and lovingly, she tried to ease his
position, but the least touch brought an
expression of acute pain.  She had to desist.

The long weary hours of that day passed,
but no message, either a telegram or letter,
came from Miss Desmond.  Another wire was
sent, asking for a reply.  Still none came.
Then, later on in the evening, a message was
sent addressed to the housekeeper at Willmar
Court, which quickly brought a reply: "Miss
Desmond away.  Impossible to forward messages."

Mrs. Mandeville told Carol very gently.
He did not speak for some time, and, though
he lay with closed eyes, she knew he was
not sleeping.

Then he looked up at her:

"Auntie, when Jesus was in the boat, and
the winds arose, and the waves surged high
around the little boat, Jesus didn't command
them at once to be still.  The disciples had to
awake him, and he rebuked them for their
little faith.  Shouldn't they have waited
patiently, knowing it was all right?  Sometimes
it seems error has bound me with ropes, and
I cannot move; sometimes it seems like
waves washing over me.  But I know that
Love is saying to error's angry waves, 'Thus
far, and no farther.'  And just at the right
moment the command will come: '*Peace, be still*.'"

Mrs. Mandeville hid her face in the pillow
beside him, that he might not see the tears
streaming from her eyes.  She had lost again
the faith which for a time had uplifted her to
a realization of God's power to save the boy
from death.  In imagination she saw a new
little grave in the churchyard with that
word "Peace" graven in the marble
headstone.  She had been anxious for news from
Miss Desmond because Carol wished it so
much.  She had little hope or faith that
injuries, such as his, could in any way be
alleviated by Miss Desmond's knowledge of
Christian Science.  The night passed again,
and not for one hour did sleep close the
suffering boy's eyes.  He had been unconscious for
a time, murmuring incoherently; but it was
not sleep.

Dr. Burton said very little when he came
in the morning; he only looked graver and
sadder.  By telegram he had been in constant
communication with Sir Wilfrid Wynne, and
he knew that, humanly speaking, nothing
more could be done for the boy than was
being done.  Yet there was no progress.

"How I wish there was something I could do
for you, Carol!" Mrs. Mandeville said, as she
sat beside him.

"Auntie, there is something, if Uncle
Raymond will let you have it.  I know I should
fall asleep if you read *Science and Health*
to me.  I always used to when I was ill before,
and Cousin Alicia read it to me, even before
I began to understand it."

"I will go to the rectory at once, dear, and
ask Uncle for the book.  Promise me to lie
with closed eyes; and try not even to think
about anything whilst I am away."

She would not write, nor send a message,
fearing a refusal.  As soon as Nurse came to
take her place she left the room, and the house.
There was a path through the park direct to
the rectory.  It was less than ten minutes' walk.

The Rector looked up in astonishment as
his sister, hatless and coatless (it was a chilly
September day), entered the room.  "What is
it, Emmeline?  Is Carol worse?" he asked.
Her flushed, distressed face suggested the
question.

"I do not know if he is worse.  He is just
as ill as he can be, and is suffering cruelly.
I want you to let me have that book you took
from him, Raymond, *Science and Health*.
He thinks if I read it to him he will fall asleep.
He has not slept yet, and this is the third day
since the accident."  The Rector's face, which
before had been grave and kindly, now grew
stern and resolute.  "I am sorry, Emmeline,
but I cannot let you have it.  That book
will never pass from my hands to his as long
as I am his guardian.  He knows too much
already of its pernicious doctrines.  Better
better--anything than that his faith in its
teachings should be strengthened."

"Do you mean better that he should die, Raymond?"

"Yes, Emmeline, better that--even that."

"Oh, Raymond, how can you hold such a
thought?  I do not know what the book is
nor what it teaches.  But I do know what is
the fruit of it; and who was it said, 'A tree
is known by its fruit; a corrupt tree cannot
bring forth good fruit'?"

"We need not discuss that, Emmeline.
We both know whose words those are.  Still,
I maintain that the teachings of that book,
being pernicious, cannot bring forth good fruit."

"But, Raymond, is not gentleness, faith
and love--such as Carol's--good fruit?
Jesus to him did not live two thousand years
ago.  He is living to-day.  He is looking to
him, as the disciples looked, when the storm
arose at sea.  His love and his faith are
beautiful to witness.  I have always tried to teach
my children the love of God, but Carol
possesses something I have not been able to
give them, because I do not possess it
myself.  I think it is understanding.  He seems
to understand the Bible much better than I do."

"I am sorry to hear you speak like this,
Emmeline.  In any difficulty why do you not
come to me?  Surely there are books enough
here to explain, or to throw a light on
anything that is not clear to you."

The Rector looked round at his well-filled
book-shelves: old books and new books;
works of the early Fathers and the latest
theological treatise.

"I cannot explain what it is I want,
Raymond.  I only know I always seem to be
groping after something, and I cannot find
it.  But when I am talking to Carol, I seem
nearer to it.  Raymond, won't you let me
have that book--just for to-day--I will
return it to you to-morrow?"

"No, Emmeline.  Not for one hour."

"You are cruel, Raymond, when the boy
is suffering so, and it is all he asks you.  If
there were a shop near where I could buy
a copy, I would straightway do so.  I will
know for myself what the book teaches.  I
shall write to Miss Desmond, and ask her to
get me a copy."

"Of course, Emmeline, if you choose to do
that, I have no control over your actions.
I have over Carol's, and I shall exercise it."

Then Mrs. Mandeville broke down and
burst into tears.  "Perhaps you won't have
power long.  Oh, Raymond!  You do not
realize how ill he is!  If meningitis sets in,
Dr. Burton says it will be a matter of only a
few hours.  If I were asking for a Buddhist
or a Mohammedan book, it would be right
for you to let me have it."

"No, my dear sister.  I am not a believer
in the doctrine that the end justifies the means.
I will pray for Carol, and for you too.  I am
sorry to see you so overwrought."

"Then you absolutely refuse, Raymond?"

"I do, Emmeline--absolutely."

Without a word Mrs. Mandeville turned
and left the room.




CHAPTER XIV.--"HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED SLEEP."
============================================

Softly and lightly as Mrs. Mandeville
re-entered Carol's room, he heard her.  He
had been listening for her footsteps, whilst
obedient to her desire, lying with closed eyelids.

She was spared the pain of telling him she
had been unsuccessful.  He read it in her face.

"Auntie, dear, please don't look so troubled.
Uncle Raymond does not understand.  It is
quite all right.  Love can always find a
way."  Mrs. Mandeville almost smiled through her
unshed tears.  How great was her love for the
boy, yet she could think of no way by which
what he wanted could be immediately
procured.  Even she did not fully realize how he
was waiting and yearning for that healing
touch, which comes

   |   'More softly than the dew is shed
   |   Or cloud is floated overhead.'

Nurse left the room, and Mrs. Mandeville
again took her place by the bedside.

In less than an hour a maid came to the
bedroom door, asking in a whisper, "Can
I speak to you a moment, ma'am?"

"What is it, Withers?" Mrs. Mandeville asked.

"A Mr. Higgs from the village is
downstairs.  He came to inquire after Master
Carol.  He said he would like the young
gentleman to know he has walked from the
village to the Manor."

The words were spoken at the door very
softly, but Carol heard.

"Oh, Auntie, I am glad!" he said.  "Could
Mr. Higgs come here?  I should like to speak
to him."

"Darling, I am afraid it will excite you to
see him.  The doctor's orders are that you
are to be kept perfectly quiet."

"It won't excite me, Auntie; and what
makes me very happy cannot hurt me."

"You may bring Mr. Higgs to see Master
Carol since he wishes it so much, Withers."

No one but those who were nursing him had
been admitted to the room.  The maid was
surprised as she took the message, and then
brought the old man to the room.

"God bless 'ee, Master Carol, God bless
'ee.  Aye, I don't know how to say it often
enough, when I think it's all along o' the
blessed truth you taught me I'm free of the
rheumatiz.  I met Farmer Stubbins on my
way, and he says, 'Why, Higgs, you're
walking along quite spry.  What's become o' your
rheumatiz?'  'Gone, thank the Lord,' says
I, 'never to return.'  'Oh! and what may you
have done to get rid of it?' he asks, being
crippled himself with the same.  'I ain't
done nothing,' I replied.  Then I says,
'Farmer Stubbins, you and me was boys
together, and we sang in the village choir.  Do
you mind there's a verse in the Psalms--aye,
we've sung it many a time; but we just
didn't think o' the words--it was the music
we thought about.  "He sent His word and
healed them."  That's just what the Lord
has done.  He has sent His word and healed
me, and He sent it by the mouth of one of
His dear children.'"

Carol's face was radiant with joy.  Anxiously
watching him, Mrs. Mandeville could
not fear that the old man's talk could harm him.

Then, after fumbling in his coat pocket, he
drew forth a little book carefully folded in
soft paper.

"I've got it, Master Carol.  It came this
morning--the little book you've told me
about.  My daughter wrote for me.  We
didn't quite know where to write, so we just
addressed the letter: 'Christian Science
Church, London,' and a kind lady has sent me
this book.  It isn't quite new, and she writes
that I shall value it more if it costs me
something.  I am just to pay what I can, and
send the money as I am able."

He was unfolding the paper covering as he
spoke, and then held out a small copy of
*Science and Health*.

"Oh, Auntie, isn't Love beautiful!  You
see Love *has* found a way.  Mr. Higgs will
lend it to you to read to me a little
time--won't you, Mr. Higgs?"

"I'll be very happy to, Master Carol."

Mrs. Mandeville took the book with almost
a feeling of awe.  It had come so wonderfully,
yet so simply.  She thought of the words:
"He sent His angel."

She pointed to a chair, saying, "Please
be seated, Mr. Higgs, whilst I read.  Is
there any particular part you would like me
to read, Carol?" she asked, turning over the pages.

"No, Auntie--just open the book; let Love
find the place."

"Carol, you so frequently speak of Love
as of a personality.  What do you mean, dear?"

"Auntie, God is Love.  But when we speak
of God, it seems we must bow our head, and
think reverently of the great 'I Am.'  But
when we speak of Love--we can just creep
into Love's arms, and ask Love anything."

"Even to find a place in a book,"
Mrs. Mandeville said with a smile.

"Yes, Auntie--even that."

Then she opened the book.  It opened at
page 494, and the first sentence she read was:
"Divine Love always has met and always
will meet every human need."

A smile rested on the boy's face, his sufferings
were forgotten, as the dear familiar
words fell on his ear.  Love had not failed him.

Mrs. Mandeville never knew afterwards
how long she read.  She became entranced,
absorbed.

When she turned to look at him, he was
asleep.  She quietly rose, and with one
whispered word asked Mr. Higgs to follow her.

Withers was still waiting without.

"Take Mr. Higgs to the housekeeper's
room, Withers, and ask her to give him a
substantial tea.  Then send word to the
stables--when he is ready--I wish Parker to
drive him to his home in my basket chaise.
It is only a step from the ground.  You will
easily get in and out.  I am deeply indebted
to you for coming this afternoon, Mr. Higgs.
My dear boy needed sleep so much.  It was
vitally necessary for him.  He was so sure he
would sleep, if I could read *Science and Health*
to him, and I did not know how to procure a
copy of the book."

"May I leave this with you, ma'am?"

"If you will be so kind for a day or two."

"Isn't Love beautiful!" the old man said
to himself, repeating Carol's words, as he
followed the maid to the housekeeper's room.




CHAPTER XV.--LETTERS AND TELEGRAMS REACH COUSIN ALICIA.
=======================================================

Carol's sleep lasted two hours.  Then he
awoke, with something of his old bright smile.
Mrs. Mandeville was still watching beside him.

"Auntie, I have been asleep."

"Yes, darling, I know.  I have been watching
you.  It was a beautiful sleep.  I thought
as I sat beside you of the words, 'He giveth
His beloved sleep.'  I am sure you are better
for it."

"Yes, Auntie, it was lovely, and my back
doesn't hurt me quite so much.  But I cannot
move my legs yet."

"Do not try, dear."

"Did I dream it, Auntie, or were you reading
*Science and Health* to me?"

"It was not a dream, dear.  Mr. Higgs
came and brought the book, and he has left
it with me."

"I remember now, Auntie.  Was it not
nice of him to come?  Has any message come
yet from Cousin Alicia?"

"No, love; I cannot understand why the
letters and telegrams are not forwarded to her."

"There is some reason, I know, Auntie.
We shall understand by and by."  She gave
him some soda and milk, which was all the
doctor would let him have.

