A Soldier's Son Part 7

"'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 G.o.d-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.

"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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 G.o.d-Life. Death could not steal one of G.o.d's ideas--His children--and destroy it. What seems to die is not G.o.d'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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d'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 pa.s.sed through the door called death. We have to fight and overcome all that separates us from G.o.d. 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 G.o.d, did you? You thought it was G.o.d's will for you."

"That's true, Master Carol. I just bowed down to it, thinking G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 pa.s.sed 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.

"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, 'G.o.d is Birdie's Father too, dear Eloise. Birdie is a spiritual idea; he has no life apart from G.o.d. He has his appointed work to do in G.o.d's Kingdom. All G.o.d'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 G.o.d. 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, 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.

"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 grat.i.tude 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 grat.i.tude. 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, 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 G.o.d."

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 G.o.d 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 compa.s.sion 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 grat.i.tude 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 grat.i.tude.

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 gaiete 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 grat.i.tude 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 G.o.d, who is Love, and we can only be conscious of it in our hearts. Isn't it St. John, Auntie, who says we have pa.s.sed 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?"