Cover art

A

Soldier's Son

By

MAUDE M. BUTLER

DAVIS & BOND

BOSTON : MASS.

Copyright 1912

by

DAVIS & BOND

LINCOLN & SMITH PRESS

BOSTON

DEDICATION.

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

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.

"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

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[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,

  1. 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."