"I should like to see Rosebud, Auntie.
Couldn't she come for a little while?"

Mrs. Mandeville had already admitted
one visitor against orders.  Dare she act on
her own responsibility a second time?  She
began to realize how much the doctor's fears
of developments, which might or might not
follow, were influencing her, though, happily,
she was not able to influence Carol.  He had no fear.

"I think it must be almost Rosebud's
bedtime, dear; but she shall come for a few
minutes."

After sending a message to the nursery for
Rosebud, her eye fell on the medicine bottle.
"Oh, Carol, I didn't give you your medicine
this afternoon.  It was just time for it when
Mr. Higgs came, and afterwards you were
asleep.  It is time again for it now.  I see
it must be fresh medicine; it is a different
color."

"Auntie, Mr. Higgs was my doctor, this
afternoon.  The medicine he brought sent
me to sleep, and I do not ache quite so much.
Must I take this drug medicine as well?"

Mrs. Mandeville had poured out a dose,
and now held the glass in her hand.

"You are right, Carol.  I can see a decided
improvement.  I will not ask you to drink this."

She emptied the contents of the glass
away.  A few minutes afterwards Rosebud's
sweet voice was piping at the door:

"Me's 'tome to see Tarol."

Mrs. Mandeville lifted her up to kiss
Carol, very carefully guarding her from
touching him anywhere.

"You must only kiss Carol, darling." The
little arms were about to twine themselves
around him.  "Me does 'ove 'ou, Tarol, so
welly much."

The boy would have liked to hold her
closely to him, but he could not raise an arm.

"It does make me so happy to see Rosebud
again, Auntie.  Perhaps to-morrow I
shall be able to see all my cousins."

Mrs. Mandeville did not say, but she
thought it would be many "to-morrows"
before he would be strong enough to receive
them all in his room.

"Now run back to the nursery, darling,"
she said to the wee girlie.

"Take a good-night kiss to Sylvia and
Estelle, will you Rosebud?" Carol said.  Then
she had to be lifted up again to receive a
kiss for "eberybody."

Mrs. Mandeville sat silent by the bedside
for some time after Rosebud left the room.
Then she said in a very low, soft voice, "Do
you remember, Carol, coming to my room
one day when I lay prostrate with one of my
bad headaches?"

"Yes, Auntie; I remember quite well."

"I was very ungrateful, Carol, I would not
let myself acknowledge it was your little
prayer that took it away.  Yet I knew it
was, for I had never lost a headache like that
before."

"Yes, Auntie, I knew Christian Science
had helped you.  But I thought you did not
understand."

She kissed him very tenderly.  "I am not
ungrateful any longer, dear.  I acknowledge
the debt.  Now I must not let you talk any
more or Dr. Burton will insist upon having a
trained nurse.  He has suggested it several times."

"He couldn't keep you away from me,
could he, Auntie?"

"I think he would find it a trifle difficult, dear."

"But I want you to go downstairs to dinner
to-night, Auntie.  Uncle will like to have
you, and Nurse will stay with me."

"Perhaps I will go then, for an hour, dear."

So, later on, to everyone's surprise
Mrs. Mandeville appeared at the dinner table, and
was so bright they all knew, without asking,
that Carol was improving, though he had
not been pronounced out of danger.

Nurse was quietly making all the needful
little preparations for the night when Carol
asked her to place the clock where he could
see it as he lay in bed.

"The nights seem so long when I cannot
sleep, Nurse.  I like to watch the fingers of
the clock, then I know how long it will be
before the light can peep through the curtains."

Nurse found a position where he could see
it quite well, even though he could not raise
his head from the pillows.  Then, standing
over him, she said: "Dearie, you are in
pain.  Couldn't I ease your position just a little?"

"No, Nurse, please don't touch me, the
bruises seem so real.  I ought to be able to
deny them, and I cannot."

"And would it make them better to deny
them, Master Carol?"

"Oh, yes, Nurse.  You are thinking the
bruises are very sore and painful, are you not?"

Yes, Nurse was decidedly dwelling in
thought upon the pain the boy must be
suffering from such a bruised condition.

"If you could think, Nurse, that there is
no sensation in matter, that the pain is all
in mind: in my mind and your mind, and
Auntie's and the doctor's.  You are all
thinking how I must be suffering.  If only
someone would help me to deny it!"

"I wish I could, Master Carol."

But it was double Dutch to Nurse to try
to understand that the pain was in mind, and
not in the poor bruised body.

It was half-past nine when she moved the
time-piece so that Carol could see it, and he
at once began to count how many hours it
would be till morning.  At ten o'clock
Mrs. Mandeville returned to the room, followed by
Dr. Burton.  Nurse held up a warning finger
as they entered: the boy was asleep.

"This is splendid!  How long has he slept?"
the doctor asked.

"It was just after half-past nine, sir.  He
seemed in great pain, I thought there was no
hope of sleep for him, and all at once he just
dropped off without a word."

It was such a beautiful sleep, calm, peaceful,
untroubled by fret or moan.  Mrs. Mandeville
and the doctor watched beside him
an hour; then the doctor left, and
Mrs. Mandeville was persuaded to go to her own
room for a night's rest, leaving Nurse in
charge.  They did not know, nor could they
have understood had they known, how, far
away, a woman, 'clad in the whole armour of
God,' was fighting for him: fighting error
with 'the sword of the Spirit.'

Letters and telegrams had at last reached
Cousin Alicia.




CHAPTER XVI.--"IT IS A MIRACLE."
================================

The next morning about eight o'clock,
Nurse came to Mrs. Mandeville's room, an
expression of amazement, almost of
consternation, on her face.

"What is it, Nurse?  Is Master Carol
worse?" Mrs. Mandeville asked in alarm.

"No, ma'am; I cannot say he is worse.  He
says he is well, and wants to get up for
breakfast.  He slept all through the night, just as
you left him, and never wakened till half-past
seven this morning.  He is certainly not
feverish or delirious, but he talks so strangely.
He says error has all gone, and he is free.  I
had quite a difficulty to prevent him from
getting out of bed to come to you.  I have
sent a messenger for Dr. Burton."

"That is right, Nurse.  Go back to him.
I will come at once."  Mrs. Mandeville was
not long slipping into a morning wrap, and
following Nurse to Carol's room.

As soon as she reached the bedside, he
sprang up, and held her in a close embrace,
both arms round her neck.  "Auntie, Auntie,
isn't it beautiful?  I am free!  Error has quite
gone.  I know Cousin Alicia has had the
telegrams now.  You can rub your hand down
my back.  It does not hurt me now, nor
the bruises."

"Carol, dear, I cannot understand it.  It
seems so wonderful.  I am afraid you ought
not to be sitting up like this."

"Oh, Auntie, there is nothing to be afraid
about.  Error cast out cannot come back
again.  I am so hungry.  I do want to get
up to breakfast."

"Darling, you must lie still until Dr. Burton
has seen you.  I could not consent for
you to get up yet.  It does indeed seem
beautiful for you to be so much better, I cannot
realize it, and I cannot understand, Carol,
why Miss Desmond's prayers for you should
be so quickly answered, when I am sure I love
you just as dearly.  I prayed for you, and
Uncle Raymond prayed, yet--yet I cannot
feel that our prayers helped you."

She had tenderly laid him back upon the
pillow.  She could not get rid of the fear that
it was not good for him to be using his back.

He was silent a few minutes, the old
thoughtful expression on his face which she
knew so well.  Then he said:

"Auntie, the sun was shining this morning
long before Nurse drew aside the curtains,
and let the light into my room.  Suppose
while the curtain was drawn I had kept
saying, 'Please, dear sun, do shine into my room,
and send the darkness away.'  It would have
had no effect.  It would have been foolish,
wouldn't it?  Well, Auntie, the light of
Truth, like the sunlight is everywhere, but
we can shut it out of our consciousness by
a curtain of false beliefs.  Cousin Alicia has
not asked God to make me better.  She has
just known that God's child is always perfect.
As Nurse drew aside the curtain to let in the
sunlight, she has drawn aside the curtain of
false beliefs that were around me, and then
Truth came and healed me.  Jesus said 'the
Truth shall make you free.'  It is just as true,
Auntie, as if he had said, 'When light appears,
darkness disappears.'  Wherever Truth
appears, error shall flee away, because it is not
from God.  It is the opposite of God's law.
I love that beautiful verse of the hymn more
than I have ever loved it, because I can say
again:

   |   'The healing of the seamless dress
   |   Is by our beds of pain.'

Christ is Truth, and Truth is the Christ.
I was asleep when he came to me.  But
just as Jesus spoke to the angry waves the
Christ has commanded error, 'Peace, be still.'  Oh,
Auntie! cannot you believe I am quite
well?  'I am the Father's perfect child.  I
have the gift from God, dominion over all.'"

She was longing to realize that it was as
the boy said, and she had nothing to fear.
Yet it was difficult.

Dr. Burton was out when the
messenger from the Manor went for him.  He had
not returned from a night case to which he
had been summoned.  Mrs. Burton promised
that he would go immediately on his
return.  Shortly after ten o'clock Dr. Burton
arrived, expecting to find from the
urgent message that had reached him a change
for the worse in his patient.  He was
considerably taken aback as he entered the
room to hear a ripple of laughter, and the
boy with a radiant face, sitting upright in
bed, who, the day before, had not been able
to raise his head from the pillow.

"What does this mean?" Dr. Burton
asked in a tone of voice in which surprise
became almost consternation.

"I cannot tell you anything, Doctor, except
that Carol slept all night and woke this
morning feeling quite well and hungry.  He
has had a fairly substantial breakfast,"
Mrs. Mandeville said.  The doctor then thoroughly
examined him, felt his pulse, took his
temperature, and when he looked on the
places where the terrible bruises had been,
and saw only a faint discoloration, he said:

"It is a miracle!"

"No, Doctor," said Carol, quietly, "it is
Christian Science."

"Then what is Christian Science?" the doctor asked.

But the boy was silent.  He could talk to
his aunt on the subject, but not to the doctor.

At that moment a maid brought a
telegram to Mrs. Mandeville.  It was from Miss
Desmond.  She read it, and passed it on
to Dr. Burton.  It was brief: "Letters and
telegrams reached me 9.30 last evening.
Regret unavoidable delay.  Kindly wire if
all is well.  Letter to Carol follows."  The
doctor and Mrs. Mandeville simply looked
at each other in speechless wonderment, one
thought engrossing them.  It was shortly
after 9.30 the night before that Carol fell into
the sleep from which he had awakened well.

"It is at last a message from Cousin
Alicia," Mrs. Mandeville then said to Carol.
"Our letters and telegrams did not reach her
till 9.30 last evening."

"Yes, Auntie, I knew it, and I know she
has worked for me all night."

Both Mrs. Mandeville and the doctor would
have liked to understand what the boy meant
by that one word "worked."  But neither
questioned him then.

"I can get up now, Doctor, cannot I?"
Carol asked.

"Yes, there is no reason that I can see for
keeping you in bed.  All the same," turning
to Mrs. Mandeville, "I should say he may as
well be kept fairly quiet for a day or
two--not commence running races, or any other
juvenile sports."

"You can trust me, Doctor," Mrs. Mandeville
remarked, smiling.

"It seems to me you should consult the
lady who has worked for him all night with
such marvellous success.  I can scarcely
consider him my patient now."

"Doctor, I thank you very much for all
you tried to do for me.  You were very kind
and gentle to me."

"Tut-tut, boy!  Why, that's of course."

All the same the doctor was pleased with
the boy's simple recognition of his services.
He would indeed have done more, had he
been able.  He walked home slowly and
thoughtfully, pondering that question, which
he had asked the boy, thinking of a lecture
which he had given a few weeks before in a
crowded parish room; how he himself had
answered the question--What is Christian
Science?--to the convulsive amusement of his
audience.  He had dipped into a book--the
text-book of Christian Science--made copious
extracts and so satisfied himself that he
understood the subject sufficiently to be able
to warn people against the teachings of
Christian Science.

Mrs. Burton was watching for his return.
She was anxious for news of the boy, fearing
the early message which had been sent for
the doctor must mean that he was worse.
By her side, in the garden, seated in a little
wheel-chair, was her only child, a girl of ten,
who after a fall downstairs when she was
five years old, causing an injury to her spine,
had lost the use of her legs.  There seemed
no hope of her ever being able to walk again,
since all the doctors who had seen her had
not been able to do anything for her.

