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Katherine's Sheaves

by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon · English · Gutenberg #5008 · 536,688 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Katherine's Sheaves

Author: Mrs. Georgie Sheldon


        
Release date: February 1, 2004 [eBook #5008]
                Most recently updated: December 28, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5008

Credits: Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KATHERINE'S SHEAVES ***




Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.



KATHERINE'S SHEAVES

BY MRS. GEORGE SHELDON

(Mrs. George Sheldon Downs)





To her,

Who led my newly awakened thought
Towards a higher understanding of God,
And opened before me broader vistas of the Life immortal
That is born of Truth and Love,
                My Teacher
                 F. S. K.
this story is lovingly dedicated by The Author



The words Science and Health which appear as marginal reference
refer to The Christian Science Text Book "Science and Health, with
Key to the Scriptures" by Mary Baker G. Eddy



 CONTENTS

     I.  At Hilton Seminary
    II.  Katherine and Her Roommate
   III.  Dorothy
    IV.  Phillip Harris Stanley, M.D.
     V.  Katherine's First Sabbath at Hilton
    VI.  Materia Medica and Miracles
   VII.  Katherine and the Junior League
  VIII.  Transcendentalism as Elucidated for the Junior League
    IX.  Katherine Makes a Demonstration
     X.  Mrs. Seabrook's Problem
    XI.  Dr. Stanley Asks Some Questions
   XII.  Prof. Seabrook's Ultimatum--and Broken Rules
  XIII.  The Story of a Stray Waif
   XIV.  A Sophomore Racket
    XV.  "Hilton Volunteers"
   XVI.  A Junior Entertainment
  XVII.  Dr. Stanley Has An Object Lesson
 XVIII.  Sadie Receives an Opportune Invitation
   XIX.  Mrs. Seabrook Takes a Stand
    XX.  Interesting Developments
   XXI.  The Traveler Returns
  XXII.  Phillip Stanley's First Demonstration
 XXIII.  Mrs. Minturn Visits Hilton
  XXIV.  The End of School Days
   XXV.  A Momentous Errand
  XXVI.  Conclusion




KATHERINE'S SHEAVES.




CHAPTER I.

AT HILTON SEMINARY.


It was four o'clock in the afternoon on the opening day of the
midwinter term at Hilton Seminary, a noted institution located in
a beautiful old town of Western New York.

A group of gay girls had just gathered in one of the pleasant and
spacious recreation rooms and were chattering like the proverbial
flock of magpies--exchanging merry greetings after their vacation;
comparing notes on studies, classes and roommates; discussing the
advent of new teachers, pupils and improvements, when a tall,
gracious woman of, perhaps, thirty-five years suddenly appeared in
the doorway, her fair face gleaming with humorous appreciation of
the animated scene and babel before her, and enjoined silence with
the uplifting of one slim white hand.

There was an instantaneous hush, as the bevy of maidens turned
their bright faces and affectionate glances upon their teacher,
who, evidently, was a prime favorite with them all.

"What is it, Miss Reynolds? What can we do for you?" eagerly
queried several of the group, as they sprang forward to ascertain
her wishes.

"Is Miss Minturn in the room? I am looking for a new pupil who
arrived this morning," the teacher responded, her genial, friendly
blue eyes roving from face to face in search of the stranger to
whom she had referred.

A young girl, who had been sitting by herself in a remote corner
of the room, arose and moved towards the speaker.

"I am Katherine Minturn," she said, with quiet self-possession,
yet flushing slightly beneath the many curious glances bent upon
her, as her soft, brown eyes met the smiling blue ones.

She was, apparently, about nineteen years of age, a little above
medium height, her form slight but almost perfect in its
proportions. A wealth of hair, matching the color of her eyes,
crowned a small, shapely head, and contrasted beautifully with a
creamy complexion, the delicacy of which was relieved chiefly by
the vivid scarlet of her lips. Her features were clear-cut and
very attractive--at least so thought Miss Reynolds as she studied
the symmetrical brow, the large, thoughtful eyes, the tender mouth
and prettily rounded chin curving so gracefully into the white,
slender neck.

"Ah! Miss Minturn. I have had quite a search for you," she said,
reaching out a cordial hand to her; for, despite the girl's self-
poise, she had caught a quiver of loneliness on the expressive
face. "I am Miss Reynolds, the teacher of mathematics, and I have
been commissioned by Prof. Seabrook to find and show you to his
study. But first, let me present you to these chatterers."

She dropped the hand that was trembling in her clasp, and,
slipping a reassuring arm about the girl's waist, continued:

"Young ladies, this is Miss Minturn, a new junior. I can't present
each of you formally, for she is wanted immediately elsewhere; but
I will see that she finds you all out later."

Katherine nodded a smiling acknowledgment to the vigorous clapping
of hands and the hearty "Welcome, Miss Minturn, to Hilton." Then
Miss Reynolds led her away, and the interrupted chatter of the
magpies was resumed with redoubled animation, but now the new
junior absorbed the attention of everyone.

"Say, girls, isn't she a dear?" "Came this morning, did she? where
from, I wonder?" "My! but wasn't that a nobby traveling suit, and
such a fit!" "Katherine Minturn--pretty name, isn't it?" "Does
anybody know anything more about her?" were some of the comments
and queries that slipped from those supple instruments with a
tendency towards perpetual motion, which, sometimes, are described
as organs that are hung in the middle and wag at both ends--
school-girls' tongues.

"Hush!--sh!--sh! Oh, girls, do ring off, and perhaps I can give
you a point or two," cried a high-pitched voice with an
unmistakable Southern drawl, as a somewhat overdressed girl of
nineteen or twenty years re-enforced her appeal by vigorous
gestures to attract attention, whereupon the ever alert spirit of
Curiosity silenced every loquacious chatterer, except one who
solemnly announced, "Ladies, Miss Minot has the floor!"

"Yes," the speaker observed, "the new junior does strike one as
being downright stunning. She came from New York City, and"--with
a lugubrious sigh--"though I've never set eyes on her before, I
was informed this morning that she is to be my roommate for the
remainder of the year."

A burst of mirthful laughter rippled over a dozen pairs of rosy
lips at this last mournfully conveyed information.

"Aha! at last Miss Sadie Minot has got to come down to the lot of
common mortals and take in a chum!" cried a merry sprite, with a
saucy chuckle. "Oh, how you have spread yourself and luxuriated in
your solitary magnificence, and how every mother's daughter of us
has envied you your spacious quarters! Well, you know what old
Sol. said about 'pride' and a 'haughty spirit,' and the 'fall'
always comes, first or last. But, Sadie, my love, be comforted,"
she continued, with mock sympathy, "and just try to realize what
splendid discipline it will be for you; one cannot have everything
one wants, you know, even if one is an heiress in one's own right-
-eh, dearie?"

"But there's only one closet, and it is so full now," sighed Miss
Minot, ruefully.

"Hear! hear!" retorted the same mischievous maiden, whose name was
Clara Follet. "After having had undisturbed possession of a whole
room and closet for six long months she ungratefully bemoans----"

"And only one chest of drawers," pursued Sadie, in the same
strain, but with a comical quirk of an eye.

A chorus of mocking groans and derisive laughter greeted this
wail.

"And all four crammed full with her superfluous finery," cried
another of the merry group. "Whatever will you do with it now,
Sadie?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Ollie," retorted the pretty "heiress,"
with a quizzical uplifting of her brows, "unless you take half of
it off my hands altogether, instead of coming to borrow so often."

Shrieks of appreciative mirth followed this deftly shot arrow, for
it was a well-known fact that Ollie Grant, the pet of the school,
was an easy-going little body, very prone to allow her wardrobe to
get in a sad plight and then throw herself upon the mercy of
others, to patch her up, in the event of an emergency.

But Miss Ollie was equal to the occasion.

"Really, Sadie, that would help you out, wouldn't it? and save me
a lot of trotting back and forth," she demurely responded, though
the dimples played a lively game of hide-and-seek in her plump
cheeks. "There's such a love of a lace jacket in her second
drawer, girls; my eyes water with envy every time I get a glimpse
of it; and a few of those ravishing stocks that you've been laying
in of late wouldn't come amiss. There's that lavender satin waist,
too, you bought at Jerome's the other day. I know I should look
perfectly killing in it; and--oh! ye Hiltonites!--she has just
bought six of the sweetest corset covers you ever laid eyes on;
think of it!--six! She could spare three just as well as not, and
I'm sure she has at least a dozen pairs of silk stockings, while"-
-with a doleful sigh--"I don't own a blessed one. Then there are
ribbons and laces, fans and handkerchiefs galore. Don't you think
it would be an act of mercy if I would agree to take some of these
superfluities off her hands, rather than have them ruthlessly
crushed into half their allotted space? And--"

"Ollie! Ollie!--what an incorrigible little tease you are!"
laughingly interposed Miss Minot, as she playfully tweaked the
girl's ear. "I wonder how long the things would last you if you
had them all!"

"Oh, probably two or three times wearing around, providing they
didn't come to mending before that," mused the "Pet," with a
speculative look in her blue eyes, but with a quiver of the
dimples that evoked another paroxysm of laughter from her
audience. "But I say, Sadie," she went on with the next breath,
"Miss Minturn is a downright sweet-looking girl, and I'll wager a-
-a darning needle against a pair of those silk stockings you'll
find her O. K. Maybe she'll let you have an extra drawer and a
hook or two in the closet."

"I don't feel very hopeful, so I won't take you up," sighed Sadie;
"for when I came in from my walk I saw a big trunk, with 'K. M.'
on it, in the hall, and it looks to me as if I--I'm destined to go
through a different kind of 'cramming' process this year, in
addition to the usual one."

This self-inflicted shot now turned the laugh again upon the
speaker, for it was an open secret that the Southern heiress
dearly loved her ease and took it, up to the last moment, then had
to "cram for all she was worth" to get ready for "exams."

While this chatter and fun were going on in the recreation room,
Katherine Minturn had been conducted to the study of Prof.
Seabrook, by whom she was received with his customary courtesy.

The principal of Hilton Seminary was a distinguished-appearing
gentleman of fifty years, possessing a strong, intellectual, yet
refined face, whose chief charm was a pair of large, expressive
blue-gray eyes that could be most winningly kind, or most coldly
and blightingly stern, as the case might be.

"Be seated, Miss Minturn," he courteously commanded, as Miss
Reynolds excused herself and withdrew, and indicating a chair near
the table by which he had been sitting when she entered.

Katherine obeyed, feeling strongly attracted to the man by his
genial manner, even though she knew that his keen but friendly
eyes were intent upon reading what lay beneath her exterior.

"I suppose you feel that you have had rather a hard day," he
continued, glancing significantly at some closely written sheets
which he had evidently been looking over when she entered, and
which she instantly recognized as her examination papers.

"Not at all," she quietly returned, lifting her clear eyes to him,
and he marveled at the unclouded serenity in their pure depths.

"Indeed!" and he could not quite conceal his surprise. "It is a
rare event for a young lady to make such an admission after a
rigid ordeal like what you have sustained this afternoon. However,
I am happy to inform you that you are unconditionally admitted to
the junior class; your papers do you great credit, Miss Minturn. I
had not expected quite so much from you, as you had told me that
you left school last year, a sophomore, and have been traveling
abroad until recently. I feared we might have to ask you to review
a little, for it is rather unusual for a pupil to enter an
advanced class in the middle of the year."

"But I have not been idle since leaving school," Katherine
replied, a happy gleam in her eyes, for his commendation was very
gratifying to her; "although we were abroad for several months, we
were often located in some place for weeks at a time, and mamma,
having once been a teacher at Vassar, coached me for the junior
class."

"Ah! that explains your proficiency. How convenient to have an ex-
Vassar in the family!" Prof. Seabrook smilingly observed. "All the
same, I am sure the daughter deserves some commendation for work
conscientiously done."

"Thank you, sir," said Katherine, a flush of pleasure tingeing her
cheeks.

The principal then proceeded to give her some information
regarding her classes and the ground to be covered in her various
studies during the coming term, after which he asked some
questions as to her recent travels, whereupon they fell into a
pleasant chat about points of interest which both had visited, and
thus a delightful half hour slipped away. At length Prof. Seabrook
referred to a book that lay on the table beside him, and observed:

"I find, Miss Minturn, that you are to room with Miss Sadie Minot,
a young lady from Atlanta, Georgia, and I think you will find her
an agreeable companion. However"--with a humorous twinkle in his
eyes--"to use a homely proverb, 'it is Hobson's choice,' for it
happens to be the only vacancy in the building; we have a very
full school this year. I will call some one to show you how to
find it, and have your trunk sent up later."

He touched a bell and presently a young girl about sixteen entered
the room, with a brisk step and an alert air, suggestive of a
repressed cyclone only awaiting an opportunity for mischief
brewing; while, as she approached the occupants, a strong odor of
peppermint made itself apparent in the atmosphere.

"Miss Minturn, this is Miss Wild, one of our breezy freshmen--eh,
Jennie?" and the quizzical look again leaped into the blue-gray
eyes.

Katherine smilingly acknowledged the introduction, while Miss Wild
blushed and nodded an embarrassed greeting, then immediately
turned her face away from the focus of the professor's observation
and made a comical grimace which came very near proving too much
for Katherine's dignity.

"Jennie," the gentleman continued, "Miss Minturn is to share Miss
Minot's room--number fifteen, west wing--and I have called you to
show her the way, if you please."

"Yes, sir, I will," said the girl, with ready compliance, which
culminated in a vigorous sneeze, whereupon, with the restless
energy which pervaded her every movement, she whisked her
handkerchief from her pocket, and, with it, there shot out a
promiscuous assortment of chocolates and cream peppermints, which
went bounding and rolling about the room in every direction.

Prof. Seabrook gave vent to a hearty laugh of amusement at the
awkward contretemps.

"I thought I detected a familiar odor, Jennie," he observed; then
added, good-naturedly, "You may pick them up, if you please."

"Guess I will," she returned, eagerly, and nimbly suiting the
action to her words. "I really can't afford to lose all that
precious sweetness. Josie Craig gave them to me just as you rang."

Katherine had risen and was moving towards the door, to cover her
own inclination to explode, and thus make the situation more
awkward for the girl, when the principal checked her by remarking:

"By the way, Miss Minturn, the juniors and seniors attend the
Bible class, which it is my province to conduct. We meet at four
on Sunday afternoons in the south recitation room; and the lesson
for next Sabbath will be on the Creation, as given in the first
chapter of Genesis. And this reminds me that I have neglected to
inquire where you will attend church. As our catalogue states,
each student is allowed to choose her own place of worship. Where
do you propose to make your church home?"

Katherine had expected this question before; nevertheless, she
flushed slightly as she turned back to face her interlocutor, and
replied:

"I am a Christian Scientist, Prof. Seabrook, and I shall attend
the church on Grove Street."

The pause which followed this announcement was painfully ominous,
and Katherine was amazed at the frozen look which suddenly settled
over the gentleman's face, together with the expression of stern
disapprobation which instantly drove all the kindness out of his
hitherto genial eyes. "A Christian Scientist!--indeed!" he said,
in a tone as frigid as his look. "It is a matter of regret to me
that you did not state that fact when you made application for
admission to Hilton."

Katherine's lip quivered slightly at this caustic remark and the
accompanying scorn on the high-bred face; and the flush which had
risen to her cheek a moment before vanished, leaving her quite
pale, although in no way disconcerted.

"But I believe the catalogue states that there is no sectarianism
in Hilton Seminary, that the broadest possible religious tolerance
prevails here," she remarked, with a sweet gentleness which, under
any other circumstances, would have instantly disarmed her
companion.

But, as it happened, he was a bitter opponent of the "false
doctrine," and the term "Science" applied to Christianity was a
rank offense to his rigid Presbyterian opinions, as was also the
fact that a woman had dared to face the world with it!

"I do not recognize Christian Science, so-called, as a religion,"
he retorted, with a sharpness in marked contrast to Katherine's
sweetness. "In my opinion, it is simply a device and snare of
Satan himself to deceive the very elect; and Miss Minturn"--this
with frowning emphasis--"I will not, for a moment, tolerate the
promulgation of its fallacious teachings in this school. I trust I
make myself understood."

Katherine had not once removed her clear, brown eyes from his
countenance during this speech, but there was not the slightest
manifestation of resentment on her own--only an expression of
tender regret, as if she were sorry for him, because of the sense
of discord that seemed to hold possession of him.

"You mean that I am not to talk it here?" she said.

"Exactly; nor flaunt it in any way."

"I will not, sir," with gentle gravity; then a little smile
curving her red lips, she added: "Christian Science, Prof.
Seabrook, is a religion of Love, and I will simply try to live
it."

The principal of Hilton flushed to his brows before this
unassuming girl, a circumstance unprecedented in the annals of the
institution.

Her look, her tone, the softly spoken words--all radiated love,
and his arrogant spirit felt the gentle rebuke.

"Have you that book, 'Science and Health,' with you?" he curtly
demanded.

Katherine's heart leaped within her. Did he mean to deprive her of
her daily bread?

"Yes, sir," with unfaltering glance and voice.

"Then keep it out of sight," he briefly commanded, adding, in a
tone of dismissal, as he took up his pen: "That is all, Miss
Minturn."

Katherine bowed respectfully, then quietly followed Jennie Wild
from the room.




CHAPTER II.

KATHERINE AND HER ROOMMATE.


As the two girls were passing through the main building on their
way to number fifteen, west wing, Katherine turned to her
companion and observed, in a friendly tone:

"So this is your first year in Hilton Seminary, Miss Wild?"

Jennie, who had been "just boiling"--as she told her later--over
the professor's recent crankiness and severity, turned to
Katherine in unfeigned surprise, for there was not the slightest
trace of resentment or personal affront in either her voice or
manner.

Her brown eyes were as serene as a May morning; her scarlet lips
were parted in a sunny smile that just disclosed her white, even
teeth, and her voice was clear and sweet, without even a quiver to
betray emotion of any kind.

Jennie Wild was a girl of many moods. Possessing the kindest heart
in the world, and ever ready to run her nimble feet off to do any
one a good turn, she was at the same time a veritable little
"snapdragon." Touch her ever so lightly, and off she would go into
paroxysms of mirth or rage, sympathy or scorn, as the case might
be. Consequently she had looked for an outburst, or at least some
manifestation, of indignation on Katherine's part, over the
principal's recent sharpness and ungracious treatment.

"Yes, I'm a freshie," the girl replied, with a nod and one of her
comical grimaces, but still curiously studying the placid face
beside her, "but I'm not here as you are. I'm a working student"--
this with a rising flush and defiant toss of her pert little head.