"How is the boy?" asked Mrs. Burton, as
the doctor entered the garden in front of the
house.

"He is well," was the brief reply.

"You don't mean?--" Mrs. Burton began
in an alarmed tone.

"I mean exactly what I say--the boy is well."

"But, dear, how can that be, when he was
so ill yesterday?"

"I cannot tell you.  He says it is Christian
Science.  I say it is a miracle."

"Father, he won't lose the use of his legs,
will he?" the little girl asked.

"No, Eloise, I think there will be no such
effects from the fall, as unhappily there were
in your case."

"I am glad, Father, he is such a nice, kind boy!"

The child had grieved, fearing that he
might be crippled like herself.

"Christian Science must be different from
what you described at the lecture, dear.
Do you think I might go and see Carol?  I
should like to hear from him what it is that
has made him well so quickly.  I owe
Mrs. Mandeville a call."

"Go and pay it, then.  Perhaps the boy
will talk to you.  He did not seem to care
to answer my questions."

The doctor passed into the house with the
thought that he would borrow that book
again, and see if he could get a better
understanding of the subject himself.




CHAPTER XVII.--MRS. BURTON VISITS CAROL.
========================================

Shortly after the doctor left Carol's room,
the maid entered to say the Rector was
downstairs.  Could he come up?

"I will speak with the Rector before he
comes upstairs," Mrs. Mandeville said, and
left the room for that purpose.

The news had reached the Rector that
Dr. Burton had been sent for early that
morning, and he also surmised that the boy
must be worse.  But the servants had
assured him that such was not the case before
Mrs. Mandeville joined him in the library.

"What is this I hear about Carol, Emmeline?
He is not worse, yet you sent for
Dr. Burton before breakfast.  I felt quite alarmed."

"We could not understand it, Raymond.
I must confess to feeling afraid it was not
true.  Carol is quite well.  Dr. Burton
admits it.  He says it is a miracle.  Carol says
it is Christian Science.  Dear Raymond, I
want to beg you before you see Carol not to
say anything to shake his faith.  It is so
beautiful."

"His faith in what?  In that heresy called
Christian Science, which is neither Science
nor Christian?"

"Oh, Raymond, I cannot help thinking
you are mistaken in your judgment.  I do
not, as I told you before, quite understand
what Christian Science is, but this I know,
I have never met a character so Christ-like
as Carol's.  All day yesterday he lay in such
pain from those terrible bruises, and the
injury to his spine and head, that we could
not move him in the effort to ease his
position without increasing the pain.  To-day it
is all gone.  What has taken it away?  He
says the Christ--Truth has come to him and
healed him.  If we believe Jesus' words:
'Lo, I am with you always even to the end of
the world'--why should it not be true?
Cannot the spiritual Christ say as Jesus so often
said, 'According to your faith be it unto you'?"

"Of course!  But that is not Christian Science."

"Yes, Raymond, that is what Carol seems
to have learned from Christian Science.
Heaven to him is not a far-off locality, it is
here--all around him, and God is
ever-present Love.  His one thought--his one
desire seems to be to possess that Mind which
was also in Christ Jesus.  What can you
say against such teaching?"

The Rector had evidently nothing to say.
He remarked briefly, "If I may, I will go up
and see the boy now.  I am pressed for time."

"Yes, Raymond, he will be pleased to see you."

She let him go alone, and did not afterwards
inquire what had passed between the boy and
his uncle.

Later in the day Mrs. Mandeville took
Percy to Carol's room.  The boy had begged
so frequently to be allowed to see his cousin.
"Just to tell him I am sorry," he said.

Carol had forgotten all about it.

"Sorry for what, dear Percy?" he
inquired, when Percy, in faltering accents,
asked to be forgiven.

"Oh, I think I remember now, Percy, you
said something that was not quite kind, but
I knew at the time that you did not mean it.
So why should we remember any more about it?"

"You are just the bravest fellow I know,
Carol.  I have told all the boys at school
how you stood and faced the bull.  They
think a tremendous lot of you for it.  So it
won't matter when you come with us if you
can't play football or cricket.  You will be
the hero of the school."

Then Mrs. Mandeville left the boys
together for a little while.  Percy was only too
delighted to be able to tell Carol of all that
was happening at school, the matches that
had been played, and those that were to come
off shortly.

When Mrs. Burton called that same
afternoon, she expressed her great desire to see
and talk with Carol.  Mrs. Mandeville readily
assented, remarking that she felt sure Carol
would be delighted to see her.  As there
were other visitors present, she was not able
to accompany her herself.  A maid therefore
conducted her to Carol's room.  Nurse was
sitting with him.  As Mrs. Burton intimated
that she had come to have a little talk with
Master Carol, she left the room.

"Eloise sends her love to you, dear Carol.
She is so happy to know you are so wonderfully
better.  We feared so much that you,
too, might be crippled for life, as she has been,
by a fall.  The spinal concussion caused her
to lose the use of her legs.  We have consulted
the first specialists, but they have never been
able to do anything for her.  When the
doctor told me this morning how miraculously
you have been healed, I felt I must come and
ask you to tell me something about it.  Tell
me, dear Carol, what is Christian Science?"

The boy looked up, but not at Mrs. Burton.
That far-away dreamy look came to his eyes,
which his cousins knew so well.  It was such
a big question to try to answer.  It seemed
minutes before he spoke.  Then he said:
"I think Christian Science means knowledge--a
knowledge of God; and as we gain this
knowledge we draw nearer to Him.  Cousin
Alicia used to tell me we are all God's
children, but we have wandered so far away from
Him.  We are prodigals, dwelling in that
far country where we are fed, like the swine,
on husks.  Christian Science just teaches
us the way back to our Father's house;
and as we find the road and walk in it, we
lose the evils that tormented us.  Jesus was
our elder brother who never left his Father's
house.  Although he lived on earth, it was
still his Father's house, because he lived
always in the consciousness of good.  And that
is what we have to try to do.  It seemed
easier when I was with Cousin Alicia."

There was just a note of sadness and regret
in the boy's voice.

"What a beautiful thought, Carol, 'living
in the consciousness of good.'  But, dear,
how can we do it, with sickness, sorrow, and
sin, all around?  When I look at my wee
girlie, I can never know joy or happiness;
her young life to be so cruelly blighted through
the carelessness of a maid.  Every child I
see running about free and happy is like a
dagger in my heart, as I know that she should be the same."

"When Cousin Alicia came from America
after my mother's death, I was very ill, and
the doctors said I could never be better.  But
she knew that I could.  She said, 'You are
God's child, dear Carol, and all God's
children are spiritual, and therefore perfect.
Awake from this dream of suffering and pain.'
Every day she used to talk to me, until she
led me to understand what it is to live in
the consciousness of good, and then I was well."

"Oh, Carol, it seems too wonderful to be
true!  Do you think that something might
be done for my little girl?"

"Why, of course.  I am sure if you will
take her to my home, Cousin Alicia will teach
her as she taught me.  She is always so happy
to teach people about Christian Science.
Shall I write and tell her you will take Eloise
to her?"

"Thank you, dear Carol, but I think,
perhaps, before you write, I must ask
Dr. Burton.  If he is willing, I will gladly take
my little girl to Miss Desmond."

Mrs. Burton did not stay much longer.
On leaving, she tenderly kissed Carol.
"Dear boy, you have given me hope.  You
cannot think what it has been to a mother's
heart to be so long hopeless," she said.

The little crippled Eloise was watching
from her nursery window for her mother's
return.  Mrs. Burton went straight to her.

"Have you seen Carol, Mother?" she asked.

"Yes, darling, and I have had such a sweet
talk with him.  He has made me so happy.
I seem to see you running about like other
children."

"Oh, Mother, wouldn't that be lovely!
And is he really well?"

"It seems so, dear.  Mrs. Mandeville is
keeping him quietly in his own room to-day.
But he seemed so well and happy.  He wants
me to take you into Devonshire to stay with
his cousin.  He says she will teach us what
she has taught him--and then--Oh, Eloise,
my darling, you, too, would be well and
strong, no longer a little crippled girl."

"What is it, Mother, that he has been taught?"

"It seems something so wonderful and
beautiful, dear.  He says that dwelling in
the consciousness of good is dwelling in our
Father's house, but, like the prodigal son in
the parable, we have wandered away into
that far country where all sorts of evils can
befall us.  My girlie, we will try to find our
way together into this happy understanding
of good which causes the fetters to fall.  I
will speak to Father to-night and ask him
to let me take you."

"Do--*do*, please, Mother."

Mrs. Burton waited that evening until it
was past the hour for patients to call at the
surgery.  Then she went to her husband's
consulting-room.

The doctor was sitting at his desk, an open
letter before him.  His pen was in his hand,
but he was not writing.  The answer to the
letter seemed to require much thought.  It
was only partly written.

"Are you very busy, dear?" Mrs. Burton
said, softly twining one arm around his neck.
She was almost nervous.  It was a great
request she was about to proffer.  She did not
quite know how it would be received.

"Not particularly, love, if you want
anything.  What is it?"

"I want to tell you I had a beautiful talk
with Carol this afternoon, and he is so kind
as to ask me to take Eloise to stay with his
cousin at his home in Devonshire, that she--that
she might teach us what she has taught
him.  You know, dear, we have done everything
we can--there is no other hope for her."

"And you think there may be hope in
this--Christian Science?"

"I feel sure of it--since I have seen Carol."

The doctor smiled.  The humor of the
situation struck him.  He pointed to the
open letter on his desk.

"That letter," he said, "is from the Vicar
of B-- asking me to give in his Parish Room
the lecture which I gave at B--."

"Oh!"  There was an accent of pain in
Mrs. Burton's voice.  "You are not going to?"

"Why do you object?  The lecture was
well received, you remember."

"Yes, but even at the time when the people
laughed and applauded, it seemed to hurt me.
I couldn't help thinking if these people, who
call themselves Christian Scientists, believe
so absolutely in the Christ healing, it was
what the early Christians believed, and
practised, and they were persecuted.  When
Christ spoke to Saul of Tarsus, he did not
say, 'Why persecutest thou my followers?'  He
said 'Why persecutest thou *me*?'

"So I felt that night that the laughter and
ridicule of all in the room were as stones
thrown not at people, but at the Christ.
Don't tell me, dear, that you are going to
give that lecture again."

"I am not.  That boy's radiant face would
come between me and any audience I might
think to address.  I have commenced a
letter to the Vicar, telling him I feel I cannot
lecture on the subject again."

"And I may take Eloise to Willmar Court?"

"You may.  Should she regain the use of
her legs, as a result of the visit, I will espouse
the Cause I once derided.  After witnessing
Carol's marvellous recovery, it does not seem
impossible."




CHAPTER XVIII.--HAPPY THOUGHTS.
===============================

After Mrs. Burton left Carol, Edith came
and had tea with him, and after tea all his
cousins were allowed to visit him for a little
time.  They could not understand how the
sadness and gloom in the house had been
dispelled.  It was like the sun shining through
clouds on a rainy day.  He was so bright and
happy, just their own dear Carol again.
There was one subject of which he never
spoke to his cousins; so they could not know
why, the day before, the house was hushed,
and he could not be seen because he was so
ill, and to-day there seemed nothing at all the
matter with him.

When Mrs. Mandeville went the round of
the children's rooms after dinner, she found
Carol waiting for her in the old way, just as if
there had been no break, no agony of sorrow
and suspense.

"I hoped to find you asleep, darling," she
said.  "Has it been too much excitement
having so many in your room?"

"Oh, no, Auntie.  I loved to see them all
again.  I have had such happy thoughts.
Isn't it nice to be kept awake by happy
thoughts?  Happy thoughts are good
thoughts, and good thoughts come from God.
Shall I tell you, Auntie, dear, what I have
been thinking about?"

"Wouldn't it be better to tell me in the
morning, dearie?  It is rather late for a little
boy who was an invalid only yesterday to be
kept awake even by happy thoughts."

"I would rather tell you to-night, Auntie.
You do not quite understand, do you, that
when error is cast out, it is done with, and
we do not need to remember anything
about it."

"Then tell me, love, what you have been
thinking about."

"I began first of all, Auntie, thinking about
Peter."

Mrs. Mandeville's thoughts at once went
to the stables, where one of the horses was
named Peter.

"Peter, dear?"  Just a note of surprise
in her voice.