"'A working student?'" repeated Katherine, inquiringly.

"That's what I said," laconically. "I can't afford to pay full
tuition, so I wait on Prof. Seabrook and his wife, and do other
kinds of work to make up the rest. You see"--the flush creeping
higher, but with a secret determination to "sound" the new junior-
-"I haven't any father or mother, and my aunt, who has always
taken care of me, is poor, and there was no other way to finish my
education after leaving the high school--see?"

"Yes, I understand, and I think you are a dear, brave girl to do
it," said Katherine, with shining eyes, and laying a friendly hand
on her shoulder as they began to mount the stairs leading to the
second story.

"Do you--truly?" queried Jennie, with a glad ring in her tones.
"My! I believe I feel two inches taller for that"--throwing back
her head proudly; "you've given me a lift, Miss Minturn, that I
shan't forget; nobody has ever said anything so kind to me before.
I tell you"--confidentially--"it does take a lot of courage
sometimes to buckle on to a hard lesson, after running up and
downstairs forty times a day, besides no end of other things to
do. Most of the girls are pretty good to me; though, now and then,
there's one who thinks she was cut out of finer cloth. I dote on
the professor, even if he does get a bit cranky sometimes, like
to-day, when something ruffles his stately feathers. His wife is
lovely, too, and the teachers are all nice. But don't call me Miss
Wild, please. I'm 'Jennie' to everybody. 'Wild Jennie' most of the
girls call me, and there really is a harum-scarum streak in me
that does get the best of me sometimes," she concluded, with a
mischievous flash in her dark eyes.

"I shall be very glad to call you Jennie, if you wish, and my name
is Katherine, with a 'K,'" said that young lady, with an inviting
smile.

"I'm sure there isn't any 'harum-scarum' about you," said the
girl, gravely, as she searched the sweet, brown eyes.

"That depends upon what you mean by the term," responded
Katherine, with a ripple of mirthful laughter. "I assure you I
love a good time as well as any other girl."

"U-m--p'rhaps; but I guess it would have to be a--a--genteel good
time. There's one thing I don't need to 'guess' about, though--you
just know how to stand firm on your heels when you need to."

"What do you mean by that?" questioned Katherine, with a look of
perplexity.

"Nobody will ever make you take a back seat--not even his highness
downstairs, when you know you're right. I say, though"--she
interposed, eagerly--"weren't you mad, through and through, at
what he said to you just now?"

"Mad?" repeated Katherine, flushing, and wondering if she had
unconsciously manifested anything that had seemed like anger or
temper during the recent interview.

"Yes; didn't you feel as if you'd just like to go at him with
'hammer and tongs'"--doubling up her fists and striking out
suggestively right and left--"for being so crusty with you about
your religion? I did."

Katherine laughed out merrily at the girl's strenuous espousal of
her cause, and with a sense of relief to know that she had shown
no feeling unworthy of a Christian Scientist.

"No, dear," she gently replied, "I could not feel anger or
resentment towards any one because of a mere difference of
opinion."

"U-m! well, you didn't show any, that's sure. You just faced him,
sweet as a peach, but like a--a queen who knows she's on her own
ground. I thought, though, you might be just boiling over inside;
but if you say you weren't, I believe you, for I think you're
'true blue,' and I think Prof. Seabrook might have learned a
lesson from you, for I never saw him quite so upset over a little
thing before. I never had any use for Christian Scientists myself;
don't know anything about 'em, in fact. But if they're all like
you, I don't believe they'll ever do much harm in the world. Here
we are, though--this is Sadie's room. She's an orphan, too, but
she is very rich, and I tell you she just knows how to make her
money fly--isn't a bit stingy with others, either," the voluble
girl concluded, as she paused before a door at the head of the
stairs in the second story of the west wing and rapped vigorously
upon it for admittance.

"Come in," responded a good-natured voice, whereupon Jennie opened
the door and entered a sunny, inviting apartment, the sight of
which instantly gave Katherine a homelike feeling.

She also saw two pretty beds, on one side of the room, piled high
with a motley assortment of dresses and finery that made her
wonder how one person could ever make use of so many things, while
an attractive girl was sitting upon the floor before the one
dressing case, her face flushed and perplexed as she tried to pack
another promiscuous collection into the insufficient space that
would henceforth belong to her.

"Miss Minot," said Jennie, advancing farther into the room and
thus revealing her companion, "this is Miss Minturn, who is to
room with you. Prof. Seabrook sent me to show her here and to
introduce her to you."

Miss Minot sprang to her feet and came forward with outstretched
hand, her manner characterized by true Southern hospitality.

"Come in, Miss Minturn," she said, cordially; "come right in and
sit down," and releasing the hand she had grasped, she whisked two
or three skirts off a rocker, tossing them upon the heap on one of
the beds. "I knew you were coming, and I've been working right
smart to get ready for you. I've had full swing here so long I've
filled every nook and cranny of the place, and now"--with a shrug
and a deprecatory smile--"I shall have to learn to be very orderly
to keep from encroaching upon your territory. But there's lots of
time. The things can wait while we get acquainted a little.
Jennie, you'll have to take the trunk," she concluded, with a
careless glance at the girl.

"I haven't time to sit down, Miss Minot; I've my algebra lesson to
learn for to-morrow morning," and Jennie, flushing with sudden
anger at being so cursorily consigned to a trunk, turned to leave
the room.

Katherine put out a detaining hand.

"Thank you, Jennie, for coming up with me," she said, with a
friendly smile, adding: "And I hope there will be no more
interruptions while you are conning the algebra lesson."

"I hate mathematics," Jennie affirmed, with an impatient shrug,
"but the things you most dislike are supposed to do you the most
good, so I just have to bottle up when it's time for algebra and
try to play 'it's an angel being entertained unawares.' Good-by,
Miss Minturn. I'll see you again later." And bestowing a bright
glance and nod upon her new friend, she shut the door and went
whistling cheerily down the hall.

"That's a queer 'pickaninny'! I didn't mean to hurt her, though,"
observed Miss Minot, as she curled herself up on the foot of a
bed, preparatory to getting acquainted with her new roommate.

"She certainly possesses originality," Katherine laughingly
responded; "but I like her none the less for that."

"Poor young one!" Sadie continued. "She doesn't have a very easy
time of it here. She is a stray waif, and hasn't a relative in the
world, to her knowledge."

"She spoke of an aunt," interposed Katherine.

"She calls Miss Wild 'aunt,' but she isn't, really, and the child
actually does not know her own name. The way of it was this," Miss
Minot went on to explain: "When she was a baby there was a
terrible railway accident, in which it was supposed both her
parents were killed, for nobody could be found to claim the child
after it was over; and Miss Wild, an old maid with a small
annuity, was on the same train, and, like an angel, cared for her,
hoping some relative would be found when the dead were identified;
but no clew to her identity was ever obtained, and the woman has
done the best she could for her all these years."

"How very lovely and noble of Miss Wild," breathed Katherine,
appreciatively. Then, glancing around the disorderly room, she
added: "Now, Miss Minot, I feel almost like an intruder to have
you so upset on my account. Do let me help you put some of these
things away."

"Oh, never mind the truck," Sadie lazily returned. "I'll take care
of the things presently. I'm right glad that you are a junior,"
she resumed, in a comfortable tone. "It is so much nicer to have a
roommate who can go right along with you, and I'm sure you'll be a
great help to me."

Katherine smiled as her companion thus unwittingly revealed a
strong phase of her character. She saw that her tendency was to
lean upon the nearest prop; and, as to be "forewarned is to be
forearmed," she resolved to govern herself accordingly.

They chatted socially until the janitor appeared with Katherine's
trunk, whereupon Sadie bestirred herself once more to bring order
out of chaos.

This was much easier said than done, and as she saw that she was
going to be very much crowded, Katherine unpacked but very few
things at that time. She generously said she would try to get
along with one-third of the closet and one of the drawers in the
bureau, and utilize her trunk trays for her own waists and finery,
while she could stow things not often needed in the lower portion.

Later she hired the janitor to put up a bracket shelf in one
corner of the room, tacking a long chintz curtain to it, and, with
a dozen hooks screwed into a cleat underneath, thus improvised a
very convenient little closet for her individual use.

While the roommates were "becoming acquainted," Jennie Wild, full
of what she had seen and heard, and, for the time being, unmindful
of the waiting algebra lesson, rushed down to the recreation room,
where many of the students were still congregated, and reeled off
her news to a bevy of curious and interested listeners.

The information that the new junior was a "Christian Scientist"
created quite a flutter of excitement. Some were horrified and
indignant because such a pariah had been admitted to the seminary;
others ridiculed and laughed to scorn the doctrines of the "new
cult," while a few appeared indifferent and declared that every
one had a right to her own opinion upon religious subjects.

The matter was pretty thoroughly canvassed, however, the attitude
of the principal having weighty influence and governing the
preponderance of opinion; and by the time the supper bell rang
almost every student in the house had learned the whole story and
decided that, for the present at least, she would give the
newcomer a wide berth.

Katherine became conscious of the iciness of the atmosphere the
moment she entered the dining room and came under the battery of
the hundred or more pairs of curious and critical eyes that were
eagerly watching for her to appear. Miss Reynolds, who had
overheard some of the gossip and adverse criticisms, was also on
the lookout for her, and approaching her with the graciousness
which was her chief charm, observed:

"Miss Minturn, I have made a place for you at my table. Until you
become better acquainted and choose your permanent seat, you shall
sit close under the shelter of my wings."

"And a very friendly shelter, I am sure, I shall find it; you are
very good," Katherine replied, with quick appreciation.

The teacher led her to her place, and, while they stood waiting
for the professor to give the signal to be seated, introduced her
to two or three of the girls in their vicinity.

Katherine keenly felt, and Miss Reynolds noted with increasing
displeasure, the quickly averted eyes and cool acknowledgment of
these introductions; but the principal drew out his chair, and
Katherine's momentary feeling of awkwardness was covered by the
confusion of getting into place. But for her teacher she would
have had a very lonely and silent meal; for after one or two
efforts to engage her nearest neighbor in conversation had been
coldly repulsed, the tactful woman threw herself into the gap and
the two chatted socially until they arose from the table.

"She is a dear, sweet girl, and I am going to nip this nonsense in
the bud," Miss Reynolds observed to herself on the way upstairs,
where, in the main hall and parlors, the students usually spent an
hour, socially, after the evening meal. But as she presented her
charge, here and there, she only became more indignant in view of
frigid salutations and a general stampede wherever they made their
appearance, not to mention the scarlet spots that settled on
Katherine's cheeks and her unnaturally brilliant eyes, although,
in other respects, she appeared perfectly serene and self-
possessed.

"Please do not trouble yourself any further on my account, Miss
Reynolds," she said, when she observed the look of dismay on her
face as she glanced around the almost empty room they were in. "I
understand the situation perfectly; they have all learned that I
am a Christian Scientist, and, having conceived an erroneous idea
of what that means, are avoiding me."

"It is the most absurd, cruel and unjust treatment of a stranger I
ever heard of," returned her companion, with flashing eyes, "and I
shall make it my business to see that there is a radical change
before another day goes by."

"Please do not," Katherine pleaded, earnestly. "I would much
prefer that matters be left to adjust themselves; any interference
would only serve to intensify the antagonism against me; and I am
sure when the girls come to know me better, they will at least
realize that I am--harmless," and there was a gleam of genuine
amusement in her eyes as she concluded.

"You are a brave little girl," said her teacher, with a glow of
tenderness at her heart and a suspicious moisture in her eyes.
"But"--with a resolute straightening of her graceful figure--"I am
not going to have you left to yourself on this your first evening
at Hilton, so come with me to my room and we will have a nice time
by ourselves."

"Oh, I should like that," said Katherine, eagerly, "if it will not
encroach--"

"It will not," smilingly interposed her new friend, and, slipping
an arm around her, she spirited her away to her pleasant room,
where they spent a delightful hour together.

When the eight o'clock study bell rang, Katherine returned to her
own quarters, where she found her roommate already absorbed,
apparently, in the preparation of to-morrow's lessons; for, as she
entered, the girl merely glanced up from her book without
speaking, then fastened her eyes again upon the pages before her.

Katherine sat down by her own table and soon forgot everything but
the work on hand, although, at first, she had experienced a sense
of discord and friction in the atmosphere. The hour passed in
absolute silence until the next bell rang, when Miss Minot closed
her books and abruptly left the room.

Katherine was not sorry to be left alone, and bringing forth from
her trunk her Bible, "Science and Health," and "Quarterly," began
to study her lesson for the coming Sunday. She spent half an hour
or more in this way, then sat reading from her text-book until
Sadie returned.

Katherine greeted her with a smile as she entered and inquired:

"What is the retiring hour, Miss Minot?"

"Ten; and every light must be out at half-past," was the somewhat
curt response.

Then, after an irresolute pause, she walked over to Katharine, and
picking up the book she had just laid down, asked:

"What is this that you were reading? Oh! it is that dreadful book
I've heard so much about."

"It doesn't seem dreadful to me," returned her companion, gently.

"Humph! 'At all times and under all circumstances overcome evil
with good,'" [Footnote: "Science and Health," page 571.] she read
from the page to which she had opened. "That's just another
version of the 'golden rule,' isn't it?" Then, turning a leaf, she
read from the next page: "'Love fulfills the law in Christian
Science.' Humph!" she ejaculated again, as she put the volume
down, "so you are a Christian Scientist! I heard about it
downstairs."

"Yes," quietly returned Katherine.

"And do you really believe all they tell about the wonderful cures
and--and the rest of it?" Sadie demanded, with curling lips.

"Yes."

"Tell me about some of them," said the girl, eagerly, her
curiosity aroused.

"Excuse me, Miss Minot; I cannot, for Prof. Seabrook has forbidden
me to say anything about the subject here," Katherine returned.

"Yes, I heard that, too," said Sadie, with a nod. "Well, the
professor is dead set against it, and I'm down on it right smart
myself. You see"--with a superior air--"I'm an Episcopalian; my
grandfather was an Episcopalian clergyman, a rector, you know,
and"--with a shrug and laugh--"I'm afraid he wouldn't rest easy in
his grave if he knew I had such a rank heretic for a roommate.
But"--leaning forward and smiling into her companion's eyes--
"aside from that I like you right well, Miss Minturn, and if we
leave this subject alone I reckon we'll get along pretty
comfortably together; what do you say?"

"I am sure we will," cordially assented Katherine, "and"--with a
merry twinkle in her eyes--"if you do not broach it, you may
confidently rely upon my discretion."

"I own up," good-naturedly returned her chum. "I did broach it
this time; but"--flushing slightly--"something had to be said to
get it out of the way, don't you know? And may I--would you like
me to call you Katherine?"

"With all my heart, Sadie."

The two girls smiled into each other's eyes; the last vestige of
formality was swept away, and the atmosphere was clear.




CHAPTER III.

DOROTHY.


The midwinter term at Hilton Seminary had opened on Wednesday, and
the remainder of the week passed quickly and uneventfully as
Katherine fell easily into the ways of the institution and found
herself getting well started in her various studies.

Her relations with her roommate were most harmonious, but the
majority of the students either ignored her altogether or treated
her with a coldness that, had she not had her "Science" to sustain
and comfort her, would have made her lot hard indeed to bear.

She had not met the professor again, except in the class room,
where he had seemed to be wholly absorbed in his duties as
instructor and oblivious of the personality of the students.

On Saturday afternoon she was introduced to Mrs. Seabrook while
strolling in the grounds with Miss Reynolds, between whom and
herself a growing friendliness was asserting itself. The
professor's wife was walking beside a wheel-chair, which was being
propelled by a nurse in cap and apron, and in which was seated--
propped up by pillows--a young girl who appeared to be about seven
or eight years of age, although her serious, pain-lined face and
thoughtful eyes seemed, by right, to belong to an older person.

Miss Reynolds paused on meeting this trio and introduced Katherine
to Mrs. Seabrook, who greeted her with a sweet cordiality that at
once won the girl's heart.

"I heard that we had a new student among us," she said, as she
warmly clasped Katherine's hand, "and I hope you are going to be
very happy with us, Miss Minturn."

"Thank you; not 'going to be'--I already am happy here," she
cheerily and truthfully replied, for she had become deeply
interested in her work, and, as she dearly loved to study, she was
content to leave her social relations to be governed by the love
she was "trying to live."

"This is my daughter," Mrs. Seabrook continued, as she turned a
fond look upon the pale, pinched face among the pillows. "Dorothy,
this is the young lady whom you have been wishing to see."

Katherine bent down, took the small mittened hand that was
extended to her and smiled into the grave, searching eyes that
were earnestly studying her face.

"And I also have been wishing to see Dorothy," she said, with a
note of tenderness in her tone that caused the slender fingers
inside the mitten to close more firmly over her own. "I am very
fond of little people."

"I should not be so 'little' if I were well," Dorothy returned,
with a faint sigh. Then, glancing up at her attendant, she added:
"This is my nurse, Alice, and she has to wheel me about because I
cannot walk."

Katherine bestowed a friendly look and nod upon Alice; then a
great wave of compassion for the little cripple swept over her
heart and softened her earnest brown eyes as she turned back to
her and remarked, in a cheery tone:

"You have a lovely chair. These rubber tires must cause it to roll
very smoothly and make it easy for Alice to wheel you about."

"Yes, I like my chair very much--my Uncle Phillip brought it to me
from Germany--and Alice is very nice about taking me everywhere I
want to go; but it would be so much nicer if I could walk and run
about like other girls," and Dorothy's yearning tone smote
painfully upon every listening ear.

"It certainly would, dear," Katherine returned, giving the small
hand that still clung to hers a loving pressure, adding, softly:
"And sometime you will, I hope."

The child's face glowed at the term of endearment; but her pale
lips quivered slightly at the hopeful assurance.

"Oh! no," she said, shaking her head slowly; "I have a double
curvature of the spine, and all the doctors say I never can. I--I-
-think I could bear that--not being able to walk--but the dreadful
pain sometimes makes me wish I wasn't here at all."

Katherine did not make any reply to this pathetic information. For
a moment or two she seemed to be oblivious to everything, even to
the presence of her companions, and stood looking off towards the
western sky, as if communing with some unseen presence there.

Then, suddenly arousing herself, she detached a beautiful pink
rosebud from the lapel of her jacket, saying, brightly: "Do you
love flowers, Dorothy? will you let me fasten this on your coat?
It is fresh from the greenhouse and will last some time yet.
There--see!" as she deftly pinned it in place. "What a pretty
contrast it makes against the dark-blue cloth."