"Yes, Auntie, when Jesus called Peter to
come to him on the water, at first he was not
afraid, and he got out of the boat to go to
him.  Then he began to be afraid, and as
soon as fear crept in, he began to sink.
Auntie, I was just like that.  At first I was
not afraid of the bull.  I knew God had
given me dominion, and I was trying to
realize it.  Then the moment I began to be afraid,
the bull tossed me.  As I was thinking of this
perhaps I fell asleep, and it was a dream.
But it was so real.  I seemed to see Peter
standing by the bed, but he didn't look like
the picture in the stained-glass window,
and he spoke so kindly and gently.  'Little
brother,' he said, 'you have not learned to
trust the Master yet.'  It was just as if he
remembered there was a time when his faith
had failed.  I wanted to ask him something,
but he was not there, and I was quite wide
awake.  May it perhaps be, Auntie, that as
Christ 'walks life's troubled angry sea,' they
are with him, those disciples who were always
with Jesus, especially Peter, and James,
and John; and they are working now, doing
his bidding, as they did it in Galilee,
watching over and helping those who are still fighting?"

"It may be, Carol, we cannot tell.  It
seems that events which happened two
thousand years ago are to you but as yesterday."

"Why, yes, Auntie; time in God's kingdom
is not measured by years and weeks and
months.  I shall just love now to think about
Peter, and know that my faith will grow
stronger, as his did.  There are many people
who would not have been afraid of the bull.
Cousin Alicia told me of a lady in India who,
one day, came quite close to a cobra.  But
she was not afraid, and as she stood quite
still and looked at it, the cobra coiled itself
into a heap and went to sleep.  Then she
told me of a gentleman who was shooting
game in Africa, and once he was in a position
when he could not fire, and a leopard was only
a few yards from him, but the animal did not
attack him, it ran away into the desert.  The
lady and the gentleman knew and realized
that they had dominion; I hope I shall
understand it better some day, and not be afraid
of anything."

"You have been taught some strange
things, Carol, still they are beautiful; it seems
almost too beautiful to be true."

"Oh, Auntie, nothing can be too beautiful
to be true, because only good, and good is
always beautiful, is real; evil, and evil is
always ugly, is unreal."

"Carol, darling, I wish I could believe that.
You are leading me in strange paths.  I
must not let you talk any more to-night.
I am quite sure that it is time a little boy,
who has lost so much sleep lately, tried to
make up for it."

But as she bent over him to kiss him,
he clung both arms around her neck, keeping
her a willing captive for some minutes longer.

"Auntie, I am so longing for Cousin Alicia's
letter," were his last words as she left the room.




CHAPTER XIX.--THE REASON OF THE DELAY.
======================================

The next morning Carol rose at his usual
time, and breakfasted with his cousins in the
school-room.  Miss Markham looked at him
with puzzled eyes, especially when he told her
he was quite ready to begin lessons again.
She could not understand it.  There seemed
to be some mystery connected with his
marvellous recovery from what everybody
believed to be serious injuries.  She took the
opportunity, when his cousins were out of the
room, to ask him quietly, "What has made
you well so quickly, Carol?"

"Ask Auntie, please, Miss Markham, I
am not allowed to talk about it," he replied.
Miss Markham's wonderment was considerably
increased, for Mrs. Mandeville had only
told her, when the boy first came to the
Manor, that he had been taught religious
tenets which were altogether unorthodox.
She did not then connect that remark with the
boy's quick recovery.  He often made
remarks which surprised her.  Sometimes she
pondered over a remark he had made, and
found there was more in it than at first had
appeared.  If she attempted to draw him out
by questions, he became strangely silent and
reserved.  Once, it was during a history
lesson, Carol exclaimed, "But evil could have
no power, Miss Markham, if everyone knew
that God--good--governs.  If we had no
belief in evil, evil could not hurt us."

Thinking over the words afterwards, Miss
Markham admitted to herself that to
acknowledge the omnipotence of God, must deprive
evil of any power.  But she wondered how it
was Carol had come to see it so clearly.  She
could not, however, draw him to talk any
more on the subject.  After breakfast
Mrs. Mandeville came to the school-room with the
longed-for letter in her hand, and, as permission
was readily given, Carol went to his own
room to read it.  Eagerly he broke open
the envelope, and read:


.. container:: white-space-pre-line

   "WILLMAR COURT,
       SOUTH DEVON.

"*My dear, dear Carol,*

"The telegram in answer to mine this morning
has just arrived.  I waited for it before
commencing my letter to you.  I rejoice
for you, Truth has triumphed, error has
fallen.  When I returned to the Court last
night, after being absent since Saturday
afternoon, I found telegrams and letters
awaiting me.  On learning that the first
telegram asking for help for you was more
than three days old, I had to fight error on
my own account, before I could fight it on
yours.  How quick error is to find the weak
parts of our armor.  My human love for
you, darling, opened wide the portals, and a
crowd of wrong thoughts rushed in.  I found
myself wondering why it should have so
happened that I should be away, when I seemed
most wanted, and under circumstances which
made it impossible for the telegrams to be sent on.

"Then, in this sudden tempest of doubts
and fears which had rushed upon me, came
the words, calm, sweet, tender: 'I, if I, be
lifted up, will draw all men unto me.'  And
I knew, I was absolutely sure, however great
were the sense sufferings, Carol had held
steadfastly to Truth: the Christ was lifted
up; and, though he may not know it, some
human heart has been drawn nearer the
eternal Truth, Christ.

"Then I commenced to work for you, and
when the roseate hues of early morning began
to steal into the room, the knowledge came to
me that there was nothing more to fight--error
was overcome.  All is well, even the
delay which at first seemed altogether wrong.
Now I will tell you the reason of it.  On
Saturday afternoon I was driving your pony
in the small basket carriage, which you so
often used.  (Since they cannot have their
little master, both Bob and the pony think
the next best thing is to take me about.)  I
am becoming well acquainted with all the
beautiful lanes in the neighborhood, for I
frequently take these little excursions.

"We were three or four miles from home,
when, in a very narrow lane, where it was
impossible to pass another vehicle, we met a
farmer, driving a dog-cart.  The farmer
showed his reluctance to be the one to back
out of the lane.  He accosted me with these
words: 'Ma'am, I am in great haste; it
is a matter of life and death.'

"'Indeed,' I said, 'is it the doctor you are in
haste to reach?'

"'No,' he replied, briefly, 'the doctor has
given her up.  It is the lady that lives at
Willmar Court I want to see.'

"'Then you have not far to go,' I said.
'She is here.  What is your trouble?'  Then
he told me that his only child, a girl of seven,
was believed to be dying.  The doctor gave
no hope of saving her.  'It seems the news of
your beautiful healing has spread through the
neighboring villages, and the grief-stricken
parents of this little girl thought there might
be hope for her.'

"I told the farmer I would go with him,
and straightway sent Bob home with the
pony, bidding him to tell the servants I
should return as soon as possible, but not to
trouble if I did not return that night.

"As soon as we had backed out of the lane,
the farmer drove furiously, and it was not
long before we reached his homestead.  I
found the belief of death so strong surrounding
the child, that it seemed necessary to
remain there.

"In two days it was overcome, but I stayed
another day to give the wearied mother a
good rest.  The farmer drove me home last
night, when I found everyone sadly troubled.
They had begun to fear I was never going to
return, and Bob could not give them any
idea as to who had driven away with me.
The letters and telegrams from Mandeville
naturally added to their anxiety.

"Now, all is well: Good was governing--Love
leading all the time.  I cannot yet
understand how it was the bull tossed you.
Were you not able to realize your dominion? or
was it the mesmerism of fear that seized
you?  Mrs. Mandeville mentions in her
letter that you stood between your little
cousins and the bull.  My dear boy, of course
you would!  I could not imagine your doing
otherwise.  Doubtless the nurse's fear and
the cries of the little girls affected you--the
contagion of thought.  Had you been quite
alone, I feel so sure that you would have been
able to realize your God-given dominion.

"Tell me more when you write (I am longing
for a letter) of the old man and his little
grand-daughter.  Work always comes to
willing hands and loving hearts, and what
work is, or ever can be, so beautiful as work
for the Master in His Vineyard.  Never
think any service little.  Merely carrying
even a cup of cold water will in no case lose
its reward.  But the joy of working--*of being
allowed to work*--is sufficient.  We do not
look to the reward.

.. container:: white-space-pre-line

   "With loving thoughts,
       Believe me always, dear Carol,
           Your affectionate cousin,
               ALICIA DESMOND."


Before returning to the school-room, Carol
sought his aunt in her morning-room.  After
reading his letters, he always took them to
her, and asked her to read them too.  They
were not, perhaps, always as intelligible to
her as they were to the boy, but they never
failed to interest her.  She was conscious of
a growing desire to know the writer, whom
she had never met.  Later in the day Carol
received another letter, delivered by hand.
It was from Mrs. Burton, joyfully telling
him the doctor was willing for her to take
Eloise into Devonshire to his cousin.

He wrote immediately to Miss Desmond,
asking her if she would invite Mrs. Burton
and her little daughter to the Court,
explaining the reason.  He knew the invitation
would not be long in coming.




CHAPTER XX.--"LIGHT AT EVENTIDE."
=================================

On the following Sunday evening Carol
appeared at Mr. Higgs' cottage at the usual time.

It seemed almost impossible to believe
there had been a break, and that for three
days he had lain, to mortal sense, between
life and death.  So entirely had the cloud
rolled away, it was difficult to realize it had
ever darkened the horizon.

"I wasn't expecting you, Master Carol,
but I'm right glad to see you.  It do seem
so wonderful that just this time last Sunday
all the village was waiting for news from the
Manor, and I was that sad thinking I'd never
have you come to see me again.  The Rector
prayed for you in church.  I was there for
the first time for well-nigh two years.  'Well,
well,' I said to myself, 'if the Lord takes him,
His will be done.'  But, oh, I prayed as I've
never prayed since we lost our first child that
He wouldn't."

"You do not understand then yet that death
can never be God's will.  Didn't Jesus say,
'I am come that they might have life, and
that they might have it more abundantly'?  If
Jesus came to bring us life, does not that
show that God never sends death?"

"Well, Master Carol, as you put it, maybe
it is so, but I'm an old man, and it's what
I was taught as a boy, and the belief's grown
up wi' me, and somehow I wouldn't like to
give up the thought.  It's the only thing that
makes the parting bearable--to think God
wills it.  We put it on the headstone where
we laid our little girl.  *Thy will be done*.
Aye, I've stood and looked at them words
many a time, and they sort o' comforted
me.  She was our first-born."

"There is another verse which says 'to
know God is everlasting life.'  In everlasting
life there can be no death, can there?  Just
think of this: If the sun were never hidden,
and you could keep your eyes steadfastly
on the light, you would have no knowledge
of darkness--you would not understand it
or believe in it.  In the same way when we
understand that God is ALL, we must lose
the thought of and belief in death.  There is
no death to those that know we live and
move and have our being in God-Life.  Death
could not steal one of God's ideas--His
children--and destroy it.  What seems to die
is not God's child.  What you buried in the
churchyard was not your little girl, and what
they cast into the sea, was not my father.
They are still living.  It is only that we do
not see them.  You know Jesus says, 'In
my Father's house are many mansions.'  They
have passed on to another mansion--that
is all.  My cousin has taught me that
the mansions Jesus spoke of are not afar off
in a locality called Heaven.  We are to-day--you
and I--dwelling in one of God's mansions,
and it is a higher or a lower mansion
according as we dwell in the consciousness
of good.  We have to take all the steps up
to that special place which Jesus has gone to
prepare for us.  If we are not ready for it,
we shall not be able to enter it, even if we have
passed through the door called death.  We
have to fight and overcome all that separates
us from God.  Jesus overcame everything.
He put sin and disease under his feet, and we
have just to follow in his steps, knowing that
he prepared the way, and is helping us all the
time.  Perhaps you did not think when you
had rheumatism that it was a shadow
between you and God, did you?  You thought
it was God's will for you."

"That's true, Master Carol.  I just bowed
down to it, thinking God chose to afflict
me for some special purpose."

"I knew it was not so, when I tried to help
you.  I always saw you perfect, as God made
you, and you know the shadow disappeared.
When I lay in bed a few days ago, and couldn't
move, the bruises seemed so real, and the pain
very great, I couldn't think of them as
shadows, but my cousin was able to do it
for me, and all disappeared.  Neither my aunt
nor the doctor seemed able to believe it at
first, because they do not understand.  Won't
it be a happy day when everyone understands
that Truth destroys disease; and when little
children have hip-disease doctors won't hurt
them to try to make them better, as they did me?"

"Did they really?"

"Yes, and the operation did not make me
better.  But we will not talk about it.  I
ought not to remember anything about it.
It was all error.  Shall we have the chapter
again from St. John which tells us 'In my
Father's house are many mansions'?"

"Aye, I mind that chapter well.  The
words just sink down into my heart, and stir
up something there, and I've wanted to
understand them better.  I've thought a lot about
it since the last time you talked to me.  I
know He is faithful who promised, the 'works
that I do shall he do also.'  As I said before,
I'm an old man, Master Carol, and I've been
looking for it all my life.  Why, I've asked
myself, don't His servants and ministers
give us the signs He promised?"

"And now what you have been looking for
all these years has come--the light at
eventide," Carol said softly, looking beyond the
old man with eyes that seemed unconscious
of the crimson of the setting sun, as he caught
a glimpse of that marvellous light which
'never was, on land or sea'--spiritual understanding.

"You have been healed, and your little
grand-daughter, and I, too, in the way the Master commanded."

"Aye, it's true, Master Carol.  I feel like
saying, 'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant
depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy
salvation.'  It is His salvation.  Maybe
when you have read me that chapter from the
Bible, you'll read me some pages of the little
book which seems to make things clearer to
me, and helps me to understand the Bible better."

"I am sorry, I may not," Carol said
regretfully, looking at the little book which lay
beside the old man's Bible.  "My uncle has
taken my copy of the book away because he
did not wish me to read it.  It would not be
honorable to read from another copy.  It
will be given back to me sometime.  I do
not know how or when.  Auntie asked me
not to stay long this evening, so I will read
the chapter now."

"My daughter'll be sorry she missed
coming in.  We didn't expect you to-night,
Master Carol.  She's very grateful to you;
her little girl seems quite well now.  There's
been no return o' the fits.  An' my rheumatiz
is quite the talk o' th' village.  What's
took it away?  First one and then another
asks.  When I tell 'em th' Lord's healed
me--well, well, they just look at me, as if they
thunk th' rheumatiz has gone to my head and
turned my brain.  Farmer Stubbins says he's
coming in one night to have a talk with me,
for he's tried many remedies, but his
rheumatiz keeps getting worse."

"Give him the little book to read, or tell
him to get one for himself," Carol said.  Then
he read again the chapter he had once before
read.  At the end he closed the book without
comment.

Brightly wishing the old man good-night,
he left the cottage.




CHAPTER XXI.--JOYFUL NEWS FROM ELOISE.
======================================

Miss Desmond gladly acceded to Carol's
desire, and wrote to Mrs. Burton at once to
bring her little girl to stay with her.

They left for Devonshire the following
week.  A month passed before Carol received
the promised letter from Eloise.  During the
time Miss Desmond wrote to him as usual,
but beyond mentioning the pleasure it was to
her to have his friends staying with her, and
what a dear interesting little girl she found
Eloise, she did not give any details of their
visit.  At the end of the month the postman
brought one morning a delightfully "fat
envelope" addressed to Carol in a round,
childish hand.  He knew at once it was the long
promised letter from Eloise.  There was
also a shorter one enclosed from Mrs. Burton.

Carol read Eloise's letter first.

.. container:: white-space-pre-line

   "WILLMAR COURT,
       S. DEVON.

"*My dear Carol,*

"I did not forget I had promised to write
soon to you.  Miss Desmond seemed to wish
me not to write just at first.  She said you
would understand.  I think she wanted everyone
at Mandeville to forget for a little while
all about me.  She called it taking their thought off me.

"Now I have so much to tell you.  I do
not know how I shall get it all in one letter.
Dear Carol, I am just the very, very happiest
little girl in all the world.  I *can walk*.  More
than that, I can *run*.  Isn't it lovely--wonderful!
One night I dreamed that I was
walking, and when I awoke in the morning
the dream seemed so real, I felt it must be
true.  So I just got out of bed, and I *could
walk*.  I walked to Mother's bedside.  She
was so glad and happy.  When we saw dear
Miss Desmond at breakfast time, and I wanted
to thank her, and tell her how much I loved
her, she took me to her room, and pointed to
a portrait on the wall.  Such a sweet, loving
face, with white, wavy hair.  'That, dear
Eloise,' she said, 'is the portrait of the one
you must love.  I could not have taken you
to the Fountain of Truth to be healed, had
she not first shown me the way.'  And oh,
Carol, I do love dear Mrs. Eddy.  How I
wish I could tell her so!

"Just for a few days, my legs were so shaky,
and I had to keep sitting down.  I only
walked about a room.  Then I was able to
go downstairs.  At the end of a week Miss
Desmond and Mother took me the walk you
first took, and I sat down to rest just where
you rested on the stump of the old tree.  We
waited quite a long time, hoping Birdie would
come.  And he did, but he stayed only a
minute, chirping--'So glad--so glad.'  (It
was just like that.)  Then he flew away as
if he were in a great hurry, and that was all
he had time to tell us.

"Miss Desmond said: 'Birdie is always
busy about his Father's business.'  Mother
looked puzzled, and I too.  We could not
understand.  Then Miss Desmond said to me,
'God is Birdie's Father too, dear Eloise.
Birdie is a spiritual idea; he has no life apart
from God.  He has his appointed work to do
in God's Kingdom.  All God's ideas reflect
Him--reflect Life, Truth, Love, Goodness.
Perhaps Birdie's work is just to voice a note
of joy, of harmony.'

"That made me think, Carol, if even a little
bird has his appointed task, I, too, must have
mine--some work to do for God.  I am
waiting for it to be made plain to me.  Now
I have the desire to do it, Miss Desmond
says, the work is sure to come.  Even if it
is only a very little thing at first, I shall be
glad to do it.

"Dear Carol, we are so enjoying staying
here, Mother and I.  I am so fond of all your
pets, and feed them every day, and talk to
them about you.  Before I could walk, Bob
used to take me round the grounds in your
pony-carriage, and he always talked so much
of you, and the time when he used to take
you about.  He will be so glad when you
come home again.  All the servants like to
hear about you.  They love you so much.
I have had to tell them ever so many times
about the bull, and how you stood and faced
him, and did not run away.  They are so
proud of you.  'The young Master' they call
you.  I tell Mother, Willmar Court is like
a little kingdom, and you the exiled prince.

"Father is coming next week to take us
home.  Until he sees me walking, I think he
cannot quite believe it.  He says he wants
to have a long talk with Miss Desmond.

"With many loving thoughts, dear Carol,
I am,

.. container:: white-space-pre-line

   Your affectionate little friend
       ELOISE BURTON.

"P.S.  Mother has helped me just a little
with this letter, and now she is writing to
you herself."

----

Carol could not wait to read Mrs. Burton's
letter before giving the joyful news to
Mrs. Mandeville.  With both letters in his hand,
he ran to seek his aunt in her morning-room.

"Auntie, Auntie!" he cried excitedly--"such
news!  Eloise can walk--more than
that, she can run.  Isn't it beautiful?"

"Really, Carol?  Is it really true?"

"Yes, Auntie, *really*.  Will you read
Eloise's letter?  And oh, may I tell my cousins?"

"Tell them that Eloise can walk?  Why,
certainly, dear."

"But more than that, Auntie; they will
ask what has made her walk, when every one
believed she could never walk again.  Mayn't
I tell them, Auntie, Christian Science has
done what the doctors couldn't do?"

"I will think, dear, what you may tell them.
Let me see Eloise's letter.  Whilst
Mrs. Mandeville read the little girl's letter, Carol
opened and read Mrs. Burton's.

.. container:: white-space-pre-line

   "WILLMAR COURT,
       S. DEVON.

"*My dear Carol,*

"Eloise herself has written the glad news to
you that the use of her legs is perfectly
restored.  My joyful gratitude is more than can
be expressed in words.  Yet it even seems
that the blessing of this wonderful physical
healing is small in comparison with the
knowledge we have gained of the Truth, which Jesus
said should make us free.  Here, amidst
the lovely surroundings of your beautiful
home, I have lost my old concept of God, and
gained instead an understanding of Him,
as ever-present Love: infinite Life, Truth, Love.

"It seemed so soon after I was able to
see and realize this that my little girl was
healed.  And oh, Carol, the kindness and
gentleness with which dear Miss Desmond has
led us up to this understanding, never letting
us for a moment cling to her, pointing always
away from personality to divine Principle.
We must be and are very grateful for her
faithful instruction and example, for her life,
so consecrated to God that the promised signs
are given: 'They shall lay hands on the sick,
and they shall recover.'  I did not at the time
understand your own marvellous recovery
from the effects of the encounter with the
bull.  I do now, and I feel, dear boy, we owe
you intense gratitude.  It was your steadfast
faith in the Christ, Truth, which led me
to seek spiritual healing for my little Eloise.
The words come to me: 'I, if I be lifted up,
will draw all men unto me.'  For me the
Christ was lifted up, and I was drawn unto
Him.  May my life henceforth so testify
that others may in the same manner be drawn
unto Him.

"Please convey my very kind regards to Mrs. Mandeville.
She will, I know, rejoice with us.

"Believe me always, dear Carol,

.. container:: white-space-pre-line

   Yours lovingly,
       M. K. BURTON."


"It is indeed wonderful and beautiful,
Carol," Mrs. Mandeville said as she returned
the little girl's letter.  I sincerely rejoice with
Dr. and Mrs. Burton.  I know what a sad
trial Eloise's paralysis has been to them."

Then Mrs. Mandeville became aware that
Carol was looking up with anxiously expectant
eyes, awaiting an answer to a question.

"Dear boy," she said, "if you told your
cousins that Christian Science has made
Eloise to walk, they would not understand
what you meant.  Indeed, I do not quite
understand, myself--yet.  I will come to the
school-room with you, and perhaps we can
explain to them that Eloise has been healed
by faith in the power of God."

With that Carol had to be satisfied, though
he longed to explain that it was not faith
alone, but faith with understanding: the
understanding of God as All-in-all,
Omnipotent, Omnipresent Love.




CHAPTER XXII.--THE RETURN OF ELOISE.
====================================

When, the following week, Dr. Burton
brought his wife and daughter home, both he
and Mrs. Burton gratefully spoke of the
Science which had healed her.  The little girl,
in her wheel-chair, had been so familiar an
object of compassion to the villagers that,
when they saw her walking, they wanted to
know what had brought it about.  Then
Mr. Higgs triumphantly held up a little book.

"It's all in here, bless the Lord," he said.
"What's become o' my rheumatiz, you ask.
I don't know what's become o' it.  I only
know it's gone.  What becomes o' the
darkness when you let the sunshine in?  I'm
getting to understand it better every day.
There's no need to trouble what's become
o' error when you let the Truth in."

Then he told them of his little
grand-daughter, and how she, too, had lost
something.  There was no need to say what.  All
the village had known of the little girl's sad
affliction.  Many listened to him, and looked
curiously at the little book, but only a few
believed.  It was easier to attribute the
healing to nature, or natural causes, than to
spiritual laws.  The return of Eloise was a great
joy to Carol.  She was able to tell him much
that he wanted to know.  He so seldom spoke
of his home, Mrs. Mandeville would have been
surprised to know how often he had to fight
against a sick longing for the dear scenes of
his childhood, and the cousin-friend who was
now the representative of both father and mother.

The Burtons arrived home too late for
Carol to meet them at the station, as he intended.

The next morning he was an early visitor
at their house.  Eloise had only just finished
breakfast.

"Oh, Carol!"

"Oh, Eloise!"

In a moment the two children were locked
in each other's arms.  Between them was a
bond of sympathy which neither could have
defined, stronger, more tender, than the
tie of human relationship.  Then, joyfully,
Eloise began to tell him all about her visit.
She had so many messages to deliver, and
Carol had so many questions to ask, it was
lunch time before they were half through.
Dr. Burton came in from his rounds.  He
told them that he had called at the Manor,
and had gained Mrs. Mandeville's permission
to keep Carol for the rest of the day.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Burton, I am
very pleased to stay," Carol said in answer.

Dr. Burton laid both hands on the boy's shoulders.

"My boy," he said gravely, "the pleasure
is ours.  We owe you a debt of gratitude we
can never hope to repay."

The words brought a flush of pleasure to
Carol's face.  He could not think that he had
done anything to deserve such gratitude.