"It is lovely," said the girl, bending forward to inhale its
perfume. "How perfect it is! Do you ever wonder, Miss Minturn, why
God makes the flowers and things that grow so perfect and
beautiful, and people--so many of them--imperfect and ugly?"

"My dear," Mrs. Seabrook here smilingly interposed, though a
quickly repressed sigh arose to her lips, "I hope you are not
going to involve Miss Minturn in a metaphysical discussion during
this first meeting! Dorothy has acquired a habit of philosophizing
and asking profound questions that are not always easily
answered," she explained to Katherine.

"Surely, dear, you do not think that God ever made anyone, or
anything, imperfect or ugly?" Katherine gently inquired.

The child hesitated a moment, as if pondering the question.

"Well," she presently asserted, with a positive intonation and nod
of her head, "there are a lot of deformed, sick and ugly people in
the world, and the Bible tells us that He made everything."

"The Bible tells us, in Genesis, that 'everything that God made
was good'; and, in Psalms, that 'all His ways are perfect,'"
quoted Katherine.

"Yes, I know it; that was in the beginning, though," said Dorothy;
"but if He could make things perfect in the first place I don't
see why He didn't keep them so if He is God."

"Come, come, dearie; I think we must go on now--we are keeping
Miss Reynolds and Miss Minturn from their walk," Mrs. Seabrook
again interposed, with a note of gentle reproof in her tone, as
she stooped to tuck the robe more closely around the girl.

A sunny smile, like a burst of sunshine from under a cloud,
suddenly broke over Dorothy's face, at once dispelling its
unnatural gravity and perplexity.

"I didn't think how naughty that was going to sound, mamma dear,"
she said, as, with a deprecating air, she softly patted her
mother's hand. "I'm afraid Miss Minturn will think I am not very
good; but, truly, things do seem awfully mixed up sometimes when I
get to thinking this way. I like you very, very much, though," she
added, nodding brightly at her new acquaintance. "I wish you would
come to see me in mamma's apartments when you are not too busy."

"I shall be very glad to--if I may," Katherine replied, with an
inquiring glance at Mrs. Seabrook.

"Yes, do come, Miss Minturn, whenever you can find time; we are
very glad to have the young ladies visit Dorothy, who has many
lonely hours. Now come, Alice," and, with a parting smile and bow,
she signaled the nurse to move on.

"Good-by, Miss Minturn, and thank you for my lovely rose," cried
the child, looking back over her shoulder and waving her small
hand in farewell.

"Poor child," sighed Miss Reynolds, as she and Katherine passed
out of the grounds to the highway, "she has a continual struggle
to live, yet she is a remarkable girl, in spite of her many
infirmities, with a mind bright and keen far beyond her years."

"How old is she?"

"Thirteen, a month or two ago."

"Is it possible? She does not look to be over seven or eight,
although, mentally, she seems more mature."

"That is true. She had a bad fall when she was six years old, and
her body has never grown any since the accident," Miss Reynolds
explained. "She suffers a great deal--sometimes the pain is almost
unbearable; but, as a rule, she is very lovable and patient,
though, now and then, a remark like what she made to you just now,
shows that she thinks deeply and is perplexed--like some children
of larger growth--over the knotty problems of life," she
concluded, with a sigh.

"How is it, Miss Minturn," she went on, after a moment of silence,
"how do you Scientists account for the fact that a perfect and
all-merciful God--'the Father of mercies, the God of all comfort,'
as Paul puts it--has created a world of such confusion, wherein
evil and suffering, instead of peace and harmony, are the
predominant elements?--where, for ages, sickness and death have
relentlessly mown down generation after generation, until one
becomes heart-sick and weary, and even filled with despair, at
times, in view of their probable continuance for ages to come?"

The woman's face was flushed, her eyes somber, and there was a
note of passionate protest in her voice which moved Katherine
deeply; while what she had said proved to her that these problems
had been pondered o'er and o'er until her mind was almost in a
state of chaos regarding them.

While she was debating with herself what reply she could make that
would best meet her thought, her companion resumed:

"I am a dear lover of children, but when I see anyone like
Dorothy; when I see mothers grieving for their darlings, whom God
gave them for a little while, then ruthlessly snatched from their
embrace for no apparent reason, I feel sure that something is very
wrong; and, of late years, my heart is filled with indignant
protest whenever I hear of the birth of a dear little innocent.
'Oh!' I cry within myself, 'it is born only to repeat the struggle
with sin, suffering and death.' Of what use is its life? of what
use the advent of future generations if there is no way to rise
above, or conquer, such adverse conditions? Is God good--if there
is a God--to create only to destroy? to arbitrarily force these
little innocents into the world to fight the unequal battle with
evil? Millions have faced it bravely--nobly, trusting God's
promises, but they have never succeeded in removing one iota of
the curse, 'Thou shalt surely die.' The whole problem of life is a
mystery which I am tired of trying to solve," and Katherine was
sure the woman stifled a sob as she concluded.

"Surely, dear Miss Reynolds, you do not doubt the existence of
God?" she gently inquired.

"No, child; don't think me quite an atheist," said her teacher,
with a deprecatory smile and gesture. "Life, nature, the universe,
with their teeming and ever-unfolding wonders tell me that there
is a Force--a controlling power and intelligence behind them. We
call that force 'God.' We say that God is omnipotent, all wise and
good; and certainly, in the government of the universe, everything
points that way, everything is exact and perfect. But how to
reconcile God as good, merciful, loving, with the creation and
manifestation of evil as we find it on this planet? Ah! that is
beyond me."

"Can evil come out of good?" briefly queried Katherine.

Miss Reynolds started slightly.

"No," she returned, positively; "no more than a lie can spring out
of truth; those are self-evident facts."

"Then dare we say that God--which is but another term for good,
Supreme Good--created evil?"

"Oh, do you believe in the serpent or devil? I know he comes
forward from some mysterious source in the narrative and is held
responsible. Then naturally follows the question, 'Who created his
satanic majesty?' Well, who did? If God created everything, and
evil cannot come out of good, where did evil come from? What a
paradox it seems!" she went on, without waiting for a reply. "Yet
evil does exist in the world--look at Dorothy! Think of the sin,
misery and crime all about us! Where did they come from? There are
some who contend that God did not create evil, but permits it for
some wise purpose; but that, to me, seems like a weak attempt to
clear the Almighty from the terrible responsibility of having made
sin and its deadly results without detracting from His
omnipotence."

"If a person tells you a lie, where does it come from?" Katherine
quietly inquired.

"From his own evil desire to deceive, of course."

"Exactly; it was an invention of his own evil thought, prompted by
some selfish motive. You can say the same of theft, murder--in
fact of all crime. But God--Good--is not the author of the lie, or
crime, neither does He 'permit them for some wise purpose,' as you
have quoted, any more than a just and loving human father would
teach, or permit, his son to become a criminal, claiming that he
needed such discipline to fit him for future happiness; or, any
more than you, a teacher, would put demoralizing literature into
the hands of a student as a method of discipline for higher
education."

"How perfectly absurd that sounds! And yet it is parallel to the
doctrine that has been taught for ages," said Miss Reynolds,
thoughtfully. "But I do not see how you can apply the same logic
to disease and suffering."

"The Scriptures tell us that sin brought death.' Sickness and
disease are the seeds of death; then they are the results of sin-
evil. God not being the author of sin and disease, they, like the
lie, can only originate in the evil thought or mind of the
sinner," Katherine explained.

"Then you believe that we mortals are alone responsible for all
the suffering and evil there is in the world?"

"Yes; evil is a mortal concept."

"Then how does God---What is God, from your standpoint, Kath--may
I call you Katherine?" and Miss Reynolds laid a caressing hand
upon the girl's arm as she made this request.

"Do--I should so like to have you," she replied, turning to her
with a luminous smile. "Now for your question. God is Spirit, and
'What the Scriptures declare Him to be--Life, Truth and Love,'"
[Footnote: "'Science and Health," page 330.] she added, quoting
from her text-book.

"You say Spirit, instead of 'a spirit.' Now what is this Spirit?"

"Infinite Mind, Intelligence, Omnipotent Good."

"Ah!" Miss Reynolds began, then paused abruptly. "But
intelligence, life, truth, love are characteristics, attributes
which anyone may possess and cultivate."

"Yes, considered in that sense they are attributes. But whence
came they?" Katherine demanded, with glowing eyes. "The source of
life must be Life itself, must it not? The same must also be true
of truth and love. So Life, Truth, Love, Mind, Intelligence
constitute, in Science, the Divine Principle, or God, the
controlling and governing power of the universe and man."

"Divine Principle! Mind! Intelligence! Life! Truth! Love! God!"
repeated Miss Reynolds, and dwelling thoughtfully upon each word.
Then, turning a wondering look upon her companion, she exclaimed,
almost breathlessly:

"Why, Katherine, if that is true I can understand how God can be
omnipresent! That is a doctrine of my church, that has been a
tantalizing mystery to me all my life. My dear girl," she went on
in an eager tone, "I begin to see a ray of light--I must think
more about it, though. I have always thought of Deity as a
'personal God,' and, yes"--smiling--"I used to believe in a
personal devil, too; with a very vague conception that although
the latter had always managed to keep the preponderance of power
in his hands, God would, in some miraculous manner, win the battle
in the end. But, even now"--with a look of perplexity--"I do not
grasp where or how, according to your logic, God comes in as
supreme, infinite, so long as evil exists."

"Let us go back to the lie for an illustration," said Katherine.
"You said that it originated in the person's own evil thought and
desire to deceive. Well, what happens when you turn the light of
truth upon a lie?"

"Why, it disappears--vanishes; you learn the fact and are no
longer affected by, or conscious of, the falsehood."

"Then truth has destroyed, annihilated it; it has become nothing
to you. As long as you believe a lie you are its victim and suffer
from it; but once learn the truth you are free from that illusion
and its power over you is gone. Now, you would not say that truth
created the lie, permitted it, or was in any way responsible for
it, or your suffering on account of it?"

"N-o; so God, being good--infinite good--knows nothing of evil in
any form. Is that your point, Katherine?"

"Yes; so it follows He could neither create nor permit what He
knows nothing about."

"Why!" exclaimed Miss Reynolds, turning a glowing face to the
girl, "those same arguments must hold good for everything! Then
sickness and suffering must be the outcome of wrong thought on the
part of mortals! What unlimited possibilities that suggests!
Divine Principle! I begin to understand why you call yourselves
'Scientists'--you think and live in accord with this infinite,
absolute Principle--you demonstrate it, as--as I demonstrate
mathematics."

"Yes," said Katherine, smiling; "so you see that Christian Science
is, as some one has aptly said, 'the Science of sciences.'"

"That is a very sweeping assertion," responded her teacher in a
somewhat doubtful tone. "I'll have to ruminate on that. However,
this little glimpse of a better way than I have hitherto known,
seems like an olive leaf of hope and promise to me, for I have
been tossing on a restless sea of doubt and skepticism for years,
reaching out and groping after some substantial plank that would
float me into a haven of peace and rest. But how is it that you,
so young, argue so clearly and logically about these things that
have puzzled older and wiser heads for ages?"

"I have never known anything else," said Katherine, simply. "When
I was a very little child my mother was healed of a disease which
several physicians had pronounced incurable. She at once became an
earnest student of Christian Science, and, later, a successful
practitioner; consequently its principles, as far as I have gone,
are as clear to me as those that govern your own dear mathematics
are to you. But"--a blank look suddenly sweeping over her face--"I
am afraid I have been guilty of rank disobedience in discussing
these problems with you."

"How so?" asked her teacher, in surprise.

"Prof. Seabrook has strictly forbidden me to talk of Christian
Science while I am a student at Hilton."

"Of course, he meant that you must not talk it to the other
students," said Miss Reynolds, "and it would be unwise, for,
doubtless, the parents of many, if not of all, would object. But
I, as your teacher, feel at liberty to ask you whatever questions
I choose, and you are perfectly justified in answering them."

"Ye-s, I believe you are right on that point," Katherine
thoughtfully returned. "But I would not willfully disobey the
professor in any way. I owe him perfect loyalty as long as I am a
pupil in his school, and I mean to yield it to him."

"That is right," her companion affirmed; "but you do not need to
condemn yourself for what has occurred this afternoon, for, at my
age, I am capable of judging for myself upon all moral and
religious questions, and I think you may feel at liberty to give
me any information that I may seek from you. I have not done with
you, either," she added, with a significant smile, "for you have
given me to-day a glimpse of something which I believe will change
the universe for me. Ah! whom have we here?"

She checked herself suddenly as a gentleman came into view around
a curve in the road, a short distance ahead of them.




CHAPTER IV.

PHILLIP HARRIS STANLEY, M.D.


Katherine glanced up as her companion called her attention to the
approaching figure, and saw a finely formed man, tall, straight
and stalwart, and, apparently, about thirty-five years of age. He
possessed an attractive, though thoughtful, face, and bore himself
with an air of refinement and self-possession that at once
proclaimed him the cultured gentleman.

A delicate pink instantly suffused the girl's face, and there was
a peculiar thrill in her voice as she exclaimed, in great
surprise:

"Why! that is Dr. Stanley! Mamma and I became acquainted with him
on board the Ivernia when we returned from abroad, two months
ago."

"So you already know Phillip Harris Stanley!" Miss Reynolds
observed, and surprised in turn. "He is Mrs. Seabrook's brother--
the 'Uncle Phillip' of whom Dorothy spoke. He has been in Germany
during the last two years, studying in various hospitals, but has
now again opened his office in this city. Dorothy is under his
care, and he is therefore a frequent visitor at the seminary."

By this time the gentleman had come within speaking distance of
the ladies, whom he instantly recognized, his fine eyes lighting
with pleasure as they fell upon Katherine. He courteously lifted
his hat.

"Good-afternoon, Miss Reynolds," he said, with a genial smile, as
he extended his hand in greeting. "And, Miss Minturn, this is
certainly an unexpected pleasure! I suppose, however," he
continued, with a mirthful quiver of his lips, "it would not be at
all proper to ask if you are well, even if your blooming
appearance did not speak for you and preclude the necessity of
such an inquiry. But to what happy circumstance do we owe the
pleasure of your advent here?"

"I am a student at Hilton Seminary," Katherine replied, as she
frankly gave him her hand, her color deepening as she did so. "I
played truant from school for several months, as you know, and am
now trying to bridge the chasm."

"And your delightful mother, Miss Minturn? I trust she is also we-
--Ah! excuse me--enjoying life?"

"Ah! Dr. Stanley, I see you have not forgotten how to exercise
your propensity for teasing," Katherine retorted, with a light
laugh. "My mother is both well and happy, thank you, and will be
pleased to know that I have met you again."

The physician bowed his acknowledgment as he remarked:

"Pray give my kind regards to Mrs. Minturn when you make up your
next budget of news for her. As for my propensity to tease"--with
a roguish smile--"I had no resource except to exercise it upon the
daughter. Since the mother would not be teased and could never be
defeated in an argument, I had to retaliate in some way. But what
class have you entered, Miss Minturn?"

"I am a junior, Dr. Stanley."

"Ah! then we shall keep you at Hilton for some time," and there
was a ring of satisfaction in the gentleman's tones which did not
escape the ear of the observant teacher. "Are you aware, Miss
Reynolds," he said, turning to her and resuming his bantering
tone, "what a revolutionary spirit our institution has taken to
her bosom in admitting Miss Minturn?"

"We have found her a very peaceable individual: thus far; she
certainly does not have the appearance of being a discordant
element," the lady returned, as she bestowed an affectionate
glance upon her companion.

But the girl's face had grown suddenly grave, and she now lifted a
pair of very serious eyes to the physician.

"Yes, Dr. Stanley," she observed, "Miss Reynolds knows that I am a
Christian Scientist; but Prof. Seabrook has forbidden me to make
my religious views prominent in the school."

"I understand. Yes, I know that my brother-in-law is not at all in
sympathy with the movement," said Phillip Stanley; and at once
dropping his banter, he added, apologetically: "I fear that I was
thoughtless in referring to the subject in the way I did, and I
will not annoy you again by alluding to it in the presence of a
third party."

"I am not 'annoyed,' I assure you," Katherine replied, flushing
again under his regretful glance. "Miss Reynolds, being a teacher,
does not come under the ban; but I desire to respect Prof.
Seabrook's wishes under all circumstances."

"All honor to so loyal a student, and I will henceforth govern
myself accordingly," smilingly returned the gentleman, as he again
doffed his hat to her. "But I must move on. I have to make my
visit to Dorothy and get back to the city for another appointment
within an hour. I am very glad to have met you, ladies," and, with
a parting bow, the handsome doctor went his way, leaving Katherine
and her teacher to continue their ramble.

"How strange that you should know Dr. Stanley!" Miss Reynolds
observed. "He is the youngest member of Mrs. Seabrook's family,
and a fine fellow--a very talented man, in fact. He had begun to
distinguish himself in his profession before he went abroad, and
now, even though he has been home only a couple of months, he has
an extensive practice. But I suppose this does not interest you,
as you have no use for doctors," she concluded, archly.

"Indeed, it does interest me," said Katherine, earnestly, "and I
hope you do not think that Scientists hold physicians in contempt.
We all know that there are many noble men among them, who are
devoted to their profession and are most conscientious in the
practice of medicine."

"But I suppose you would not employ one under any circumstances?"

"No; I could not."

"You have such faith in your mother's healing power, you would
trust her before the most noted practitioner of materia medica?"

"I have such faith in God's healing power that I would trust Him,
and Him only," Katherine corrected, gently.

"Do you never take medicine of any kind?"

"No; I have never used a drop or a grain--nor material remedies of
any description--since I was three years of age."

"Perhaps you have never been ill enough to need them?"

"Yes, I have needed help at times; but it has always come through
the understanding of Christian Science."

"Well, it is all a sealed book to me," sighed Miss Reynolds, with
a look of perplexity. Then she inquired: "How did Dr. Stanley
learn that you and your mother are Scientists?"