After lunch, when she found the trunks
had been unpacked, Eloise showed Carol a
little book, Miss Desmond's parting gift to
her.  It was exactly like the book that had
been given to Carol.  He took it from Eloise,
as she held it out to him, but immediately
laid it down on the table.  "Shall we do part
of the Lesson together, Carol?  It will be so
nice.  I have done part of it every morning
with Miss Desmond."

"Yes, I used to," Carol said, and Eloise
detected a note of sadness in his voice.

"Do you study it alone now, Carol?" she said.

"No, I never study it at all, Eloise.  I
have not a book.  The book Cousin Alicia
gave me Uncle Raymond has."

"Then we can do it together every week
from my book, cannot we?"

"No, Eloise, Uncle Raymond took my
book away because he did not wish me to
study it.  Until he gives me permission, I
cannot read it with you."

"I am so sorry, Carol.  The Rector always
speaks so kindly to me when he sees me, I
should not mind asking him to let you have it
again--shall I?  Perhaps he does not know
how much you want it."

"Auntie asked him when I was ill, and he
would not.  I do not think it would be any
use for you to ask him, dear Eloise."

"And wouldn't you like to have my book
sometimes, Carol?"

"Not without Uncle Raymond's permission.
He is my guardian.  I must be obedient to
his wishes.  Don't look sorry, Eloise.  It is
all right.  We can only take one step at a
time.  It is sure to be given back to me when
I am ready to take another step."

"Will my book be taken away from me?
Father and Mother are both pleased for me
to have it."

"Why, no, Eloise.  The lesson I need to
learn is perhaps not the lesson you need.
Everyone who comes into Science has
something to overcome--some particular lesson
to master, Cousin Alicia said.  Mine is
obedience, cheerful, willing obedience, and every
victory of Truth over error makes us stronger."

Then with the *gaieté de coeur* of childhood,
the subject was dismissed.  Eloise quickly
proposed going to the garden where they
spent the afternoon, Carol teaching her to
play croquet.  Peals of merry laughter
reached Mrs. Burton as she sat at an open
French window, causing her heart anew to
overflow with loving gratitude to the One
who had "sent His word," and her child was
made whole.

When Mrs. Mandeville paid her usual visit
to Carol's room that night, she found him
with wide-open eyes, a flush of excitement on
his cheeks.  "I have had such a happy day,
Auntie," he said.  "I do love Eloise so much,
and she loves me, too" (Mrs. Mandeville
smiled), "and we both love Cousin Alicia.
Since I came to bed I have been trying to
think what love is, and it seems it is like light,
it can never be described in words.  The
blind boy in the poem asked,

   |   'What is that thing called light,
   |   Which I can ne'er enjoy?'

No one could tell him to make him
understand, could they?  So no one could make
anyone understand in words what love is.
Just as light comes from the sun, and we can
only see it with our eyes, so love comes from
God, who is Love, and we can only be
conscious of it in our hearts.  Isn't it St. John,
Auntie, who says we have passed from death
unto life when we love the brethren?  Then
just as eyes which cannot see the light are
called blind, mustn't it be that hearts which
do not love are dead?"

"It seems to follow naturally your line of
reasoning, Carol, though I cannot say the
thought ever occurred to me before.  There
is one marked trait in all little children, they
are so full of love."

"Yes, Auntie, especially darling Rosebud.
She loves everyone.  Do you remember when
I was ill, and you lifted her on the bed, how
she said: 'I do 'ove 'ou so welly much, Tarol'?"

"Yes, dear, I remember.  Rosebud often
makes me think of a line of one of the poets:

   |   'For a smile of God, thou art.'"


"That is just beautiful, Auntie, and it
explains why little children know what love
is, before they know anything else, before
they even walk or talk."

"Yes, Carol, all great poets seem able to
grasp some momentous truth, and give it to
the world in a beautiful line or verse."

"Cousin Alicia has given Eloise a copy of
*Science and Health* just like the one she gave
me, Auntie.  Eloise showed it to me, and
offered to lend it to me.  But it would not
be right for me to read it until Uncle
Raymond gives me permission, would it?  Do you
think he may when he knows of Eloise's
healing?"

"He does know, dear.  I was talking to
him last night about it.  He attributes it to
the change into Devonshire, or--or some other
reason.  I think he suggested hypnotism."

"But they took her to Germany some time
ago, and that change made no difference, nor
the great German doctor she was under."

"That is so, dear, still Uncle Raymond will
not listen.  I think it will be unwise to talk
any more on the subject to him."

"Do you think then, Auntie, he will not
be willing for me to have the book again
until--until I am a man?"

"I fear that may be so, dear."

"Oh, Auntie!"

For a moment the grave eyes filled with
tears.  The next instant they were dashed
away.  "What am I thinking of?  Error,
error, begone!  Love *can* find a way, and
Love *will* find a way.  It is quite all right,
Auntie," clasping both arms around her neck.

"Just wait and see!  If we are not standing
'porter at the door of thought' every
moment, what a lot of wrong thoughts come
trooping in."




CHAPTER XXIII.--A LONG-DELAYED LETTER.
======================================

That was an eventful week to Carol.  Three
or four days after the return of Mrs. Burton
and Eloise it was his turn to open the
post-bag.  The daily task of receiving the post-bag,
unlocking it, sorting, and then distributing
the contents, was always such a pleasure to
the elder children that they had agreed to
take it by turns.

There seemed an unusually full bag that
morning when he emptied the contents on
the hall table.  He collected into a little pile
all the letters for the servants' hall, for
the school-room, and for Mrs. Mandeville.
Colonel Mandeville was away with his
regiment.  Quite at the last he discovered two
envelopes bearing the small, neat handwriting
which always called forth an exclamation
of pleasure.

"Two letters this morning from Cousin
Alicia, one for Auntie and one for me!"

But he faithfully finished his task, and
delivered the letters to their respective owners
before opening his own letter.

Mrs. Mandeville frequently breakfasted
with the children when Colonel Mandeville
was away and there were no visitors staying
in the house.  Carol found her in the schoolroom.

Breakfast had commenced.  "You have
had a big delivery this morning, Mr. Postman,
have you not?" she said.

"Yes, Auntie, nearly everyone has had
more than one letter, and here are four for
you, three for Miss Markham, one for Percy,
one for Edith, and one for me from Cousin
Alicia.  One of your letters, too, Auntie, is
from Cousin Alicia, and it is quite a fat one.
Mine is quite thin.  May I open it, Auntie?"

"Certainly, dear, I am sure Miss Markham
will allow you.  We all know how little people
are impatient to read their letters."

Mrs. Mandeville laid three of her letters
beside her plate.  The one bearing the
Devonshire post-mark she held in her hand, and
presently drew the contents from the envelope.

Her face grew very white, her hand
trembled as she saw Miss Desmond's letter
enclosed another.  Her eyes, suffused with tears,
fell on dear, familiar writing.

Was it a message from the grave--from that
watery grave where the mortal remains of the
brother still so dear to her had been cast?

Carol meanwhile was devouring his letter,
oblivious of everything else.  He read:

.. container:: white-space-pre-line

   "WILLMAR COURT,
       S. DEVON.

"*My dear Carol,*

"Something so wonderful and beautiful has
happened.  Yet I should not perhaps use
the word 'wonderful,' since nothing can be
lost when Mind governs and controls.  The
letter which your dear father wrote me just
before his death has at last reached me.

"Evidently through a mistake at the
sorting office it was slipped into the American
mail-bag at Gibraltar instead of the English.  My
name and address are almost stamped out,
it has been to so many places in the United
States of America and was afterwards sent
on to Canada, where it has also visited many
post-offices, before some postmaster or
post-mistress remembered that S. Devon is part
of an English county.

"A letter so important for your future,
dear, could not be lost.  I am sending it for
Mrs. Mandeville to read, as it is necessary
for her and also your Uncle Raymond to know
the contents.  They will, I am sure, observe
their brother's last wishes; and one is, that
no hindrance or impediment shall be put in
the way of your studying the Science which
has healed you.  I am to buy a new copy of
*Science and Health*, and write in it: 'To
Carol--from Father.'  You see, dear, Love
has found a way, and just the most beautiful
way of restoring to you the book you seemed
to have lost, for a time at least.

"Dearly as you have valued the book
before, it will have an added value with the
knowledge that it comes to you expressly by
your dear father's desire.  Mrs. Mandeville
will, no doubt, let you read (or read to you)
the letter before returning it to me.  You
will rejoice to learn how much you were in
your father's thoughts at the last.  I have
ordered a copy of the book.  You will
receive it in a very short time.  I know how
glad you will be to be able to study the
Lesson-Sermons again.  How nice it will be
for you and Eloise to do them sometimes
together!  Dear little girl!  Give her many
loving thoughts from me.  We miss her
very much.  Bob's affections seem about
equally divided between his young master
and 'the little lady' as he calls her.

"Always in thought and deed, dear Carol,

.. container:: white-space-pre-line

   Your loving cousin,
       ALICIA DESMOND."


Very quietly Carol went to the back of his
aunt's chair, and slipping an arm around her
neck whispered softly in her ear:

"It's all right, Auntie.  I knew that Love
would find a way, but I didn't think it would
be quite so soon, and such a beautiful way.
It is all in Father's letter."

Mrs. Mandeville had laid her letters down
unread.  She could not disappoint the
children, who loved her to breakfast with them,
by taking them to her own room, and she
wanted to be alone when she read them.  As
soon as breakfast was over, she left the
school-room.  An hour later Carol received a message
that she wanted him to go to her.

"You have been crying, Auntie," he said,
as he entered the room.

"Yes, dear, this letter from your father, and
my dear brother, has been a joy and a sorrow
to me, bringing back so vividly the remembrance
of him.  You will like to read it."

She gave the letter to Carol, and he at once
sat down beside her, and read it.


"*My dear Alicia,*

"The fiat has gone forth!  They give me
neither weeks nor days: a few hours only.
The sea has been very rough the past three
days.  A partly healed wound has reopened:
the hemorrhage is internal.  They cannot
stop it.  I think of you and my boy, and that
Science which stanched his running wounds,
and I wish I knew something of it.  I put it
off, like one of old, to a more convenient
season.  The little book you gave me I left
with some poor fellows in the hospital,
intending to get another copy when I reached
England.

"Much of what you told me comes back,
but it is not enough.  I cannot realize it
sufficiently.  I have absolute faith that if
I could reach England, or even cable to you,
the verdict would be reversed.  Ah, well! a
greater man than I is supposed to have said:

   |   'A day less or more, at sea or ashore,
   |   We die, does it matter when?'

Somehow, it does seem to matter now.  Life--even
this life--has possibilities which I
have failed to grasp.  With you to help me,
it seems I should have gained a clearer
understanding of eternal verities.  A haze--a mist
is creeping over my senses.  What I have to
write I must write quickly.

"I think you know by a deed of settlement,
executed before I left for South Africa, in the
event of my death, my brother Raymond, and
my dear sister Emmeline, become Carol's
guardians.  There is no time now to alter
that arrangement in any way, even if I wished.
It will be good for the boy to be with his
cousins.  He has seen too little of other
children, and Emmeline, I know, will be a mother
to him.  Both she and Raymond will respect
my last wishes, I am sure.  Therefore, I want
them to know it is my desire for Carol to
spend three months of every year with you at
his own home, that you may instruct him in
that knowledge of God which has healed him.
It is recorded that once ten were cleansed,
and nine went thankless away.  He must
not belong to the nine.

"I have explained to Colonel Mandeville
my earnest desire that you may be able to
live at the Court, keeping on all the old
servants until Carol is of age.  The last time
I saw my brother Raymond, the subject of
Christian Science was mentioned, and from
the remarks he made, his bitterly antagonistic
views of it, I greatly fear that under his
guardianship Carol may not be allowed to continue
the study.  Will you purchase for me a copy
of the text-book, *Science and Health*, and
write in it:

.. class: center

   'To Carol: from Father.'

No one will take from the boy his dying
father's last gift, and my wishes regarding
it will I know, be paramount with him.
He will like to know that my one regret now
is that I did not myself study it when I had
the opportunity.

"I have faced death before.  I am facing
it again, as a soldier, and, I trust, as a
Christian.  Somewhere it is written 'Greater love
hath no man'--  You know the rest.
Perhaps it will count, though it may not have
been love so much as duty prompted the
action which is costing me my life.

"I would write to Carol, and to Emmeline.
I cannot.  The pen slips from my hand."

----

The concluding sentence and the signature
were almost illegible.  Mrs. Mandeville took
Carol in her arms, and they wept together.

"It is so cruel to think he might have been
spared to us," she sobbed.

"Yes, Auntie; he would have been," Carol
replied with simple faith.




CHAPTER XXIV.--A JOYFUL SURPRISE.
=================================

In less than a week a small parcel arrived
by post addressed to Carol.  He knew before
he opened it that it contained the little book
which he had so longed for, and which would
be, if possible, even dearer to him, henceforth,
from the circumstances under which he
regained it.  He took the little parcel to
Mrs. Mandeville's room after breakfast, and opened
it there.  As he drew the small volume from
its cardboard case, he held it up to show her.
Then, opening it, he exclaimed in a tone of
great surprise, mingled with joy:

"Auntie, it is in dear Father's own handwriting!

.. class:: center

   'To Carol: from Father.'"


"How can it be?"

Then, as they examined the writing, they
saw that Miss Desmond had cut the words
from her letter.  So neatly had the foreign
paper been gummed in, it was not at first
noticeable.

"Was it not lovely of Cousin Alicia to think
of it, Auntie?"

"It was, indeed, dear.  You will always
realize now that it is your father's gift."

"Yes, Auntie; my earthly father's and my
heavenly Father's, too.  I was thinking this
morning of that lovely verse in Isaiah: 'Before
they call I will answer: and while they are
yet speaking I will hear.'  And I knew that
Love had answered before I called.  Before
I knew my need, it was met.  I am glad the
letter was delayed so long, because I have
learned so much.  'Every trial of our faith
in God makes us stronger,' Mrs. Eddy says.
It did seem at first as if I should have to wait
years for the book, didn't it?  I am glad I
was so sure that Love could and would find a way."

As the boy spoke, the Rector walked into
the room.  In a momentary impulse Carol
seized the little book which lay on the table,
and held it tightly.  A crimson flush suffused
his face.  The next instant he looked up at
his uncle with fearless eyes, and held out the
book to him, saying, "Uncle Raymond,
Cousin Alicia has sent me the little book
Father asked her to get for me, and see--isn't
it beautiful?--'To Carol: from Father,' is
in Father's own handwriting."

The Rector took the book, examined the
inscription, but made no remark.

"Father did not want me to belong to the
nine.  You would not like me to either,
would you, Uncle Raymond?"

"To the nine, boy?--What do you mean?"

"You remember, Uncle Raymond, when
Jesus once healed ten lepers, nine went
thankless away.  I have been healed, and I must
acknowledge it at all times, else I should be
as one of them."

A frown gathered on the Rector's face.

"Never speak to me, Carol, of your healing
in the same breath with the healings of Jesus."

The boy looked sorely pained.  For an
instant he was silent.  In that instant he asked:

"Father-Mother God, lead me."

Then he said:

"May I ask you a question, Uncle Raymond?"

"Certainly, Carol; if it is something you
want to know."

"It is something I often think about,
Uncle.  Are there any 'shepherds in Israel'
now?  Can you tell me?"

"Why, of course, Carol; Israel typifies the
Christian world, and God's ministers are His
shepherds."

"Yes, Uncle, that was what I thought.  Is
God not angry now with the shepherds?  I
often read the 34th chapter of Ezekiel.  God
was very angry with the shepherds of that
time.  He said, 'Woe be to the shepherds,
because they had not healed that which was
sick, nor strengthened that which was
diseased, nor bound up that which was broken,
neither had they sought out that which was lost.'"

"There have been times in history, Carol,
when God's ministers--His shepherds--have
been able to heal the sick, but for generations
the healing power has been withheld.

"Yes, Uncle, I understand that.  For many
centuries before Jesus came the healing power
had been lost.  He brought it back, and
taught his disciples how to heal the sick.
Then at the end of only three centuries it
was lost; and again after many centuries God
has sent a messenger to bring it back, but
not everyone will listen to the message."

The boy spoke reflectively, as one thinking
aloud, not addressing either his uncle or his aunt.

"Raymond," said Mrs. Mandeville quickly
(she noted the growing anger on the Rector's
face), "Carol has a way of thinking about
things he reads in the Bible.  His thoughts
have often helped me.  He does not mean
to--to reproach you.  Will you tell me, dear
Raymond, have you ever read this book
which you condemn so strongly?"

"I have not read it, Emmeline.  One does
not need to read Mrs. Eddy's books to
condemn them.  The press criticisms and extracts
I have read were quite enough for me.  Since
Carol's father wished him to have a copy of
the book, I cannot keep it from him.  Otherwise
I should, most certainly.  I can only
pray that he may ultimately see the error
of its teaching."

"The fruit is so good," Mrs. Mandeville
said softly.  "I can only judge by that, until
I have studied the book myself, which I
intend to do.  I think, Carol, darling, you must
run back to the school-room now, or you will
be late for lessons.  Leave your little book
with me.  You know it will be quite safe,
and come to me after school."

After the boy had left the room Mrs. Mandeville
turned to the Rector.

"Now I want to ask you a question, if I
may, Raymond, may I?"

"Why, of course, Emmeline, you know
perfectly well I shall be happy to answer any
question you wish to put to me--if I can."

"It is this, Raymond: the Apostle bids us,
'Let this mind be in you which was also in
Christ Jesus.'  How would you define the
'Mind' simply, that I may grasp it?"

The Rector's memory went back to a
Sunday morning some months before when he
had preached what he considered a very
eloquent sermon from that verse in
Philippians.  Had his sister forgotten it?

"Do you forget, Emmeline, that I preached
from that text not so very long ago?  I took
as the keynote of my sermon, humility--the
humility of Jesus.  From the context
that was undoubtedly what Saint Paul meant."

"Yes, Raymond, I remember the sermon
perfectly; but I cannot feel that to possess
humility, even in a superlative degree, would
be to possess, as the Apostle commands, the
'Mind' of Christ.  Carol was thinking out
this subject, in the way he has of thinking
about verses in the Bible, and the thought he
gave me seems nearer to it.  He could see
only love.  The mind that was in Christ was
love.  Now, Raymond, if we, at this moment,
possessed hearts full of love we could not
criticise or condemn anyone or any sect.
We could not hold up creeds or dogmas, and
say, 'It is necessary to believe this or that
because it is a canon of the Church.'  We
should just know that we and they had
passed from death unto life when we love
the brethren, and all are brethren who look
to the Lord Jesus Christ as an elder brother."

"It seems to me, Emmeline, that even
before reading the book you have imbibed
some of its mischievous statements.
Remember, it teaches a religion of negation.
According to Christian Science we have no Heavenly
Father, no personal God; nothing but a
divine Principle, an eternal existence, to
worship."

"Oh, Raymond, you do make a mistake.
How can you infer that if you have not
studied the book?"

"My authority, Emmeline, for the statement,
is Dr. Hanson.  He wrote a pamphlet
on Christian Science, issued by the Religious
Tract Society."

"It seems strange, Raymond, that a man of
Dr. Hanson's eminence should write, and
the Religious Tract Society should publish,
a statement so misleading,--a statement which
a boy of Carol's years could easily
confute.  Carol prays to, and speaks of his
Heavenly Father in a way which, I grieve to
say, my own children never do.  Only a few
minutes before you entered the room, he said
that this little book was a gift not only from
his earthly father but from his Heavenly
Father, too.  So how can there be no
Heavenly Father to a Christian Scientist?
It is true he speaks more frequently of Him
as Divine Love; and it seems to me he has a
more comprehensive idea of God than I have
myself, for the thought has often presented
itself to me, how can we, as the Scriptures
say, 'live, move and have our being' in Him,
if God is a person, according to our idea of
personality?  The idea which Carol has given
me of God as infinite Love, filling the universe
like light, makes that verse more intelligible."

"A discussion such as this, Emmeline,
cannot be productive of any good.  I will send
you that little pamphlet I mentioned."

"Thank you, Raymond.  I will read it
after I have read *Science and Health*."

The Rector then changed the conversation,
and spoke of the object of his visit to the
Manor that morning.




CHAPTER XXV.--A LITTLE SERVICE.
===============================

On the following Sunday evening Carol
started at the usual time for Mr. Higgs'
cottage, carrying with him the little,
much-valued book and with it the current *Quarterly*
which Miss Desmond had also sent him.
His surprise was great, on arriving at the
cottage, to find Mrs. Burton and Eloise there.
They knew the prohibition was removed, and
Carol was free to read and study *Science and Health*.

"We thought you would come, Carol,"
Eloise exclaimed.  "We wanted to hear you
read the Lesson-Sermon.  It will be quite a
little service, won't it?"

"Yes, dear Carol; we thought we should
like to join you this evening," Mrs. Burton
said.  "We are only the 'two or three
gathered together,' but we are all of one mind.
So it will be a little service, as Eloise says."

Presently Mr. Higgs' daughter and his
little grand-daughter came in.

It was arranged for Mrs. Burton to read the
Bible verses, and for Carol to read the
quotations from *Science and Health*.  At the close
of the Lesson-Sermon Carol and Eloise sang
together, from the Christian Science Hymnal,
the hymn which both knew and loved,--

.. class:: center

   "Shepherd, show me how to go."


The beauty of the words, and the young
voices blending in perfect harmony, brought
tears of emotion to the old man's eyes.

"Aye, ma'am," he said to Mrs. Burton
afterwards, "who but the Shepherd himself,
is leading us into those green pastures where
the fetters that bound us are loosed?  There's
a many things I can't pretend to understand,
and the old beliefs grip hard, but I just hold
on, and know it must be the Truth which the
Master promised should make us free.  It's
the tree that is known by its fruits.  I'm
sorry Rector's so set up against it.  But
there, it was the priests and scribes who
persecuted the Master himself.  Seems to
me it would not be the Truth if the world
received it gladly."

"I believe you are right in thinking that,
Mr. Higgs.  In whatever period of the world's
history Truth has been recognized, and
demonstrated, its adherents were always
persecuted and stoned.  Jesus reminded his
persecutors that they stoned the prophets which
were before him."

"Yes, ma'am, I know it is the glorious Truth
which has loosed my rheumatiz, and made me
free, and I am just ashamed to confess to you
and Master Carol that just lately thoughts I
can't get rid of come tormenting me.  In this
way: I go sometimes to church, but I feel no
pleasure in the service.  It has lost its hold
o' me.  Then I think o' Father and Mother,
o' blessed memory.  They lived and died with
no thought o' beyond what the Rector
could give them.  It sort o' troubles me to
think I am going away from what they trusted
to.  The Rector then was an old man.  Why,
ma'am, if ever a saint o' God walked this
earth, he was one.  If he passed down the
village street, you'd see all the children run
to him, clustering round him.  When he
looked at you, it didn't seem to need any
words: it was just as if he said, 'God bless
you.'  His smile was a blessing.  So I just
ask myself, Why wasn't the sick healed when
he prayed for them, if it was right and God's
will for them to be healed?  Surely, he was
a servant of God."

"I propounded a similar question, Mr. Higgs,
to the lady I have been staying with
in Devonshire, Carol's cousin, Miss Desmond.
It has been my great privilege to know many
saintly characters, whose lives testified to
their faith.  My own mother was such a
one.  Yet, for many years, she was a great
sufferer.  I asked Miss Desmond why such
loving faith in God and Jesus the Christ,
had not always brought physical healing.
What we call the orthodox church, also
Non-conformity, has nurtured souls for heaven.
We cannot, therefore, condemn its teaching.
Miss Desmond said it is not for us to judge
or to criticise either individuals or other
churches.  We all, individually and collectively,
can only grasp the truth as far as we
apprehend it, and we must not harbor a
troubled thought that in becoming Christian
Scientists we are leaving any church to which
we once belonged.  We are simply moving
forward--stepping upward to a higher
platform.  It is the law of progression.  A child
at school does not regret being moved to a
higher class.  Neither have we anything to
regret, even if we entirely sever our
connection with the church of our childhood.  Even
now, for the most advanced Christian
Scientists there is yet a higher platform to be
reached, since Mrs. Eddy says, in *Science and
Health*, 'All of Truth is not understood.'  All
we have to do at the present is to live up
to--to demonstrate, the highest that we
know.  You in your walk of life, I in mine;
and these dear children, who, spiritually,
have touched the hem of Christ's garment and
have been healed, in theirs."

"Thank you, ma'am, I'll try to think of it,
as you've kindly explained it.  There's
another old belief I can't see clearly to get rid
o' yet, though Master Carol tried to make me
see it's wrong, and that is 'Thy will be done,'
on the tombstones in the churchyard.  I can
see that sin and disease can never be God's
will; but death may sometimes be a sort o'
messenger from God to call us home."