"There is a little story connected with that revelation and our
acquaintance with him," said Katherine. "There was a dear little
girl on board the Ivernia who became violently seasick the day we
sailed for home. The ship's surgeon was appealed to, but he could
do absolutely nothing for her; she grew worse every hour for three
days, when she seemed to be sinking rapidly. The surgeon called a
consultation with Dr. Stanley and another physician from
Philadelphia; but every remedy which their united learning
prescribed failed, utterly, to afford any relief. The parents were
in despair and a gloom settled over the whole ship, for it was
reported that the little one would not live to land unless the
nausea could be conquered. Then mamma sought the parents, told
them she was a Christian Scientist, and, with their consent, would
try to help the child. The mother was eager to try it, but the
father sneered openly. He had 'no faith in any such mummery,' he
said, yet he finally yielded to his wife's almost frantic appeals
and gave his consent. The dear little thing was relieved almost
immediately, and at the end of two hours, after eating a wholesome
meal, was wrapped in a blanket and carried on deck, weak and white
as a snowflake, it is true, but entirely free from the dreadful
nausea, and smiling happily as she lay in her father's arms and
breathed in the fresh, pure air. The next day she was dressed and
playing about the deck with other children."

"Well, that was a signal triumph over materia medica, wasn't it?
How did the doctors bear it?" queried Miss Reynolds, who had been
deeply interested in the story.

"The ship's surgeon and Dr. Fletcher, of Philadelphia, gave mamma
a very wide berth; but Dr. Stanley appeared to be really
interested and anxious to learn the secret of the sudden cure. He
found it very difficult, however, to accept some of our views, and
it was too funny for anything to hear him, day after day, trying
to corner mamma upon numberless points on which he had spent years
of study," and Katherine laughed out merrily over some of the
memories which her account had recalled.

"That was what he meant, perhaps, when he said 'Mrs. Minturn would
not be teased and could not be defeated in an argument'?"

"Yes; he was very good-natured over it, though, gallantly bearing
his defeat, never manifesting the slightest irritation, and was
always most courteous. He is very cultured, and, having traveled
extensively, we found much to admire and a very delightful
compagnon de voyage in him."

Miss Reynolds shot a keen look at the girl's animated face.

"Yes," she observed to herself, "and if I am not very much
mistaken, our 'cultured gentleman' heartily reciprocates that last
statement." Then she remarked to Katherine: "He is really a noble
fellow and bound to make his mark in the world. It is a great
pity, though, that he should be so handicapped in his career."

"Why, what do you mean?" exclaimed the girl, in astonishment.

"Oh! do you not know that he is partially blind?"

"No, indeed! Why, he has beautiful eyes!" said Katherine,
flushing.

"Yes, dear, I know he has, and there are very few who even suspect
his misfortune, but it is true, nevertheless. When he was a boy of
nine," Miss Reynolds went on to explain, "his father was showing
him, one Fourth of July, how to manage some cannon crackers. By
some fatality, the first and only one fired hit a post, glanced
off and struck the child in the eye. When he recovered somewhat
from the fright and pain caused by the accident, no wound could be
found, although there was some discoloration from the bruise; but
he said he could not see with the injured eye. The best oculists
were consulted, and all agreed in their verdict: 'There was a
partial dislocation of the optic nerve, and his sight would never
again be normal; it might possibly improve with the lapse of time,
but the injury was permanent;' and so it has proved. He can detect
light from darkness with that eye, but that is all."

Katherine made no reply when this account was concluded, but there
came into her face a look which, her teacher was beginning to
observe, always appeared whenever mention was made of sickness or
trouble of any kind; it was a far-away expression, as if her
thoughts had been lifted above and beyond the world and worldly
things.

It was only for a moment, however; she presently awoke to her
surroundings, and calling attention to the view before them thus
changed the subject, which was not referred to again.

Meantime, Dr. Stanley walked briskly towards the seminary, but
with a. very thoughtful face and mien, as if he were pondering
some weighty subject.

"It would be regarded as the height of absurdity," he muttered to
himself. "But I wonder--I really would like to put it to the
test."

Then suddenly straightening himself with a resolute air, he
quickened his pace and was soon inside the school grounds,
reaching the building just in season to assist Mrs. Seabrook and
the nurse in getting Dorothy inside.

"Oh! Uncle Phillip!" joyously exclaimed the girl, as soon as she
espied him, for she dearly loved this gentle man, who was always
as tender as a woman in his treatment of her, and spared no pains
to contribute to her comfort and happiness. "I was afraid you
would not come to-day!"

"I know I am late, Dorrie, but I was detained at the office by a
new patient, and now I have another coming in an hour," he said,
as he bent to touch her forehead with his lips.

"Oh then you can't stay to finish that pretty German story!" cried
the child, in a tone of disappointment.

"Not to-day, dearie; but I will come to-morrow, to let mamma and
papa go to church together, and we will have a fine time by
ourselves."

Patient Dorothy expressed herself as perfectly satisfied with this
arrangement, and was soon laughing merrily over some amusing
incidents, of which this good comrade of hers appeared to have an
exhaustless store.

These visits from her "jolly M.D. uncle," as she sometimes called
him, were like oases in a desert to the suffering child, for he
invariably made her forget herself, and always left her bright and
happy with something pleasant to think about and talk over with
her mother or nurse.

He rolled her to her room, where, after a few minutes' chat, he
made a brief examination of her condition, with some slight change
in her medicines, then left her and sought Prof. Seabrook in his
study, for it was his custom to report to him after each visit.

"Well?" he questioned, eagerly, as the physician entered the room,
for the child was "the apple of his eye," and he watched her every
symptom most jealously.

"I think Dorrie is holding her own pretty well."

"Oh! Phillip, that is the same old story that Dr. Abbot used to
tell me before you came home and took the case," Prof. Seabrook
exclaimed, in a disheartened tone.

"I know, Will; it must grow monotonous to you," said his brother-
in-law, as he laid a sympathetic hand on his companion's arm.
"But, truly, there is nothing else to tell you; you instructed me
to give you 'facts with no evasions,' and honor compels me to obey
you."

"True; and I know you will bring all your skill, all your
experience to bear upon the case," said the yearning father, with
a note of pathetic appeal in his voice that touched his listener
deeply.

"Most assuredly," earnestly returned the physician; but an
involuntary, though quickly repressed, sigh escaped him as he said
it.

Prof. Seabrook's keen ear detected it and a spasm of fear clutched
his heart. But he would not voice it; he shrank from having it
corroborated.

"There is one thing more which could be done, which might,
perhaps, result in giving Dorrie relief from the troublesome
pain," said Dr. Stanley, after a moment of thought, adding: "I
have been waiting for her to get stronger before suggesting it."

"What is it?" briefly inquired his companion.

The young man explained the operation, and the father shivered
involuntarily.

"That means great suffering--at least for a time," he said, with
dry lips.

"Yes," and Phillip Stanley's eyes grew very pitiful as they met
the almost hopeless ones opposite him.

"I cannot bear it!" cried his brother-in-law, passionately.

There followed a somber silence of several minutes, during which
each heart struggled in secret rebellion under the galling burden
imposed upon it.

"There is an alternative which we might try before attempting such
radical treatment," Dr. Stanley at length remarked, with some
hesitation. "It--at least it could do no harm, if--if you are
willing to try."

"Anything--anything that will spare my child to me and save her
suffering," burst impetuously from William Seabrook's lips.

"You have heard of--Christian Science?"

"What!" demanded the astonished principal of Hilton Seminary,
sitting suddenly erect and bending a look of scorn upon his
companion. "You suggest such an absurd alternative as that to me,
and for such a case as this!"

"I know it sounds absurd; but, as I said before, it could at least
do no harm."

"The suggestion is ridiculous; I have no patience with it," was
the sharp retort.

"Well, it may seem ridiculous to you, but if it can cure one
disease I do not know why it could not others," the physician
mildly rejoined; and then he proceeded to relate the story which
Katherine had told her teacher that same hour, but without
mentioning any names.

"Nonsense! It was simply hypnotism, mesmerism," said the elder man
when he concluded.

"No, it did not work at all like hypnotism," was the positive
reply. "However, if you are opposed to trying it, there is nothing
more to be said."

"I am opposed to it, most decidedly," said the professor, almost
harshly, and his brother wondered at his unusual mood. "I believe
the whole thing--root, branch and practice--to be an invention of
Satan himself, and I would not give it countenance under any
circumstances."

"Not even to save your nearest and dearest?" queried Phillip
Stanley, and wholly unable to account for the excitement and
irritability of his usually dignified and high-bred relative.

The professor deigned no reply, but the obstinate frown upon his
brow and the stern compression of his lips were sufficient warning
that it would be useless to pursue the subject.

"Well, it was only a suggestion, Will," the younger man said, in a
friendly tone. "Of course, I have no real faith in the efficacy of
the method myself; only, as I shrink from the operation on a
delicate girl like Dorrie, it occurred to me that we might at
least give Christian Science a trial. But I must be off to meet
another appointment. I will be up again to-morrow morning to stay
with Dorothy while you and Emilie go to church."

He held out his hand, which his brother-in-law grasped and wrung.

"You are a faithful friend, Phil. Don't think for a moment that I
do not appreciate you; but I believe I've been out of sorts for
several days," said the professor, with a deprecatory smile.

"It's all right, old boy; good-by," was the cheery response, as
the young man went out, softly closing the door after him, but
with a weary look in his eyes which the other did not see.




CHAPTER V.

KATHERINE'S FIRST SABBATH AT HILTON.


Katherine's first Sabbath at Hilton Seminary dawned a perfect
winter morning, and, starting forth in good season, she sought the
little hall on Grove Street, where the few Scientists of the city
met each week to enjoy the service which has become so dear to the
heart of every student of God's word, as spiritually interpreted
according to Christian Science.

She had carefully studied the lesson during the week, and was
therefore prepared to enjoy to the utmost each section as its
point was clearly brought out by the readers, to teach and bless;
and so, when she again turned her steps homeward, she felt calmed,
refreshed and strengthened for the duties that lay before her.

As she was about to enter the building she encountered Prof. and
Mrs. Seabrook, who also had just returned from church.

The former glanced askance at her books, lifted his hat to her
with frigid politeness, and passed on to his study.

Mrs. Seabrook, however, paused and greeted her most cordially,
whereupon Katherine inquired for Dorothy.

"She was not quite as well this morning," replied the mother, an
expression of care and weariness flitting over her sweet face. "My
brother, Dr. Stanley, has been with her while we were at church,
and I hope to find her better, for he always does her good.
Dorothy was greatly attracted to you yesterday, Miss Minturn," she
added, smiling, "and I hope you will find time to drop in to see
her now and then."

"Indeed I will; it will be a pleasure to me, for I love children,"
Katherine replied, cordially, and much gratified to have
yesterday's invitation repeated, while there was a feeling of deep
tenderness in her heart for the long-suffering woman as she passed
on to her room.

After dinner she looked over the Bible lesson for the afternoon.
She was dreading this ordeal somewhat, for she well knew how
widely different is the old theological exposition of the first
chapter of Genesis from its spiritual interpretation, as she had
been taught it according to Christian Science, But she tried to
feel that, if she was called upon to express an opinion, she would
be led to speak wisely and yet be obedient to Prof. Seabrook's
command not to "flaunt her views before the school."

She hoped that he would ignore her altogether, and thus avoid an
awkward situation for them both.

When the class convened she was surprised to find Dorothy seated
in her chair beside her father, and learned afterward that the
girl was often present during the lessons, always giving the
closest attention to what was said, even asking questions
occasionally that puzzled wiser heads than hers.

As was his custom, Prof. Seabrook opened the exercises with
prayer, followed by a familiar hymn. Then he gave a short talk
upon the first chapter of Genesis, as a whole, preliminary to a
more general discussion of it.

He showed himself to have been a critical student of the Bible,
and his remarks were extremely interesting along the line of his
own views. His rhetoric was flawless, his figures apt and
beautiful, his points well made, and he held the undivided
attention of everyone to the end.

"I have given you this talk upon creation as a whole," he
remarked, in conclusion, "because the subject is too intricate and
vast to be discussed in detail--that would require much study and
many sittings--and we will spend the remainder of the hour upon
two questions: What is God? What is man and his relation to God?
Miss Walton, will you tell us what God is, from your point of
view?"

Miss Walton instantly became confused. She had no clear ideas
about God, and after nervously turning the leaves of her Bible for
a moment and blushing furiously, finally said so. The principal
called upon several others, with a similar result. Everyone loved
to listen to him, for his graceful diction was like music in their
ears, but when called upon to express their own opinions they were
all, with a few exceptions, literally tongue-tied. Two or three of
the more thoughtful ones made an attempt to define Deity, but
their definitions, for the most part, were the hackneyed ones of
old theology.

The professor began to look rather weary, especially as he
detected, here and there, a yawn behind an uplifted book. All at
once a peculiar gleam leaped into his eyes.

"Miss Minturn, what is your conception of God?" he inquired,
turning abruptly to her.

The question came almost as an electric shock to Katherine and
brought the quick color to her cheeks.

But she quelled this sense of disquiet instantly.

"God is Spirit," she quietly replied.

"You mean that God is a spirit," quickly corrected the professor.
"That definition has already been given several times; but I am
trying to ascertain your own conception of Deity. Why did you omit
the article?"

Katherine lifted her earnest brown eyes to him, and in them he
read an expression of mingled surprise and appeal, and he knew, as
well as if she had voiced her thought, that she remembered he had
forbidden her to express her peculiar views and wished to obey him
to the letter.

But having put the question, he intended to have an answer of some
kind, while he also experienced some curiosity as to whether she
could give a comprehensive explanation of the term she had used.

"If you purposely omitted the article," he resumed, as she was not
quick to reply, "you must have had a reason for so doing; and,"--
with a more courteous inflection--"as there is supposed to be
perfect freedom in the class, both in asking questions and
expressing opinions, we would like you to explain your position."

"The term 'a spirit' implies one of a kind, or, one of many, does
it not? But I understand God to be Infinite Spirit," Katherine
replied, with quiet self-possession.

"Well, what do you mean by 'infinite spirit?' Define 'spirit,' if
you please."

Katherine was amazed that he should thus pursue the subject. She
wondered if he could be utterly ignorant of the scientific
definition of God. She had supposed that he must have read
something on the subject of Christian Science, or he would not
have been so bitterly opposed to it, or, was he only trying to
drive her into a corner?

However, she saw there was no escape but to follow his lead. He
had now given her license to speak, and she felt that she had no
right to neglect her opportunity.

"Spirit is Mind, Intelligence, Life," she said, using some of the
terms she had employed in talking with Miss Reynolds the previous
day, and which she thought would be readily understood by the
class.

"Why, Prof. Seabrook," here interposed one of the seniors, her
face aglow, her eyes alight, "I like that definition of God. I
never heard it before, but it appeals to me."

The gentleman flushed slightly and acknowledged the observation
with a grave bow, then inquired of Katherine: "And are you
satisfied with that concept of God, Miss Minturn?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't you think it rather a vague, visionary idea of the
Almighty?" queried the gentleman, with a scornful dilation of his
thin nostrils. "Do you associate no thought of individuality or
personality with Him?"

"Do you mean as human beings are personal and individual?"
Katherine respectfully inquired.

"Well, I must at least have something more tangible than an
unknown quantity for my God," he replied, evasively, as he
hurriedly began to turn the leaves of his Bible in search of a
text. "He is spoken of as a king, ruler, judge, and so forth, and
those terms certainly convey the idea of personality."

"But can you limit or outline Deity, sir? Would not that destroy
the omnipresence of God?"

Again the man changed color a trifle, while, as he continued to
search the pages of his Bible, he became conscious of a sudden
inward shock.

The question had started a new train of thought. Certainly,
infinity, omnipresence, could neither be limited nor outlined;
those were self-evident facts.

There was no yawning in the class now. The attention of everyone
was riveted upon the speakers, while Dorothy leaned forward in her
chair, her earnest eyes glancing from one face to the other, her
eager ears drinking in their every word.

"But what do you say to this passage from Hebrews, Miss Minturn,
where Paul, speaking of Christ, calls Him the express image of
His--God's--person?" [Footnote: Hebrews, 1-3.] demanded the
professor--having found the text he was looking for--with a note
of triumph in his tone which indicated that he had now propounded
an unanswerable argument.

"I have been told that the Greek word, which has been translated
'person' in the text you have read, really means character, and it
is so rendered in my Bible, which is the revised version,"
Katherine replied, as she opened her book and found the passage.

Now Prof. Seabrook, although he prided himself upon being strictly
up to date in everything pertaining to his profession, had
neglected to provide himself with the revised version of the New
Testament. However, now that his attention was called to the fact,
he remembered having heard this text and its change discussed
among brother professors, but it had for the moment escaped his
memory.

Yet he was equal to the occasion, and no one would have suspected
from his manner that he was deeply chagrined to find this young
girl so well versed in the Scriptures and able to so logically
sustain her position upon every point.

"Ah!" he observed, after a moment of thought, and in his blandest
tone, "I have a Greek Testament in my study and will look up the
word later. I find we cannot take up the other question to-day, as
our time has expired, and"--closing his books--"we will leave it
for another lesson. The class is dismissed."

He arose as he concluded, and the young ladies filed quietly out
of the room; but, once beyond hearing, they gathered in groups to
talk over the interesting discussion that had been so suddenly cut
short.

Katherine paused beside Dorothy's chair on her way out, and made
some pleasant reference to their meeting of the previous day, and
then would have passed on, but the girl threw out her hand and
caught hers, thus detaining her.

"You must have studied the Bible a great deal, Miss Minturn, to
get such lovely thoughts about God," she said, in an eager tone.

Katherine flushed, for she knew Prof. Seabrook was listening, and
felt that she had already said enough regarding her views.

"Yes, I am very fond of studying the Bible," she simply returned.

"Papa," continued Dorothy, turning to him, "how could you say that
Miss Minturn's idea of God is vague and visionary?"

"It certainly seems so to me, dear," her father briefly returned.

"Well, it doesn't to me," was the positive rejoinder; "not half
so--so queer as to think of Him as a man, or three men all mixed
up together in one, and able to be everywhere at once," and there
was a look of thoughtfulness in the girl's large, blue eyes which
betrayed a mind on the alert.

"I think we will not talk any more about that now," said her
father. "You must be tired from sitting here so long, and ought to
rest."

"You know I never get tired in the Sunday class, papa," cried
Dorothy, and still clinging to Katherine, who had tried to release
her hand, for she was anxious to escape further argument. "And,"
she added, "I want to ask Miss Minturn another question."

"I think I will have to run away, dear," Katherine interposed,
"for it is almost tea time, you know."

"Please--please! haven't you time to tell me just one thing more?"

"Yes, I have time for that, but--" and she lifted a doubtful look
to her principal.

"Papa, may I ask her?" pleaded the girl, intuitively realizing
that her new friend feared his disapproval.