Mrs. Burton smiled.

"Yes; many poets have eulogized death
as a 'bright messenger.'  But in the light
of Christian Science we know it cannot be:
evil can never under *any* circumstance change
into good--an enemy--the last enemy--into
a friend.  Think for one moment how Jesus
taught us to pray 'Thy will be done on earth
*as it is in heaven*.'  Then ask yourself: Is
death God's will in heaven?  If not, then it
cannot be on earth.  I quite see now why
many petitions have failed to bring an
answer.  The pleading lips have besought God
to reverse 'His decree,' the decree that never
was His.  We learned that, Eloise, darling, did
we not, in Devonshire?"

"Yes, Mother; and when we quite
understood why my lameness was never God's
will for me, I lost it."

"So the world, Mr. Higgs, must change its
old belief, and realize that death is an enemy
which inevitably will one day be destroyed.
In God's spiritual Kingdom, sin, disease, and
death find no place.  Now I think we must
all bid you good-night, or it will be dark
before Carol reaches the Manor.  The evenings
draw in so quickly, now.  We will walk part
of the way with you, Carol," Mrs. Burton
said as they left the cottage.  They had not
gone very far when they met Mrs. Mandeville.

"Auntie," Carol exclaimed joyfully, "were
you coming to meet me?"

"Yes, dear.  I found you had not returned.
As I did not quite like your coming alone
through the park, I came to meet you."

After a little conversation with Mrs. Burton
and Eloise, Mrs. Mandeville and Carol
walked home together, Carol clinging
affectionately to his aunt's arm.

"It is nice to have you to walk home with
me, Auntie; but I wish you would never
have a thought of fear for me."

"I'll try not to another time, darling.  As
I walked along I remembered something,
Carol.  Since that day when you came to my
room I have never had one of my old headaches.
They used to be so painfully frequent.
Did you charm them away?"

"No, Auntie; but I knew you had not
learned how to 'stand porter at the door of
thought.'  So I just stood there for you;
and error cannot creep back when the sword
of Truth is raised against it."

Mrs. Mandeville's only answer was to stoop
and kiss the boy's upturned face.  The words,
so simple, grave, and sweet, had gone straight
to her heart.




CHAPTER XXVI.--CONCLUSION.
==========================

The calendar of months named December,
and before it, excited, expectant little people
stood daily, counting first the weeks, then
the days to that one day of all the year which
the children love best.

Carol had to listen again and again to all
the wonderful and mysterious things which
always happened at the Manor on Christmas
Eve and Christmas Day.  Price lists and
illustrated catalogues were the only books in
requisition after lessons were over.  The elder
children wondered how they could have
bought their Christmas presents if there were
no parcel post.  Carol was especially the
helper and confederate of the three little girls
in the nursery.  He assisted them in choosing
their "surprises," wrote the letters, and
enclosed the postal orders; and certainly, from
the marvellous list of things they were able
to purchase, their little accumulated heap
of pennies must, in some magic way, have
changed into sovereigns in his hands.  The
joyful excitement of the three little girls,
when the parcels arrived, gave Carol the
greatest pleasure he had ever known.  Only
Nurse was allowed to be present when the
parcels were opened, and she promised to
lock them securely away where no one could
catch a glimpse until they were brought out
on Christmas eve.

It wanted only one week to Christmas day,
when Rosebud came to the school-room one
morning, saying: "Mover wants 'ou, Tarol."

Carol went at once to his aunt's room.  She
was sitting with an open letter in her hand, a
rather graver than usual expression on her
face.  "Carol, dear," she said, "for some little
time I have been thinking I ought to let you
go home for Christmas.  It seems to me it
is what your dear father would wish; but I
could not let you take the long journey alone
and there seemed no other way until this
morning.  I have just received a letter from
a dear old friend in which she mentions that
she will be travelling to Exeter in two days'
time.  So I could take you to London to
meet her there, and you could travel with her
to Exeter, where Miss Desmond might meet
you.  I do not like to part with you, even for
a month or six weeks, my 'little porter at the
door of thought.'"

"Auntie, it won't make any difference if
I am here, or in Devonshire.  I can still bar
the door to error."

"Yes, dear; I believe you can.  It is really
not that only.  I am thinking we shall all
miss you so.  You seem to be everyone's
confederate for their Christmas surprises.
Would you rather go, or stay, dear?"

"I should be happy to stay here, or happy
to go home for Christmas, Auntie."

"Yes; I think you would, dear.  So we
must consider other people.  Miss Desmond,
I know, would rejoice to have you, and it
seems the right of both tenants and servants
to have the 'little master' amongst them at
Christmas.  So I have decided it will be right
to let you go."

But when this decision was made known in
the school-room and nursery there were great
lamentations.  No one had given a thought
to the possibility of Carol not being with
them for the Christmas festivities; and
Mrs. Mandeville was besought again and again
not to let Carol go home before Christmas.

But, having well considered the matter, she
was firm.  A telegram was at once despatched
to Miss Desmond apprising her of the
arrangement.  The answer that quickly came
satisfied Mrs. Mandeville that she had been
led to make a right decision.  Brief but
expressive was Miss Desmond's wire: "Great
rejoicings on receipt of news.  Will gladly
meet Carol at Exeter."

There was yet another little person to
whom the news was not joyful.  Eloise's lips
quivered and her blue eyes filled with tears
when she heard.  Carol was so much to her,
and she to him.  She thought of him as a
brother; and a sister of his own name could
not have been more tenderly loved by the
boy.  The bond between them was closer
and dearer than that of human relationship.

"It will be only just at first, Eloise, that we
shall seem to be far apart.  Then you will be
able to realize there is no distance in Mind.
At first, when I came here, I seemed to be so
far away from Cousin Alicia; but I never feel
that now.  I just know her thought is with
me, and thought is the only real.  It will be
lovely to hear her voice again, and to feel my
hand clasped in hers, but still that won't
make her very own self nearer to me."

"I do not quite understand--yet, Carol,"
Eloise answered a little sadly.  Then she
had some news to give him.  Early in the
New Year the Burtons were going to live in
London.  True to his promise, Dr. Burton
was giving up his medical practice, and was
going to join that little band of men and
women whose lives are consecrated to the
work of destroying the many manifestations
of sin and disease, in the way the Master taught.

"And, when you come back to the Manor,
Carol, we shall not be here."

Eloise in one sentence regretfully summed
up the situation.

"I shall miss you, dear Eloise.  But you
will write to me, and I shall write very often
to you, and when I go home in the summer,
perhaps Mrs. Burton will let you come, too.
Then Cousin Alicia will be happy to have
both her children in Science with her."

"That will be lovely, Carol!  I am sure
Mother will like me to visit Miss Desmond
again.  It seems a long time to look forward
to, but time really passes very quickly.
Sometimes the days are not long enough for
all I want to do.  I am to go to school when
we live in London.  All the beautiful things
I have longed for are coming to me.  Carol,
I do wish every little girl and every little
boy knew how to ask Divine Love for what
they want.  When I am older that is the
work I want to do,--to teach other children
as Miss Desmond taught me."

"And I, too, Eloise.  Love is so near, but
we didn't know it till we learned it in Science,
did we?"

"No, Carol; I didn't know it, when I used
to sit all day in my little wheel-chair, longing
to walk like other children.  It was like living
in a dark room until some one came and
opened the shutters to let the sunlight in.
The sunlight was there all the time, but I
did not know it.  I was God's perfect child
all the time, but I believed I was lame, until
Miss Desmond taught me the Truth."

"When I go to bed, Eloise, thoughts come
to me.  I tell them to Auntie sometimes, but
not to any one else.  Shall I tell you what I
was thinking last night?"

"Please, Carol, I should like to know."

"I began first by thinking if any one asked
me, where is heaven, I should answer: Heaven
is where God is.  Then I remembered, God is
*everywhere*.  There is no place where God is
not.  Then I knew that everywhere must be
heaven, and we have only to open our eyes,
and just as much as we can see of good--God--just
that far we shall have entered
heaven.  So it won't matter, Eloise, if you
are in London, and I am in Devonshire, if
we are both looking steadfastly all the time
to see only good around us, we shall both be
entering the Kingdom of Heaven.  There is
only one gate--a golden gate--into that
Kingdom, and 'Christ in divine Science shows
us the way.'"

----

The little country station seemed to be
quite full of people when the train that was
to carry Mrs. Mandeville and Carol to
London drew up at the platform.  The hour they
were to leave had become known in the village,
and, besides all his cousins, their nurses
and Miss Markham, Mr. Higgs, his daughter
and grand-daughter, Dr. and Mrs. Burton,
and Eloise were there.  At the last moment
the Rector hurriedly stalked in.

"Almost too late, dear Raymond,"
Mrs. Mandeville said as he greeted them.

"So, Carol, I learn you have succeeded in
planting Christian Science in this village."

The boy looked up with his quiet, fearless eyes.

"Not I, Uncle Raymond!"

"Who then?"

The boy's head was bowed as he reverently
answered: "Christ.  I am happy, Uncle Raymond,
if I have been a little channel for Truth.
I could do nothing myself."

Carol met the grave look on the Rector's
face with his bright smile.

"You *are* glad, are you not, Uncle
Raymond, that Mr. Higgs and his little
grand-daughter, and dear Eloise--I, too--have found
the Christ, and have been healed?"

The engine gave a shrill whistle.  Mrs. Mandeville
drew the boy farther into the
carriage; a porter closed the door as the
train began to move; the question was
unanswered.  Mr. Higgs waved his hat, saying
fervently, "God bless 'ee, Master Carol;
and bring you back to us soon."

Eloise ran along the platform, holding
Rosebud by the hand, wafting kisses to be
carried to Miss Desmond.  When the train
was out of sight and she returned to join the
others, she saw the Rector was watching her
with the kindly smile his face used to wear
in the days when she was not able to run
about.  Clingingly clasping his arm, looking
up to him in her winning way, and remembering
the question which to Carol had been
unanswered, she said: "You *are* glad, are you
not, Rector, that I can run about, and that
I have been taught the Truth that makes us free?"

"Yes, little girl, I am very glad.  Perhaps
I have been mistaken in my judgment.  Tell
me, Eloise, what is this Truth of which you speak?"

Eloise hesitated a moment; then, looking
up beyond the Rector into the broad blue
heavens, she said: "It is just *knowing* that
God is *All*, and there is nothing beside.  All
the *real* God made; whatever He did not
make is shadow.  When I quite understood
that God could not make an imperfect thing--that
He never, never made a lame little girl--the
shadow disappeared, and I could walk."

The Rector turned to Mr. Higgs who was
standing near.  "Is that what my nephew has
been teaching you, Higgs?"

"Yes, sir; but I've been slower to grasp it.
Seems to me the Truth is very simple, but we
need the childlike mind to take it in."

"Maybe you are right, Higgs--maybe you
are right.  'Whosoever shall not receive the
kingdom of God as a little child ... shall not
enter therein.'  The Master's words."

Thoughtfully, with bent head and
downcast eyes, meditating deeply, the Rector
walked back to the Rectory.  Words very
familiar came to him with a different
meaning: "Ye shall know the Truth, and the Truth
shall make you free;" and with the words
came a desire that was prayer: "Lord, teach
me this Truth.  Grant me the childlike mind."

----

"Carol, I have been thinking of something,"
Mrs. Mandeville said, as the train bore them along.

"Should you like to know of what I have
been thinking?"

"Please, dear Auntie; I should very much
like to know."

"Well, dear, I have been thinking if it
should occur to the young Master of Willmar
Court to send Rosebud and me an invitation
whilst he is at home, we should accept it."

"Oh, Auntie, what a lovely thought!  To
have you and Rosebud, and Cousin Alicia,
all together!"

"I want Miss Desmond, Carol, to teach
me some of the things she has taught you."

There was a long silence.  The boy's heart
was too full for words.  Then he said:
"Auntie, I know now how the little bird felt
when the King opened the cage door, and he
sang and sang for joy.  My heart is singing
to *my* King.  I wonder if--perhaps--He will
say, some missing note has come into Carol's song."

"Indeed, my darling, I think so."

He nestled closely beside her.  Looking
down she saw on his face the reflection of a
great joy--a great peace; and she knew that
he had just crept into Love's arms.

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"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the
Most High shall abide under the shadow of the
Almighty....  He shall cover thee with His
feathers, and under His wings shalt thou trust.
His Truth shall be thy shield and buckler."

PSALM 91.

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