The man never refused his child anything in reason, and he could
not now, although he felt secretly antagonistic, and his look was
almost stern as he responded:

"Very well, dear, if Miss Minturn will kindly have patience with
you."

"Well, then," and Dorothy eagerly turned again to Katherine, "if
God is Mind, Intelligence and Life, as you said, how can man be
His image and likeness?"

For a moment Katherine was dismayed, in view of the depths
involved in this query, and at a loss how to reply in a way to
clearly convey the truth to this inquiring mind, while a slightly
ironical smile curved the lips of the learned professor, as he
said to himself:

"This is a poser for the young woman."

"You do not think the account of the creation of man as God's
image and likeness refers to this imperfect mortal or physical
body, do you, Dorothy?" she inquired, after a moment of thought.

"Why, yes; I've always supposed it did. I've thought that perhaps
God made him perfect in the first place and then, somehow, He let
him get all wrong. I can't see how or why, though I've heard
ministers and other people say 'it was for some wise purpose.'
It's a great muddle, I think," Dorothy concluded, with a sigh.

"No, God never let any of His children 'get wrong.' He could not,
for 'all His ways are perfect,' you know. The man of God's
creating is the spiritual image and likeness of Himself,"
Katherine explained.

"Oh-o! I begin to see. Why, papa, don't you see? That must be what
that verse means--the express image of His person--His character!"
and Dorothy turned to her father, her face all aglow as she
grasped this new thought.

"No, don't go just yet," she pleaded, as Katherine made another
effort to release her hand. "Tell me this, please: if everybody
became good, perfect in character, would their bodies grow
perfect, too? would sick people get strong and well and happy?"

"I believe God's Word teaches us so," said Katherine, softly, and
wondering why Prof. Seabrook did not put a stop to a conversation
which he must know was trespassing upon forbidden ground.

"How could they? I wish I knew how," said the child, plaintively.

"You know Paul tells us, 'Be ye transformed by the renewing of
your mind,' and to 'put off the mortal and put on the immortal.'"

"'Put off the mortal,'" repeated the girl, with a look of
perplexity, "but how?"

"It is a growth, dear; it is to put out of mind, one by one, every
wrong thought, and think only good thoughts--God's thoughts--and
in this way one grows good, pure and perfect. Let us take a simple
illustration," Katherine continued, as she saw how eagerly the
child was drinking in her words. "You have seen a lily bulb?"

Dorothy nodded.

"It is not at all pretty, and one would throw it away as of no
account, if he did not know of the precious little germ and its
possibilities hidden away inside. We know how, when the warm
sunlight shines upon the spot where it has been put away in the
earth, when the dews and soft rains fall upon it, something begins
to happen down there in the dark; the ugly bulb begins to change,
to soften and melt away; one by one the brown husks drop off and
disappear as the tiny germ within, awakening to a new sense of
life, starts upward to find more light and freedom and a purer
atmosphere. Then two small leaves of living green--harbingers of
better things--begin to unfold; after that a sturdy stalk, with a
bud of promise, appears, and all the time reaching up, up towards
the brightness beyond and above, until at last the pure, perfect
and fragrant lily bursts into bloom."

"That was very prettily told, Miss Minturn; but your figure is
incomplete, for, after all, you have only a material flower--it is
far from being spiritual or immortal," Prof. Seabrook here
interposed.

"Ah!" said Katherine, lifting a pair of sweetly serious eyes to
him, "it is only a simple illustration--a little parable pointing
to spiritual development and perfection, and the pure and flawless
lily is but the type of that which mortal 'eye hath not seen.' The
homely bulb corresponds to the mortal man, wrapped up in the
density and husks of materiality; the tiny 'germ is the symbol of
that ray or spark of immortality that is in every human
consciousness and which, governed by the perfect law of Life,
'whose eternal mandate is growth,' [Footnote: "Science and
Health," page 520.] and nourished by the sunlight of divine Love,
puts off, one by one, the husks, or the mortal man's wrong ways of
thinking and living, and, ever reaching Godward, puts on or
unfolds first the tiny leaves of living green, then the stalk and
bud, and, last, the white flower of purity, which is the image and
likeness of God; and this image and likeness is immortal."

"Oh, what a lovely--lovely story!" breathed Dorothy, with luminous
eyes. "Then, if one never had any but good thoughts, perfect
thoughts, one would grow to be perfect and spiritual."

"That is what I think the Bible teaches."

"I think it is beautiful. I never heard anybody talk like this
before!" cried the child, with a joyful ring in her tones. "And
now tell me how--"

Katherine laughed out musically, and, stooping, kissed the small
hand that she was still holding.

"You dear child! do you know how long we have been talking?" she
said. "I think we must stop right here, and--I hope Prof. Seabrook
does not think I have said too much," she concluded, glancing at
the man who stood like a statue, with an inscrutable look on his
high-bred face.

He made no reply, and the situation might have become awkward if
Dorothy had not exclaimed:

"No, indeed; you haven't said half enough; and will you tell me
some more things that you believe, another time?"

"If--your father gives me permission," Katherine replied, with
heightened color. "Now I must go, for I am sure the bell will ring
in a few minutes."

"Will you--may I kiss you before you go?" begged the girl, who was
used to much petting from everyone, and lifting her pale face to
the bright one looking down upon her and which seemed to radiate
love.

"Yes, indeed," said Katherine, and heartily returned the caress.

"Now, good-by," she added, and, with a respectful bow to her
principal, left the room, whispering to herself as she tried to
put out of thought the misshapen little figure in the chair:

"God never made one of His children imperfect. He made man
upright, and there is no power apart from God."




CHAPTER VI.

MATERIA MEDICA AND MIRACLES.


The days and weeks sped swiftly by, Katherine gradually becoming
mentally acclimated, so to speak, amid an adverse environment. She
did not make many acquaintances, for most of the students still
held aloof from her; but she was content, even happy, for, with a
stanch friend in Miss Reynolds, whom she found most congenial, and
with whom she spent much of her leisure time, she did not miss
other companionship so much.

Sadie, her roommate, was an affectionate and kind-hearted girl;
but being of an indolent, ease-loving temperament, she was often a
trial to Katherine, who loved order and system and believed it to
be the duty of everyone to maintain them.

The girl had often attempted to lean upon her in the preparation
of some of her lessons, now and then asking to see her problems in
mathematics and her translations in German and Latin. But this was
something that Katherine would not lend herself to, except in so
far as, occasionally, to remind her of some forgotten point in a
rule that would suggest a way to work out the knotty problem, or
to give her a cue as to case or tense, that would assist in the
translation.

While she shrank from wronging her, even in thought, there were
times when she felt sure that she had taken advantage of her
absence from the room to look over her papers and copy from them.

"I cannot let you see my work," she said one day, when, after
repeated but unheeded hints, Sadie had asked her outright to allow
her to look at her problems, saying that she had not had time to
do them for herself. "It would not be honest," she continued,
determined to settle the matter once for all; "it would simply be
showing Miss Reynolds my work and claiming it as your own."

"Now I call that downright mean and disobliging," Sadie returned,
with an injured air, but flushing uncomfortably and forgetting for
the moment the many other acts of kindness Katherine had shown
her. "Of course, I don't expect you to do it every day, but just
this once, so that I can make a good showing in the class, could
do no harm; and, honey, I'll promise to spend all my recreation
time, this afternoon, going over the work for myself."

"But that would be like using a key, which is forbidden, you know.
No, Sadie, I can't do it," Katherine reiterated, firmly but
kindly. "It may seem 'disobliging' to you, but you know that is
not my motive. I feel that I should be doing you a personal wrong,
besides deceiving others, to allow you to lean on me in any such
way. You have just as much time to prepare your lessons as I have;
you are naturally quick and bright, and, if you would spend fewer
hours in shopping and visiting, there is no reason why you cannot
make as good a record for yourself as anyone else. One must do
one's own work, or be robbed of mental capacity and strength if
one depends upon another."

"Oh, shucks!" retorted Sadie, with an impatient shrug and a very
red face, as she employed the Southern localism, "don't preach to
me. I reckon my 'mental capacity' will hold out long enough to
pull me through Hilton." And with this sharp and angry thrust she
flounced out of the room, banging the door after her.

This was the first time there had been an open rupture between
them, although on two or three occasions, when Katherine had
quietly resisted being imposed upon beyond a certain limit, the
girl had manifested something of her hot Southern temper. She had
always gotten over it very quickly, however, and harmony had been
restored.

Katherine regretted this "rift in the lute," but she knew that she
was doing right, and, after a few minutes spent in silently
declaring that "error is not power and is always overcome with
good," she serenely resumed her study.

For several days the relations between the roommates were somewhat
strained, although Katherine bravely strove to ignore the fact and
conduct herself as usual; but Sadie spent very little time in her
room, except during study hours, when no conversation was allowed,
and manifested in other ways that she had neither forgotten nor
forgiven.

Meantime Dorothy had been ailing more than usual, and, at Dr.
Stanley's suggestion, a consultation of physicians was called,
when the young man proposed and explained an operation which he
had seen performed abroad, and which he had previously mentioned
to his brother-in-law.

The matter was discussed at length, and Dorothy was subjected to a
careful examination, and, though all shrank from such a trying
ordeal for the delicate girl, the five learned M.D.s agreed that
it was the one thing, humanly speaking, left to try. That was all
that could be said about it--it might, or might not, prove a
success.

It was a heart-burdened trio, composed of the father, mother and
Dr. Stanley, that assembled in Prof. Seabrook's study, after the
departure of the other physicians, to talk over the weighty
matter.

"Well, Emelie, what have you to say about it?" the elder man
inquired of his wife, in a voice that was husky from suppressed
feeling.

"Oh, Will, pray do not put the responsibility of a decision upon
me!" Mrs. Seabrook returned, with quivering lips.

"What does your heart dictate, dear?" her husband pursued, in a
tender tone.

"Oh, my heart rebels against any further suffering," she said,
with a convulsive sob.

Tears started to the eyes of both men at this pathetic wail from
the mother, and which found its echo in each heart.

"Suppose," said Dr. Stanley, after a moment of painful silence,
"we let Dorothy decide for herself. She is thoughtful beyond her
years, and I think she should have a voice in the matter. Let the
case be frankly stated to her, and we will abide by her decision.
To be plain with you, I could not bring myself to perform this
operation without her consent."

This proposal met with the approval of Prof. and Mrs. Seabrook,
and both appeared relieved when the young man said he would take
it upon himself to broach the subject to the girl.

This he did with great tact and tenderness, and, after a grave and
quiet talk with her uncle, in whom she placed unbounded
confidence, Dorothy said she was ready for anything that he
regarded as necessary, for she knew that he had only her welfare
at heart.

But Dr. Stanley said there must be a time of "building-up" to get
adequate strength, meantime she must try to be as happy as
possible and think only pleasant thoughts.

"I will try, Uncle Phillip," said the girl, with a trustful look
in her eyes, "but"--a wistful expression sweeping over her thin
face--"don't you think it is strange there is no such way of
healing, nowadays, as when Jesus was here?"

"Yes, Dorrie, I do. I have often asked myself that same question,"
replied her companion, gravely.

"How lovely it would be if there was some one living now who could
say to me, 'Take up thy bed and walk,' and I could do it," she
continued, with a note of yearning in her voice that smote sharply
on her listener's heart. "Don't you believe that when Jesus went
away He meant to have people keep on healing, and teaching others
how to heal, just as He had done?"

"Perhaps He did, pet; but you know everybody thinks that those
were 'days of miracles,' which were simply intended to establish
the divinity of the Savior and His authority to teach the new
gospel."

"Yes, I know everybody says that whenever I ask anything about
it," Dorothy returned, with an involuntary shrug of impatience,
"but, somehow, it doesn't seem fair to me that all sick people
cannot be healed in the same way. Jesus' way was certainly the
best way to cure people--so much better than making them take
horrid medicines and--and cutting them up with knives," and a
shiver ran over her slight form as she concluded.

"Let us talk of something else, Dorrie. I do not like to have you
dwell upon that subject," said her uncle, with a spasmodic
contraction of his lips.

"Well, I will try not to," she said, with a faint sigh. "But
truly, Uncle Phil, I can't help thinking that it was never
intended that Jesus' way should be stopped any more than the 'new
gospel,' as you call it, was meant to be forgotten, or lost, after
His resurrection. I think that the healing was a part of the 'new
gospel.'"

"Well, Miss Thoughtful, that is certainly a good argument,"
returned her companion, smiling into the earnest, uplifted eyes.
"But who has been talking to you to set you to reasoning so deeply
on the subject?"

He was wondering if Katherine Minturn might not have dropped a
seed of her doctrine into the receptive mind of his niece.

"Nobody--I just thought it out for myself. You see I can't do much
but think, and I often get very puzzled about God and the queer
things He lets happen. You know it says in the Bible that He is
'too pure to behold Iniquity,' or evil--and 'does not regard it
with any degree of allowance'; and yet there seems to be more sin,
sickness and dreadful accidents than anything else in the world."

"It is a mystery, I confess; but what makes you think that Jesus
intended that His way of healing should be continued after His
ascension?" inquired her uncle, who was deeply interested in the
child's reasoning.

"Why, you see, just before He went away He had a talk with His
disciples and gave them some last commands. He told them to go
everywhere and preach to everybody--to 'heal the sick, raise the
dead, and cast out sin or devils.' Now, Uncle Phil, that command
is all one--the first part of it says 'heal the sick, raise the
dead,' then comes the rest of it--'cast out sin;' and I don't see
what right people have to pick it to pieces and say He didn't mean
them to obey any but the last part of it."

"I see," nodded the young man, as she paused to impress her
thought upon him.

"Well, then He told them that everybody who believed what He
preached would be able to do the same things. Don't you remember
He said--'Teach them to observe'--and observe means to practice--
'all things whatsoever I have commanded you.' Those were His very
words. Now don't you think that meant to heal in His way instead
of using drugs and all sorts of queer things that the Bible
doesn't say anything about?" and Dorothy bent an eager, inquiring
look upon her uncle.

"Where do you find all that?" questioned Phillip Stanley, and thus
evading a direct reply.

But what she had said had set him thinking of arguments along the
same line which Mrs. Minturn had used, during some of their
discussions on board the Ivernia.

Dorothy shot a roguish glance up at him.

"I guess you don't know your Bible very well, do you, Uncle
Phillip?" she said, laughing. "But when you go home please read
the last six verses of the last chapter of Mark, and then the last
two verses of the last chapter of Matthew, and see for yourself if
what Jesus said about healing the sick isn't just as strong as
what He said about preaching to sinners."

"All right, I will; but, by Jove, Dorrie! what a profound little
theologian you are getting to be!" laughingly returned the man as,
with a caressing hand, he smoothed back the golden hair from her
forehead. "What makes you bother your brain with such perplexing
questions?"

"I suppose one reason is because I've been sick so long and nobody
does me any real good. Oh! I shouldn't have said that to you, when
you try so hard," Dorrie interposed, flushing. "But I like to talk
about such things, and you are very good to talk with me. Papa
used to; but, lately, he doesn't seem to like to. You ought to
hear Miss Minturn, though."

"Miss Minturn!" repeated Phillip Stanley, with an inward start.

"Yes. I don't believe you know who she is. She is a new student,
and she is just lovely," said Dorothy, with animation.

"Does she talk with you about these things?" inquired Dr. Stanley,
and recalling what Katherine had told him regarding having been
forbidden to advance her peculiar views while she was a student at
Hilton.

"I never heard her say anything about what we have been talking of
to-day," Dorothy replied. "I'm going to ask her, though, what she
thinks, sometime. But papa asked her some questions once in the
Sunday class, and her ideas about God and the way people ought to
live are beautiful. She has been to see me several times, and she
always brings me a lovely flower of some kind--a rose or lily, and
once the sweetest orchid; only one at a time, but always such a
beauty. I love to look at it when she is gone, and it almost seems
as if she had left part of herself behind."

"That is just like her dainty ladyship," Phillip Stanley observed
to himself, and Dorrie continued:

"Sometimes others have been here when she has come, and other
times I've felt too weak to talk; but--it is very strange!--I
never have that tired feeling in my back when she is here, and she
is always so bright and cheery I forget the pain and feel so happy
and--and rested. Oh! must you go. Uncle Phillip?" she concluded,
regretfully, as he arose and took up his hat.

"Yes, dear, I've made you a long call, and now I really must get
back to the office," he said, as he bent his lips to hers for his
accustomed farewell.

The girl twined her arms around his neck.

"You are very good to me, Uncle Phillip, and I love you," she
murmured, softly, "and when you go away I always count the hours
'til you come again."

"Well! well! I begin to think I am a person of considerable
importance," he rejoined, in a playful tone.

"You 'begin to think,'" she retorted, roguishly; "haven't you ever
thought it before? I'm not quite sure that you are as modest as
you pretend to be. But, Uncle Phil--"

"Yes?"

"Will you look up those verses and tell me what you think, the
next time you come?"

"I promise you I will, Dorrie; and now au revoir!"

He touched the bell to call the nurse, then waved her a last good-
by and quietly left the room.

Phillip Stanley did not, indeed, "know his Bible very well," and
had spent very little time conning its pages since starting out in
life for himself. Like many another who has been rigidly reared
under the vague doctrines of "old theology," he had, at an early
age, become both restive and skeptical. This state of mind had
grown more pronounced as he had advanced in his profession and
been brought in such close touch with suffering and dying
humanity. Thus he had long since ceased to attend church, and,
having found no comfort in the Scriptures--which seemed to him to
portray a stern dictator and relentless judge rather than a
merciful and loving Father--he had resolved to live his life as
nearly in accord with his own highest conception of honor and
rectitude as possible, become an ornament to and an authority in
his profession, do what good he could along, the way, and not
puzzle his brain trying to solve the perplexing problems of this
life and of an unknowable future.

But to-day, on his way back to the city, he found himself thinking
more seriously of these things than for many years, and, upon
reaching his office and finding no one awaiting him, his first act
was to take from an upper shelf his long neglected Bible and read
the passages which Dorothy had named to him.

They appealed to him as never before. Every word bristled with a
new meaning, and, becoming deeply interested after reading the
last two verses of Matthew, he began the book of Mark and did not
leave it until he reached the end.

"H-m! I begin to see what Mrs. Minturn founded some of her
arguments upon," he said, as the striking of the clock warned him
of his dinner hour. "Well, I wonder, were those cases 'miracles'--
just supernatural wonders, performed merely to prove Jesus'
authority to preach a new gospel? or were they 'governed by a
demonstrable Principle,' as she affirms, brought to earth for
suffering humanity to learn and practice, and so be redeemed from
its sin-cursed bondage?

"There certainly ought to have been a panacea provided for all
disease," he resumed, after a moment of deep thought. "But there
is none to-day--at least materia medica has never found one, and
that is a mortifying fact to be obliged to admit after over four
thousand years of investigation and experiment. Poor Dorrie! I'd
really like to make a test of her case!"

He put down his book with a sigh and then went out to his evening
meal, a troubled expression on his handsome face.




CHAPTER VII.

KATHERINE AND THE JUNIOR LEAGUE.


Soon after entering Hilton Seminary, Katherine was invited, as was
customary, to become a member of the "Junior League," a secret
club or society organized and sustained by the junior class. Its
object was twofold. First: improvement, to keep themselves
informed of and in touch with current events and literature; and,
second: sociability.

But it was hinted, now and then, by some of the more serious-
minded members, that "a rollicking good time" had more attractions
for the majority of its constituents than anything else.

Their meetings were held once a fortnight, when some member was
expected to read a paper on a subject previously selected by a
committee appointed for that purpose, after which a short time was
spent in a general discussion of the theme, then the remainder of
the evening was given over to social enjoyment; or, occasionally,
to "a spread," which is so dear to every boarding school girl's
heart.

Twice during the year the league formally entertained the faculty
and the "Senior League," a similar organization, which as often
returned these courtesies.

Katherine accepted the invitation with thanks, and at once threw
herself heartily into the methods employed to entertain the club,
particularly into the literary work, always carefully preparing
herself upon the subject to be discussed. But she soon found that
the main object of the organization was being perverted, the
topics being superficially written up and argued, except by a very
few. Less and less attention was being devoted to improvement and
more to a good time, together with much school gossip, until the
meetings were fast becoming a farce.

She deeply regretted this, and talked it over with some others as
earnest as herself, but without achieving any satisfactory
results. Upon one or two occasions she gave a thoughtfully
prepared synopsis of the subject, but these efforts were received
with shrugs, nudges and significant smiles and glances; and, while
no one was openly discourteous to her, it was evident that, with a
few exceptions, she was still regarded as a person to be shunned
even by her own club.

One evening, on making her appearance, she observed that there was
an unusual flutter among the wilder members of the league, and
that she at once became the object of their curious regard.

The exercises progressed as usual until the discussion was over,
when, as was the custom, the president called upon the chairman of
the literary committee to announce the topic and the name of the
member to treat it for the next meeting.

The chairman arose and said, while an ominous silence fell upon
the room:

"Miss Minturn has been appointed to give us a paper for our next
gathering, and the subject chosen is, 'Christian Science and Its
Transcendental Tendency.'"

An audible titter ran around the room as this announcement was
made, and every eye was fastened upon Katherine, who instantly
suspected the situation had been planned for the sole purpose of
making her uncomfortably conspicuous and bringing her beloved
Science before the club simply to be ridiculed.

She was naturally quick-tempered, though years of discipline had
taught her how to hold herself well in hand upon most occasions.
But now, for the moment, her whole soul arose in arms and was
ready to flash. forth in fiery indignation.

She flushed crimson and a dangerous gleam leaped into her usually
gentle eyes, while she trembled from head to foot.

"See! it has hit her in a tender spot!" whispered Ollie Grant to
Sadie Minot. "Look out, now, for a tempest from Miss Propriety!
Won't it be fun?"

But the unaccustomed emotion passed almost as quickly as it had
come. It was like the flash of summer heat that is followed by no
thunder. Her momentary resentment was bravely quelled, and, after
a brief denial of error, she arose to her feet, the flush still
hot on her cheeks, but a sunny smile parting her red lips and
chasing the temper from her eyes.

"Lady President and comrades," she began, bowing first to the
presiding officer, then to her companions, and there was not the
slightest evidence of anger in her sweetly modulated tones, "there
is nothing that I love more than Christian Science, and if I
thought you also were really interested in it, and I could,
consistently, give you some information regarding it, it would
give me great pleasure to do so. But you are not interested in it-
-you do not believe in it; many of you think it absurdly
transcendental, as your topic indicates. Thus you have nothing but
ridicule for it. So you can understand that what is very sacred to
me I could not discuss in such an antagonistic atmosphere.
Besides--"

"Oh, but we really do want to learn something about it," here
interposed Ollie Grant, as she gave Sadie a nudge with her elbow,
"and--and"--with mock demureness--"if we have wrong ideas about
it, why, you can perhaps set us right."

"I am sure it would be very interesting," Clara Follet observed,
with a sly wink at her nearest neighbor; "it is so--mysterious
and--creepy; like spiritualism, you know."

Katherine had seen both nudge and wink; but neither now had power
to move her to any feeling save that of compassion for the
thoughtless offenders.

"You are entirely mistaken, Miss Follet," she gently returned.
"Christian Science and spiritualism are as far removed from each
other as the Poles. But I repeat, I cannot give you a paper on the
subject you have assigned me."

"Do I understand, Miss Minturn, that you absolutely refuse to
respond to the appointment?" gravely inquired the president, while
whispered comments and an excited rustle were heard from various
parts of the room.

"Miss Walton, I must," said Katherine, firmly.

"Do you know the penalty of such a refusal?" the presiding officer
queried, while Katherine started and colored crimson as she
continued: "Any member of the league refusing to comply with an
appointment made by its committee is subject to expulsion."

"Provided there is no good reason for such a refusal, I believe
the by-law reads," here interposed a young lady who was beginning
to feel sorry for Katherine, for she knew that she was simply
being "made game of" by those who held her religious belief in
derision.

"Yes, certainly. If you can give a good and sufficient reason for
the stand you have taken, Miss Minturn, you will, of course, be
excused," the president supplemented, realizing there was
something in the atmosphere which she did not understand, as she
had no knowledge of the plot that had been concocted by the
mischief-loving element of the league.

"I think I have already given a good reason," Katherine observed,
with quiet dignity; "Christian Science is my religion, and I have
been asked to treat it as transcendentalism, and--I am inclined to
think--in a perverted sense of that term. Can I be expected to
hold my religion up for ridicule? I do not refuse the appointment
to write a paper; it is the subject that I decline."

"I claim that Miss Minturn's reason is 'good and sufficient,' and
I move that she be excused," said Miss Clark, the young lady who
had previously spoken in Katherine's behalf.

The excitement was increasing, and the president was obliged to
rap vigorously for order before she could make herself heard.

"Does anyone second Miss Clark's motion?" she inquired.

It was somewhat timidly seconded by a weak voice from one corner
of the room; but when put to vote the hands were three to one
against it.

Could it be possible, Katherine asked herself in sudden dismay,
that certain members of the league were taking this way to get rid
of her? Why, then, had they invited her to join it in the first
place?

"It seems, Miss Minturn, that you cannot be excused," Miss Walton
observed, with a deprecatory smile.

Katherine did not mean to be driven out of the club in such an
underhanded manner if she could avoid it; neither would she
violate her conscience.

"I shall be obliged to maintain my position, nevertheless," she
responded, after a moment of thought. Then she resumed, in a tone
of regret: "And since the league does not see fit to release me
because of my conscientious scruples, which, it seems to me,
should be an unquestionable motive, I will state that Prof.
Seabrook, who also does not favor my views, has enjoined me to
silence upon the subject while I am a student at Hilton."

"Comrades, that settles the matter without further action or
discussion," said the president, bringing her gavel down with an
imperative stroke; for this last announcement had created a breezy
flutter among the mischief-brewers, who had planned to have "great
sport" a fortnight hence.

"And now," observed Katherine, again rising and addressing the
chair with charming frankness, "I stand ready to prepare an
article upon any other subject which the committee may assign me."

"Is the committee ready with another topic?" the president
inquired.

That body conferred together for several minutes, after which the
chairman stated with ill-concealed mirth, which appeared to be
contagious, that a paper on "Transcendentalism" would be expected
from Miss Minturn a fortnight from that night.

As she sat down titters and giggles were audible in various parts
of the room, and Miss Walton's mallet again fell heavily upon the
table, while she looked both distressed and indignant.

Before she could speak, however, a tall, handsome girl sprang to
her feet and turned to her with blazing eyes.

"Lady President," she began, in a clear, ringing tone, "I rise to
express my disapproval of the proceedings of this business
meeting. While I am not at all in sympathy with the subject that
has been broached here this evening, I believe in fair play, and
that an insult offered to anyone because of her religious belief
should not for a moment be tolerated. I shall feel justified in
withdrawing from the league if such discourteous treatment is
continued. And"--glancing at Katherine--"I also wish to express my
admiration for Miss Minturn for so bravely standing by her colors.
She might have shielded herself behind Prof. Seabrook's injunction
in the first place and so settled the matter at once; but she made
it a question of conscience for a cause that she loves, and was
not afraid to say so. And now, I move that, if the last-named
topic is distasteful to her, she be allowed to choose one for
herself."

A profound hush had fallen upon the room during this spirited
speech, and at its close there was a vigorous applause from a few
of her listeners, showing something of a reaction of feeling in
favor of Katherine, who observed, however, with a pang at her
heart, that her roommate, Sadie, was not among the number.

"Is Miss Felton's motion seconded?" queried the president, with a
smile and nod of approval at that young lady.

Katherine, who had been doing some rapid thinking during the last
few minutes, was on her feet again before anyone could speak.

"Lady President, pray allow me to thank Miss Felton most heartily
for her kind espousal of my cause," she said, bestowing a luminous
smile upon her new friend, "but I would be very sorry to have any
unpleasantness arise in the league, and may I ask that no further
action be taken in the matter? I know that many people have a
mistaken idea of what Christian Science is, and regard it and its
adherents with feelings that are regretted when they become more
enlightened on the subject. And now"--a mirthful gleam in her
brown eyes--"let me add that I cheerfully accept the last-named
subject assigned me, and will do my best to elucidate it for the
benefit of the club at our next meeting."

As she concluded and sat down there was another round of applause,
more pronounced this time; while some of the ringleaders in the
mischief looked as if they felt that the tables were being turned
against themselves.

The president appeared immensely relieved to have what had
threatened to be a stormy scene so tactfully smoothed over, and,
as there was no further business to be transacted, she gave the
signal for formalities to cease and sociability to begin.

Katherine at once became the center of an admiring and condoling
group, whose attitude towards her had undergone a radical change
since the brave championship of Miss Felton, who was a power not
only in her own class but in the whole school.

Katherine greeted everyone graciously, but met all expressions of
sympathy and indignation with laughing protests, and as soon as
she could do so without appearing unappreciative, excused herself,
upon the plea that she must look over a lesson before the retiring
bell rang, and slipped away to her room.

It is not to be wondered at that a few bitter tears forced
themselves over her hot cheeks when she found herself alone, for
she had been sorely tried. The struggle with her momentary feeling
of indignation and a sense of personal injury had been severe,
while she had also been deeply hurt by Sadie's evident sympathy
with those who were in the plot against her.

But she resolutely set herself at work to conquer these emotions
and then vigorously attacked the unlearned lesson, after which she
retired, but not to sleep, for thought was busy with what had
occurred and with plans for the next league meeting.

Sadie did not put in an appearance until some time after the gas
had been turned off, when she silently undressed and crept into
bed, and, shortly after, Katherine fell asleep.

Some hours later she was suddenly awakened by what sounded like a
moan of pain.

She sat up in bed and listened; but, hearing nothing more, thought
she must have been mistaken, and was about to lie down again,
when, from beneath the covers of the bed, in the opposite corner
of the room, she was sure she heard her roommate groan.

"Sadie! what is the matter?" she inquired.

There was no verbal answer, but another moan smote upon her ears.

Katherine sprang out of bed and went to her.

"Sadie, tell me, what is the trouble?" she said, laying a gentle
hand upon her shoulder.

"Oh, I have a horrible toothache," she girl replied, adding: "I
did not mean to wake you, but the pain is simply unbearable," and,
throwing back the covers, she sat up and rocked to and fro in
agony.

"What can I do for you?" Katherine kindly inquired, while she
mentally declared that "God never made pain, nor man to suffer
pain."

"Oh, I don't know," was the helpless rejoinder. "I think there is
a bottle of oil of cloves somewhere in my upper drawer, if you
will find it for me."

Katherine lighted the candle, kept for emergencies, and searched
for the desired remedy amid the heterogeneous collection in the
drawer, but failed to find it. Then she looked in various other
places suggested by Sadie, with the same result, greatly to the
girl's disappointment.

"Oh, I remember--I lent it to Carrie Hill last week! What shall I
do?" wailed the sufferer in a voice of despair; for Miss Hill
roomed at the top of the opposite wing, and just at that moment
the clock in the tower of the building struck the hour of three.

She was now wrought up to a state of excessive nervous excitement,
and it looked as if there would be no more sleep for either of
them that night.

"Haven't you something--some camphor or salts, Katherine? I can't
stand this any longer," and Sadie was now sobbing from mingled
nervousness and suffering.

"No, dear. I never use anything of the kind," Katherine replied.

"Do you never put anything in a tooth when it aches?"

"No."

"Do you ever have the toothache?"

"I used to when I was a child; very seldom now."

"What do you do to stop it?" was the impatient query, accompanied
by a prolonged groan.

"Treat it mentally."

"Shucks!" and Miss Minot threw herself violently back upon her
pillows with an air of personal injury mingled with supreme
contempt, while Katherine kept on working for harmony in her own
thought.

"Katherine, I simply cannot stand this until morning," the girl
cried again, after a minute or two of forced endurance, as a fresh
paroxysm seized her.

"Shall I go to the matron and ask her for something for you?"
Katherine inquired.

"Oh, I don't know; it seems a shame to send you way down to her at
this unearthly hour. It is bad enough to keep you awake," said
Sadie, remorsefully.

"Never mind me, dear. I am willing to do anything you wish, and
I'm not afraid to go anywhere in the building," was the kind
response.

"Perhaps if I had some water to hold in my mouth it might relieve
me," Sadie suggested.

Katherine brought her a glass and she filled her mouth, but
expelled the water almost instantly, as the bare and sensitive
nerve rebelled against such radical treatment.

"Can't you do something?" she gasped, clutching her companion's
arm with a spasmodic grip.

"I'll go to Miss Williams, or some of the girls for--" Katherine
began.

"No, I can't bear to make a stir--oh, heavens! oh! treat me--your
way--anything--anything to stop this unbearable torture!" and
Sadie buried her face in her pillow to smother the moans she could
not repress.

"Indeed I will," said Katherine, with a heart-throb of
thankfulness for the appeal; and, dropping her face upon her
hands, she went to work with all her understanding for the
sufferer.

Ten minutes passed; then it seemed as if the intervals between the
moans grew longer. Another five minutes and she was sure that the
hand upon her arm was relaxing its convulsive grasp. Not long
after the restless form grew still, the hot hand on her arm
slipped down upon the bed, and when the clock in the tower struck
the half hour after three, the regular breathing of the girl told
of quiet and restful sleep.

But Katherine continued to work for several minutes longer, then
stole softly to her own couch, where she also was soon locked in
slumber, and neither awoke again until the rising bell rang its
imperative summons to the duties of a new day.

Katherine was nearly dressed before her roommate manifested any
inclination to rise. She looked bright and serene, however, and
there was no swelling or other evidence of the previous night's
broken rest and suffering.

"I believe I'm all right, honey," she thoughtfully observed, after
watching Katherine's operations in silence for a while.

"Of course you are," was the cheery response, with a happy heart-
throb at the old familiar form of address.

"That was a right smart rumpus, though," Sadie added, in her
Southern phraseology.

"The less said about it the better," was the brief reply.

"Why?"

"Because it is nothing now, and you neither need nor wish to live
it over."

"I reckon I don't. But, do you believe you cured me?"

"I know that I did not; but I also know that God healed you."

"But you did something."

"Yes--what I did was--well, you may call it prayer, if you like.
But I think we must not talk about it because of Prof. Seabrook's
command, which I am inclined to think I may have already broken in
the letter if not in the spirit," said Katherine, gravely.

"Well--I don't--know. It all seems very queer to me!" Sadie
observed, reflectively, as she slipped out of bed and began to
dress. "I wouldn't have believed I could feel so well this morning
though. I'm as fresh as a daisy, and my face isn't at all swollen.
I can't understand it. I'm inclined to think that--after all, the
ache just ached itself out and left of its own accord."

Katherine smiled faintly but did not pursue the subject.

"I'm downright obliged to you, Katherine, for being so kind and
patient with me in the night," the girl resumed, after a few
moments of silence; "and--honey," suddenly facing her and looking
her straight in the eyes, though her cheeks were crimson, "I feel
mighty mean over our tiff the other day, and--and about what
happened last night in the league."

"Never mind, Sadie--it is all past now--" Katherine began.

"But I shall mind; I'm going to eat the whole of my humble pie,"
interposed Sadie, between a laugh and a sob, "for I--I was in the
plot with the others. You see, I hadn't quite gotten over the
other affair, and--"

"But you have now, Sadie?" Katherine interrupted, "wistfully.

"How could I help it when you've been so perfectly sweet? Only I
want--"

"Well, then I'm happy!" cried Katherine, with a joyous laugh, "and
I'm not going to let you eat any more 'humble pie,' for--the North
and the South are reunited, and that cancels everything."

"Katherine, you are the dearest--" But Sadie's voice broke
suddenly, and to cover her emotion she bounded into the closet and
began a vigorous search for some needed article.

There were fair winds and cloudless skies after that, and nothing
more was heard from the defective tooth, which, later, was filled
and preserved for future usefulness.




CHAPTER VIII.

TRANSCENDENTALISM AS ELUCIDATED FOR THE JUNIOR LEAGUE.


The following two weeks were unmarked by anything of special
interest, and Katherine found her time fully occupied in attending
to her daily duties and preparing for the next league meeting.

For a moment, after the second subject, "Transcendentalism," had
been assigned her, she felt "old Adam" beginning to stir
resentfully again, for she was impressed that, when the topic came
up for discussion, certain members of the club intended to make
her the target for more sharpshooting.

But the struggle was short, for the monitor within had declared
that "God's image and likeness could not reflect or manifest
anything but love;" when, like a flash, had come the inspiration
to treat the subject from a humorous point of view. She knew that
the committee had used the term in its perverted sense, so she
would meet them on their own ground, make an hour of fun for the
league, and thus, perchance, disarm the aggressive ones and create
a better feeling towards herself.

As these thoughts coursed rapidly through her mind during Miss
Felton's gallant defense, she became enthused over the idea, hence
the mirthful gleam in her eyes when she arose and accepted the
topic, and thus tactfully "poured oil upon the troubled waters."

In the quiet of her own room, after retiring, her plan began to
take a more definite form, and, before the week was out, she had
arranged her programme for the evening.

She found that she would be unable to carry it out alone, and so
confided her scheme to Sadie, Miss Walton, the president, and Miss
Felton, whom she now regarded as stanch friends. They were
delighted with it and heartily lent her their assistance in
perfecting it.

It became evident, however, as the day for the meeting drew on
apace, that more than usual interest was centered in the event,
for, upon two or three occasions, Katherine came suddenly upon a
group of the members in earnest conversation, which was instantly
cut short, or abruptly changed, when her presence was observed.
Jennie Wild, who was very fond of her, also gave her a hint that
something unusual was going on.

"Miss Minturn, what's the fun that's brewing in the Junior
League?" she inquired, as she encountered Katherine in one of the
halls a couple of days previous to the meeting.

"Is there fun brewing?" she inquired, evasively, and wondering if,
by any possibility, her own scheme had become known.

"Yes, I am sure there is, for I've heard some of the juniors
talking about a 'great time' that is on the tapis for the next
meeting; and--and your name was mentioned, too," Jennie concluded,
giving her a curious glance.

Katherine flushed and looked perplexed; but she felt sure that her
own secret was safe, for it had always been discussed behind
locked doors, and all concerned were too interested in the success
of it to betray her confidence.

"I have no knowledge of anything outside of my own province," she
replied. "I am to read a paper before the league on Tuesday
evening."

"Oh, say! what's the subject?" Jennie queried, eagerly.

"Don't you know, dear, it is a rule, in both the Junior and Senior
Leagues, that no information regarding what occurs in their
meetings can be made public without a vote of the members?"
Katherine smilingly inquired.

"Yes; but I'll never tell," said the girl, in a confidential tone.

"No, I am sure you will not," was the laughing retort.

"Oh, you mean you won't give me a chance," said Jennie, with a
good-natured grimace. "Well, whatever the subject may be, I am
sure the paper will be O. K."

"Thank you for your confidence in my ability, and, sometime,
perhaps, you may be enlightened regarding what is at present a
profound secret," returned Katherine, encouragingly.

"Well, perhaps that is what those girls were talking about, but
I'm pretty sure there's more than that in the wind," Jennie
thoughtfully observed. "But"--all on the alert again--"I've found
out that the sophs are planning to, kick up a bobbery, too--"

"Oh, Jennie!" interposed her companion, with laughing reproof.

"Yes, I know; that is awful slang. But what can you expect of a
'freshie'? I've got to make the most of my time, too, you know,
for when I get to be a junior I'll have to begin the 'prune and
prism' act," retorted the girl with a roguish wink. "Then"--
suddenly straightening herself, drawing down the corners of her
mouth, crossing her eyes, and assuming the air of a would-be
prude--"the prospective infraction of law and order would have to
be decorously stated something like this: ahem! 'Those
irrepressible, irresponsible and notorious sophomores are secretly
preparing to engage in exceedingly demoralizing, mischievous and
reprehensible behavior, calculated to produce an unpleasant state
of perturbation in the atmosphere of our household, inoculate a
spirit of anarchy in their fellows, and detract from the dignity
of our honored institution.' How's that for high?"

"Oh, I believe you are rightly named 'Wild Jennie'!" cried
Katherine, laughing heartily, for the girl was irresistible in her
drollery.

"All the same," continued Miss Mischief, resuming her accustomed
vivacity, "they really are up to something that will give the
teachers a tremendous nightmare one of these fine nights. You just
watch out, Miss Minturn--I've only got an inkling of the plot, but
it's great, and I'm going to be on hand to see it, even if I can't
be in it."

"Look out, dear, that you do not get involved in something that
you will be sorry for afterwards," cautioned Katherine.

"I'll look out for number one--never you fear; but"--with a wise
nod--"you just keep your eyes peeled about your own affairs. Ta-
ta!" and, with a wave of her hand, the girl hurried away, merrily
whistling a popular air as she went.

"I wonder if those girls are planning some practical joke upon me
for Tuesday evening!" Katherine said to herself, as she went on up
to her room.

Taking what Jennie had told her in connection with what she
herself had seen and heard, she was inclined to think that there
might be "something brewing"; but, as there appeared to be no way
to solve the mystery, she wisely decided not to dwell upon it,
although she determined that she would be on the qui vive and not
caught napping.

Tuesday evening came. The league convened at the usual hour, and
that something of more than wonted interest was anticipated was
evinced by the fact that every member of the club was promptly on
hand, while curious glances were bent, and comments made, upon a
curtain which had been stretched across one end of the room.

After the meeting was formally opened the president stated that,
before the reading and discussion of the paper, there would be a
short entertainment, which had been specially prepared for the
occasion.

This announcement met with vigorous applause, and an air of eager
interest at once pervaded the audience.

Miss Walton waited patiently until quiet was restored, then
resumed:

"First I will read an original conundrum which is propounded by
one of our members, and which you are requested to solve."

Everyone was at once on the alert.

"My first," read the chairman, "is a state of oblivion.

"My second is what comes to all things mundane.

"My third appertains to articulation, to a form of surgery, and to
a profession.

"My fourth is applied to certain theories and fanatical tenets.

"My whole is a term employed to designate a certain form of
philosophy which is also often misconstrued and misapplied."

As Miss Walton was about to lay down her paper she was asked to
read the conundrum again, which she did, while pencils were busy
taking notes; then she observed:

"Before the answer is called for we are to have a charade, which
has also been prepared by a member of our club, after which you
will please give your solutions before Miss Minturn reads her
paper."

A bell now tinkled faintly, and the mysterious curtain was raised,
revealing a prettily furnished room and, conspicuous in a
reclining chair, there lay a young lady apparently asleep, while
two others, wearing black dominoes and lace masks, attempted to
arouse her, Their efforts proved ineffectual, however, although
she was pinched, shaken, commanded to awake, and even made to
stand upon her feet. But nothing availed; she was seemingly
oblivious of everything.

"Alas! it is of no use," solemnly observed one domino to the
other, who sighed heavily, and mournfully shook her head, and the
curtain was rung down.

A moment later it went up again. No one was now in the room, but a
short piece of rope dangled from one arm of the chair.

The third scene revealed an office. On a table lay a number of
small instruments, a lot of loose teeth, also a couple of full
sets. A lady was seated in a chair, and beside her stood a
gentleman(?) holding aloft in one hand a pair of forceps, in which
there gleamed a single tooth, while with the other he extended a
glass of water to his patient, remarking in a suave, professional
tone:

"It is all over, madam--a very successful operation. Rinse your
mouth, please, and then we will look at the others," whereupon the
curtain fell.

The fourth scene showed the same room in which the first act had
been given. In a low rocker sat a spinster of uncertain age, very
prim as to attitude and attire, her face partially concealed by a
profusion of corkscrew curls that dangled from her temples. She
appeared to be absorbed in reading, while there were piles of
books on the table at her side, on chairs, and were also strewn
promiscuously about the floor.

Presently a colored servant entered the room. A spotless kerchief
was folded about her expansive shoulders; a bright red bandanna
was coiled around her woolly head, and a long, blue and white
checked apron was tied about her ample waist.

She was a typical, full-blooded negress, and shuffled into the
room in true darky style, but with signs of distress and one black
hand covering her right eye.

"Well, Dinah, is anything wanted?" demanded the spinster, but
without glancing up from her book.

"Y'sm, honey; I'se done got sumpin' in m' eye. I has sho'."

"Come here and let me look at it," said her mistress, reluctantly
laying her book aside and taking a pencil from the table.

Dinah knelt before the woman, who made a careful examination of
the suffering member.

"I see it!" she said; "don't move and I'll get it. There!"--
carefully removing something with a corner of her immaculate
handkerchief--"see?"

"Y'sm; thank'e, Miss Julia. Yah! yah! what a li'l spec to make
such a rumpus! Looks like de Bible 'mote,' but, golly! it done
feel mo' like de 'beam.' Yah! yah! yah!" laughed the negress,
revealing two rows of dazzling teeth to an appreciative audience
as she laboriously struggled to her feet.

"Feel all right now, aunty?" queried the spinster, as she
carefully refolded her handkerchief.

"Y'sm, y'sm; I'm obleeg'd to 'e, Miss Julia. Lor'!" rubbing her
knees and groaning, "de rumatism do work de mischief wi' dese yere
po' ole bones." But Miss Julia had again become absorbed in her
book and, apparently, did not hear.

"Got another new book, Miss Julia?" queried Dinah, after watching
her mistress in silence for a moment.

"No, Dinah," replied the spinster, lifting a beatific glance and
smile to the ceiling, "I am still engaged with my 'Philosophical,
Psychological and Theosophical Research.'"

"Lor'!" and Dinah rolled her eyes with an awe-struck look over the
audience. "I 'spec' some day, honey, you's so uplifted, you'll go
soarin' up inter de clouds and outer sight, straight 'ter kingdom
come--"

"Dinah! I think it is time you were giving your attention to your
dinner," interposed Miss Julia, in a lofty tone.

"Y'sm; I's gwine--I sho'ly is'm," retorted Dinah, spiritedly, as
she straightened herself and turned with a resentful flirt of her
skirts to obey. Then glancing back over her shoulder and showing
her white teeth in a broad grin, she added: "I's gwine ter 'gage
in m' soupy-logical, lamby-logical, pie-o-logical research; y'sm,
sho!" and, striking a superior attitude, she cake-walked off the
stage with a vigorous stride and regardless of 'ole bones' or
'rumatism'; and the curtain was rung down upon an audience
convulsed with merriment, while a voice from somewhere cried out:

"Well done, Sadie! yo'll take de cake, dis time, fer sho."

Scene five showed the same room, the same spinster with her book
clasped to her breast, her head thrown back, her eyes gazing aloft
into vacancy.

"Oh, ye messengers of supereminent light! Oh, ye soul-thrilling
angels from realms supernal! Draw nearer--unfold your celestial
wings and brood tenderly o'er the aspirations of this receptive
heart--this heart already upborne on waves of ecstasy and o'er-
mastering joy; fulfill its psychic dreams and lift it to thine own
supersensible heights"--she breathed in an exaggerated stage
whisper and continued her vague, visionary monologue, or
extravaganza, until the curtain fell and brought down the house
again with enthusiastic applause.

"Has anyone guessed the answer to the conundrum, or charade, or
both?" inquired the president with mirthful eyes when she could
make herself heard.

"Transcendentalism!" cried Clara Follet, wiping the tears from her
cheeks. "Dinah gave it away to me with her 'is'm' and her
'rumatism,' and, of course, the charade was the key to the
conundrum."

From several others came the same answer, with, the various hints
or points which had suggested it.

"And now," continued Miss Walton, "we will have the paper on the
same subject from Miss Minturn, who is also the author of both
conundrum and charade."

Again there was a vigorous clapping of hands, in the midst of
which the curtain was raised and Katherine appeared upon the
stage, in her spinster attire, but shorn of her voluminous
corkscrew curls.

She was smiling, and rosy, and bowed her thanks for the generous
approval of her efforts.

As she unfolded her manuscript an expectant hush fell upon her
audience, and she observed that significant and inquiring glances
were exchanged between some of the members of the league.

"The paper which I have prepared," she began, "may not prove to be
just what the club may have expected from me; but it will at least
show that I have given the subject assigned me some thought.

  "Once on a time--'twas not so very long ago--
   Miss Puff craved something of Philosophy to know,
   And, with proofs of culture armed and high position,
   To a Summer School of Sages sought admission.

  "With inspiration rare, she here absorbed her fill
   Of ologies galore, and conned them o'er, until
   Her wearied brain grew dazed beyond expression;
   But, of this sad fact, Miss Puff made no confessions

  "Ontology came first, with arguments profound,
   With language mystical, the wisest to confound;
   Physics took the platform next, to claim discussion,
   And Metaphysics foll'wing near caused concussion.

  "Cosmology! Phrenology! what charmed lore!
   What depths profound! how high her aspirations soar!
   Tidbits of sweetness for future delectation.
   Ah! but could she give a lucid explication?

  "Theosophy! Psychology! transcendent themes!
   Glide softly in upon her philosophic dreams:
   'Till soul upborne to realms of ecstasy sublime,
   Earth's vanities grow dim upon the shores of time.

  "But, lo! now hydra-head Theology appears
   To shatter dreams and chill her heart with nameless fears,
   For Sage and Seer spare not in sharp dissection,
   'Till poor Puff, alas! no longer makes connection.

  "But, all the same, 'twas lovely to 'philosophize!'
   It mattered not if she were wise, or--otherwise;
   Or deeply versed in themes on which the Sages dote,
   Could she but keep on transcendental waves afloat.

  "And so, at length, the Summer School drew to a close.
   Home went Miss Puff, well primed, to smatter and to pose;
   Lightly soar on clouds of blissful exaltation,
   And air her fads, perchance (?) in some smart publication.

  "Howe'er, dear friends, Miss Puff's career was very brief.
   Like all pretentious frauds, she shortly came to grief;
   She was found out, you know, and took a strange belief
   Which none could heal, and faded like a leaf.
   Then, slyly fled the town!--was never seen again,
   Though faithful search was made o'er mountain, moor and fen.

  "The claim? Ah! that begat long medical debate;
   But finally, as I am authorized to state--
   For all things mystical must have some kind of name,
   And there's no better phrase to chronicle the same--
   'Twas--the learned doctors vowed--abnormal mentalism,
   The outgrowth of her fads and Transcendentalism!"

Katherine made her bow as she concluded and slipped behind the
scenes. But the applause was beyond anything she had yet received
and was kept up, with cries of "come out," "come out," until there
was nothing to do but reappear, which she did with flushed cheeks
and shining eyes.

"Comrades, I thank you all for your hearty appreciation and
commendation," she said, when quiet was restored. "It occurred to
me that a humorous treatment of the subject might be more
enjoyable than any other, and"--with an arch look and nod--"more
applicable to your conception of the term. But"--her eyes now
brimming with mirth--"I will not take more of your time, as I
believe there is a supplement to my programme yet to come."

The president looked surprised.

"I know of nothing more, Miss Minturn," she said; but even as she
spoke there was a nervous rustle apparent among some of the
audience.

"Still I am quite sure that a ghostly surprise, not down on my
pragramme, had been planned for us. Perhaps this will elucidate my
meaning," Katherine explained, and, bringing to light something,
which she had until then concealed behind her, she shook out and
held up to view a white robe, made of a sheet, and also a white
mask.

Groans and laughter greeted this announcement and display.

"Oh! who has given us away? Who has told you, Miss Minturn?" came
breathlessly from various quarters of the room.

"No one 'has given the secret away'--no one has 'told' me
anything," she replied. "The discovery was an accident. I was
obliged to slip up to my room for something forgotten, just before
it was time to open the meeting. As I reached the end of the hall
I heard voices, and, being arrayed in the dentist's garb with only
a domino over it, I did not wish to be seen. I fled into the
closet there, and the next moment two juniors passed, carrying
something in their arms, wrapped in shawls. I heard one say, 'When
I give the signal, Miss Blank will touch the button and put out
the lights.' When they were beyond hearing I stole from the closet
and found a small bundle at my feet. Investigation revealed this
ghostly garb, and, if I am not mistaken, those shawls, in yonder
corner, contain several others."

The room was very still for a moment after Katherine concluded,
and there were some very red faces, here and there, among the
audience.

Suddenly Clara Follet sprang to her feet, and, addressing the
president, said:

"Miss Walton, as I am the leader in this affair, may I make an
explanation?"

"Certainly. Comrades, Miss Follet has the floor."

"There is nothing to be done but make a clean breast of
everything," continued Miss Follet, with a resolute air, but with
crimson cheeks as she faced the audience. "As you all know, some
of us were inclined to--to guy Miss Minturn at our last meeting
about a certain subject, and when she declined to write a paper on
it we thought we would give her another as nearly like it as
possible, and so get some fun out of it when it came up for
discussion. Well"--with a suggestive shrug--"we, of course,
expected she would go into it deep, and mount, and soar, and all
that; so some of us put our heads together and planned a ghost
walk. We were going to wait until she reached the zenith of her
flight, when, at a signal from me, the electrics would be turned
off, which would leave us a very dim light through the transoms
opening into the hall; then eight of us were to slip into our
robes, form a circle around Miss Minturn, and chant a dirge. Well-
-but--ahem! don't you see, she just took all the wind out of our
sails to begin with? Instead of a 'ghostly surprise' the ghosts
got the surprise--that conundrum and charade made me suspect that
the committee on topics were going to 'get left,' and I began to
feel my courage failing. But that transcendental poem!--that
capped the climax, and I saw that the only thing to be done was
for the spooks to hide their diminished heads and keep dark."

Miss Follet was here interrupted by vigorous clapping and bursts
of irrepressible laughter, in which even the dignified president
joined.

But a tap of the gavel restored order, and Miss Follet was invited
to proceed.

"That is all there is to tell," she replied, "but I want to add,
for myself, that I think Miss Minturn is 'a brick,' as the boys
would put it, and I take off my hat to her"--turning to Katherine
with a low, graceful bow--"if she will accept the homage from the
chief transgressor, who--to make all possible atonement--proposes
to give the best spread of the season in her honor, in place of
the next meeting, if the league will vote me the privilege and she
will signify her pardon and approval by shaking hands with me."

As she concluded she extended her hand to Katherine, who grasped
it cordially, amid enthusiastic clapping by the entire audience.

It was some minutes before order could be restored, when the
business was transacted and Miss Follet's proposal to give a
spread in Miss Minturn's honor, two weeks from that night,
received a most hearty and unanimous vote.

When the meeting was dismissed it was evident that a decided
reaction of feeling had taken place, for Katherine at once became
the center of attraction and held a delightful little reception
for a while; but this was cut short by the ringing of the retiring
bell, and the Junior League dispersed in the happiest frame of
mind, all declaring that the "Transcendental Evening" had been the
finest of the year.

When Katherine laid her head upon her pillow that night and fell
asleep her pulses were beating in joyous rhythm with three
beautiful words gleaned from her beloved "Science and Health"--
"Love is enthroned! Love is enthroned!" [Footnote: "Science and
Health," page 454.]




CHAPTER IX.

KATHERINE MAKES A DEMONSTRATION.


From that time on Katherine became conscious of a very different
atmosphere, at least when among her own classmates, for, instead
of the cold shoulder, averted glances and a general stampede
whenever she appeared, she was now cordially received and greeted
upon all occasions.

This was more apparent after Miss Follet's "spread," two weeks
later, and which really proved to be the "finest of the season,"
being a "full-dress affair," when all barriers were swept away
during the "jollification" and every vestige of disaffection
vanished in company with the bountiful and dainty viands that were
literally fit "to set before a king."

Katherine, being the guest of honor, was toasted and made much of,
and her companions found that she could appreciate a frolic as
heartily as anyone, and was not behind, either, in making fun for
others.

One evening, early in May, shortly after "the spread," Katherine
was diligently studying the morrow's lessons when a rap sounded on
her door, and, upon giving the usual password, Jennie Wild put her
curly head inside the room and observed:

"Miss Minturn, Miss Reynolds has sent me to ask if you will come
to her room as soon as the study hour is over."

"Yes, Jennie, I will go to her the moment the bell rings," replied
Katherine, who knew that her teacher had not been well for nearly
a week, and, for the last two days, had been unable to attend to
her duties.

"And, Miss Minturn," continued the girl, lingering.

"Well?" said her friend, inquiringly.

"May I go with you to your service, next Sunday?"

"Why, Jennie! What has possessed you to ask me that?"

"Oh, I thought I'd just like to know what kind of a rigmarole--Oh,
Peter Piper! what have I said?" the heedless girl interposed as
Katherine flushed and looked up suddenly. "I really didn't mean
that--I--er--it just slipped out before I had time to think. But,
truly, I would like to go with you."

"But you know it is against the rules for students to leave their
own church. You would have to get permission of Prof. Seabrook,"
Katherine returned.

"I don't want to ask him," said Jennie, with a shrug, adding: "He
need never know."

"No, Jennie, I cannot countenance any such disobedience," gravely
replied her companion. "And if it is only a matter of idle
curiosity on your part, I think you had better wait until you are
actuated by a more worthy motive."

Jennie looked really distressed under this reproof.

"I'm afraid I've offended you," she began, plaintively. "I didn't
mean to speak slightingly of your church, and I'm--sorry--"

"Don't be troubled, Jennie, dear; I am not offended," said
Katherine, smiling reassuringly. "Of course, you understand that,
to me, our service is very beautiful and sacred. I would dearly
love to have you go with me in a proper way; but if you do not
like to ask permission you can wait until vacation, when you will
not be hampered by school rules."

"All right; perhaps--I will," returned Jennie, with a sly smile;
then, with a friendly "good-night," she went away, and Katherine
thought no more of the matter at that time.

Half an hour later the nine o'clock bell rang and she repaired at
once to Miss Reynolds' room. She found her teacher in bed, looking
flushed and feverish, her throat badly swollen and swathed in
flannels, while she was scarcely able to speak aloud.

She smiled a welcome and held out her hand to the girl, who
clasped it fondly as she sat down beside her.

"I suppose you would say 'it is nothing,'" whispered the woman, a
little gleam of laughter in her eyes, notwithstanding her evident
suffering.

"No, I should say nothing of the kind to you," said Katherine,
gravely. "But I hoped that I should find you better."

"No, Kathie"--a fond way she had adopted of late when addressing
her--"I have been growing steadily worse since last night. This
afternoon I have been very ill, and Prof. Seabrook sent me word by
his wife, to-night, that if I am not better by morning he will
call a physician upon his own responsibility. I don't want a
doctor," she went on, after resting a moment, "for, since having
those talks with you and learning something of your faith, I find
myself shrinking from medical treatment."

Katherine glanced involuntarily at the array of bottles on the
table near her, and Miss Reynolds, observing it, smiled.

"True," she said, "I have been dosing myself with every remedy
that I could think of, while 'halting between two opinions'; but
nothing does any good, and I have come to the end of my rope, so
to speak. That is why I have sent for you, Kathie--to ask you to
treat me your way."

Katherine flushed, and for an instant a sense of fear held her in
its grip. With it also came the query, "What would Prof. Seabrook
think of having Christian Science healing deliberately practiced
in Hilton Seminary?"

Then she mentally declared: "There is no fear in love," and "where
duty pointed the way she would boldly walk therein."

"Are you afraid to take hold of it?" her teacher inquired, as she
observed her hesitation.

"No, I am not afraid, for I know that God is supreme and never
fails those who put their trust in Him," was the confident
response. "But," Katherine continued, "are you sure you really
want Christian Science treatment?"

"Very sure, Kathie."

"How about these?" and the girl glanced at the bottles, "and
this?" touching the flannel about her throat.

"Oh, I know they are of no use," said the sick woman, with an
impatient sigh. "You may put the medicines all away, and I will
take off the flannel. I am determined not to have a doctor and be
laid up for three long weeks, if I can help it."

"Very well; then I will do my utmost for you," said our young
Scientist, in a resolute tone. "I shall stay here with you to-
night; but, first, I must go to tell Sadie and get my wrapper."

"Ah! that is kind; you can sleep on the couch, and, really, dear,
I do feel too sick to be left alone," was the weary reply.

Without further ado Katherine sped back to her room--working
mentally for her friend as she went--told Sadie her plan, and
donned a loose wrapper; then, taking her Bible and "Science and
Health," she hastened back to her patient.

During her absence Miss Reynolds had removed the voluminous folds
from her neck, and now looked relieved as Katherine reappeared,
prepared to care for her during the night.

Katherine noiselessly removed the various bottles, tumblers, etc.,
from the table, laying her books in their place, and was on the
point of sitting down to begin her work when there came a rap on
the door.

Upon answering it she found Mrs. Seabrook standing without, a bowl
of steaming gruel in her hands.

"Oh, you are going to stay with Miss Reynolds tonight!" she
exclaimed, her face lighting as she saw the girl in her wrapper.
"I am very glad--I had intended doing so myself, for I know she
should not be left alone; but Dorothy has just had a bad turn and
I cannot leave her. How is she now?" she concluded, glancing
towards the bed.

"About the same as she has been all day."

Mrs. Seabrook sighed anxiously.

"I wish she would have a doctor," she said. "We shall insist upon
it if she is not better in the morning. I have made her some
gruel--do make her take at least a part of it, for she has had no
nourishment to-day."

"Thank you, I will try; and do not worry, dear Mrs. Seabrook. I
will take the very best of care of her, I promise you," said
Katherine, cheerily.

"I know you will, you dear child; and you have removed a load from
my heart already," returned the care-laden woman, tears springing
to her eyes. Then she bade her good-night and left her, whereupon
Katherine locked the door, and, slipping quietly into a chair,
began working vigorously for her friend.

For more than an hour there seemed to be no change in her
patient's condition. Indeed, if anything, the symptoms appeared to
be aggravated; she tossed restlessly, the fever apparently
increasing, while she called for water every few moments, but
refused the gruel, saying she could not swallow it.

Eleven o'clock came--half-past; then the long tolling of the tower
clock proclaimed midnight ere Katherine was able to detect the
slightest sign of improvement. Then, as she responded to another
call for water, she found that the fever had abated and there was
a slight moisture in the palm of the hand, which she clasped for
an instant.

Another half hour spent in alternate reading and work brought
quiet, restful sleep. But the faithful sentinel on guard labored
on, now reading from her precious book, then seeking help from the
only source whence cometh all help and comfort, and never doubting
that the answer to her prayer would eventually come.

At two o'clock Miss Reynolds aroused and again called for water;
then, after drinking thirstily, dropped restfully back upon her
pillows.

At three she awoke once more and asked for the gruel.

"Kathie, I am better--the fever is gone, and my throat is not so
sore!" she said, smiling faintly into the earnest face looking
down upon her.

"That is certainly good news," Katherine returned, as she received
the bowl half-emptied of its contents. "Now go to sleep again, and
I will lie down upon the couch."

She lay awake, working, however, until the regular breathing from
the bed told her that her patient was wrapped in slumber; when,
assured that her toiling and rowing were over for the present, and
God at the helm, she, too, dropped off, and knew no more until
aroused by the rising bell at half-past six.

She started up, but her companion slept on, and, disliking to
disturb her, she lay back and worked silently until the next bell,
at seven-thirty, called to the morning meal.

Miss Reynolds heard it also, turned over and looked at her
companion, then sat up and involuntarily put her hands to her
throat.

An expression of astonishment swept over her face.

"Katherine! why, Katherine!" she exclaimed; "where is it?"

"Where is what?" inquired the girl, going to her side.

"The swelling!"

"There is none," said Katherine, with a happy smile as she glanced
at the white, shapely neck to find it in its normal condition.

"Neither is there any soreness in my throat! Child, I do not know
what to think of it!" said the woman, with a note of awe in her
tone.

"Think that God was a very present help in time of need," returned
Katherine, with sweet seriousness and a slight tremble in her own
voice.

Miss Reynolds fell back upon her pillow, a thoughtful look on her
face. But, presently, glancing at the clock, she said:

"Dear child, you must go for your breakfast, or you will be too
late."

"I will; but what shall I bring you afterwards?"

"What may I have?"

"Anything you like."

"Truly?"

"Certainly; don't you remember what we were talking of last week--
man's God-given dominion over all things?"

"Well, it surpasses my comprehension, for I have always had to be
careful what I ate after one of these attacks! But I am in your
hands, Kathie--you may bring me what you choose, and I believe I
am hungry," Miss Reynolds returned, in a tone of conviction.

"You shall have something very soon," Katherine assured her, and,
having dressed her hair while talking, she now flew away to her
own room to complete her toilet, a paean of praise thrilling her
heart for the recent safe and triumphant passage through the Red
Sea of human fear and error, whose waves had so threatened to
engulf her patient the night before.

Breakfast was nearly over when she reached the dining room; but
she slid quietly into her place and made a hurried meal, after
which she sought the matron and gave her order for Miss Reynolds,
saying she would wait and take the tray up to her.

While she was waiting, Mrs. Seabrook espied her and came to
inquire for her patient.

"She is more comfortable this morning," Katherine replied, and,
thinking it wise not to say very much regarding the conditions
upstairs.

Mrs. Seabrook appeared greatly relieved.

"I am thankful," she said. "I was very anxious about her last
night, for I have never seen her so ill before. Poor Dorrie is not
as well, either, this morning," she concluded, with a weary sigh.

A wave of compassion swept over Katherine's heart for this sweet,
patient woman, who was so heavily burdened with her own cares, yet
ever ready to do for others.

"Give my love to Dorrie," she said, adding: "And I will run in to
see her this afternoon, if I may."

"Do, Miss Minturn," said her companion, eagerly. "You always do
the child good, and she will have something pleasant to look
forward to during the day."

Miss Reynolds enjoyed her breakfast, which she ate with perfect
ease. Then she said she would like to be left alone to rest until
noon, when Katherine might bring her a light dinner--"provided her
breakfast did not hurt her."

Katherine pinned upon her door a slip of paper on which was
written "not to be disturbed"; then went away to her own duties,
which would be over at noon, it being Saturday and a half holiday.

After eating her own dinner, she arranged a generous and tempting
meal on a tray and took it to her teacher's room.

She found her up and dressed in her wrapper and seated in a
comfortable rocker, reading "Science and Health," which she had
left lying on the table.

Miss Reynolds looked up and nodded brightly as she laid down the
book.

"Isn't this perfectly lovely? Aren't you astonished to find me
up?" she inquired, as she bestowed a fond pat upon the girl who
had drawn a small table to her side and was arranging her dinner
upon it.

"Not in the least," said Katherine, bending to kiss the cheek
nearest her.

"Aren't you? not the least bit? Why! I am simply amazed at
myself!" her teacher exclaimed.

Katherine laughed out merrily.

"I suppose you have heard of the woman who, on being told that
'the prayer of faith would remove mountains,' prayed that God
would take away the hill behind her house?" she queried, archly.

"Yes, and on looking out in the morning, said: 'It's just as I
expected; I knew it would be here just the same!' I know the
story, and I see your point on lack of faith," said Miss Reynolds,
echoing the girl's laugh.

"But that is not the way Christian Scientists pray," Katherine
observed. "Jesus said, 'All things whatsoever ye ask in prayer,
believing, ye shall receive.' You are not quite like the woman who
prayed for what she was sure she would not get; but you are
'amazed' because you have received that for which we asked; which
shows that you did not really expect it."

"But I must have had some faith, Kathie, or I would not have
trusted myself to your treatment."

"True; and that was your first step in Christian Science, which
brought with it the proof of God's supremacy." "It certainly is a
beautiful proof," Miss Reynolds earnestly returned, "for I have
been subject to these attacks for many years, and have always been
under the care of a physician from three to five weeks before
getting back to my normal condition."

She went on with her dinner, but it was evident that she was
thinking deeply, while Katherine moved softly about the room
putting things in order.

"Katherine," the woman at length inquired, "what is this
'treatment' which you give the sick? Is it simply prayer?"

"Yes, and the understanding that God is all in all."

"Well, I would like to know the secret of it. I have been a
prayerful woman during the greater portion of my life--at least,
according to the common acceptation of the term; but I have never
before known of a direct answer to prayer such has come to you or
to me, through you. What constitutes a Christian Scientist's
prayer and understanding?"

"That question involves a great deal," said Katherine, smiling.
"Briefly, it is reaching out for and appropriating that which is
already ours."

"'Appropriating?'"

"Yes, knowing that all good belongs by right to us, as God's dear
children; and acting as if we knew it, by gratefully accepting
it," Katherine explained. Then observing the puzzled look on her
teacher's face, she went on:

"Let me illustrate. You asked for your dinner. I have brought it
and set it before you. All you have to do is to reach out and
partake of it to satisfy your hunger. How inconsistent it would be
if you should ignore these facts and keep on saying, 'Katherine, I
want my dinner; please, oh, please give me some food, for I am
starving.'"

"How ridiculous that sounds!" said Miss Reynolds, laughing. "I
begin to comprehend what you mean and that the old way of praying
is only a halfway prayer, while begging and supplicating God to
keep His promises impugns His righteousness."

"Exactly," Katherine assented, then added: "Prayer is really
twofold--asking and taking, praying and doing; knowing that God's
promises mean what they say, and confidently expecting their
fulfillment."

"Do you always have this confidence when you have difficulties to
meet, Kathie? I should think it would not always be easy to
'know,'" thoughtfully observed Miss Reynolds.

"No, it is not always easy to have perfect trust; in that case
every demonstration, or answer to prayer, would be instantaneous.
One needs to be patient and persistent, the same as one needs to
go over a difficult mathematical problem many times before getting
a correct answer, but never doubting that it will follow right
effort," Katherine explained. "Of course, there is a great deal
more that might be said about the subject," she added, "and if you
will read the chapter on 'Prayer' in our text-book you will get a
far better idea of it than I have given you."

"I will read it this afternoon if you are not going to use your
book," Miss Reynolds replied.

"I have another copy, and you may keep this one for a while," and
Katherine flushed with pleasure at the woman's manifest interest
in her beloved Science.

"Thank you; and now"--glancing archly at the almost empty dishes
before her--"don't you think I have done ample justice to the
generous repast you brought me? I only hope it won't bring on the
fever again."

"Oh, faithless and perverse generation!" quoted Katherine, with
smiling reproof. "It will not," she added, positively; "remember
your 'God-given dominion.'"

"I will try, dear; I am very grateful to you, Kathie, and to God,
for the wonderful transformation of the last few hours," said Miss
Reynolds, with starting tears. "If it were not for this feeling of
weakness I believe I could dress and go down to supper to-night."

At that instant there came a tap on the door, and on going to
answer it Katherine found Mrs. Seabrook and Miss Williams, another
teacher, without.

Both ladies exclaimed in astonishment upon seeing the supposed
invalid up and dressed, while Mrs. Seabrook viewed with grave
disapproval the tray before her, with its remnants of a hearty
dinner.

"My dear! are you crazy that you dare eat meat, potatoes and
vegetables--yes, and pie!--with such a fever?" she cried, aghast.

"I have no fever," said Miss Reynolds, giving her a cool, normal
hand. "I am very much better, and I was hungry, so asked Miss
Minturn to bring me something nice to eat."

"All the same, you are very injudicious," was the severe
rejoinder. But the transgressor only smiled serenely and began to
talk of other things, while Katherine removed the offensive tray,
taking it below, after which she sought her own room.




CHAPTER X.

MRS. SEABROOK'S PROBLEM.


Katherine spent a while chatting with her roommate, after which
she made some change in her dress, then sought Mrs. Seabrook's
apartments to make her promised visit to Dorothy.

The child was reclining on a couch and propped up by numerous
pillows. She looked pale and worn from recent suffering, although,
just then, she was comparatively comfortable.

Prof. Seabrook was sitting beside her, reading from an
entertaining book, to pass the time during his wife's absence on
her round of visits to the sick.

Katherine flushed slightly as she entered the room, for, try as
she would, she had not yet quite overcome a sense of reserve
whenever she met her principal. His manner to her was always
marked by the most punctilious politeness; but it was such frigid
courtesy and so entirely at variance with his affability during
their first interview, that she also seemed to freeze when in his
presence.

The moment the door opened Dorothy uttered a cry of joy, extending
eager hands to her, and, after saluting Prof. Seabrook, Katherine
went to her side, a cheery smile upon her lips as she greeted her.

"I'm so glad, Miss Minturn! Mamma said you were coming, and I've
been watching the door ever since dinner. Can you stay a long
time?" exclaimed the girl, in glad tones.

"Perhaps I am interrupting something interesting," Katherine
observed, as she glanced at the book in the professor's hands.

"Well, papa has been reading to me, and it was interesting,"
Dorothy truthfully admitted. "But he has an engagement pretty
soon, and is only staying with me till mamma comes back, for Alice
is out. Mamma has gone up to see Miss Reynolds. Do you know she is
awful sick?"

"She is much better to-day. I came from her room only a little
while ago," said Katherine, "and I can stay an hour, or more, with
you if you like. I will go on with the reading, Prof. Seabrook, if
it will relieve you," she added, courteously turning to him.

"Oh, I'd rather talk with you," Dorothy interposed. "Mamma can
finish the story by and by. Now, papa, you can go and leave me
with Miss Minturn."

Prof. Seabrook arose.

"It is very good of you, Miss Minturn," he said, addressing her
with studied politeness. "I do feel anxious to get away to an
important appointment. Well, Dorrie, what shall I bring you from
the city?" he questioned, as he bent over the girl, his tones
softening suddenly to yearning tenderness.

"Oh! papa, it's Saturday, you know," she said, with a wise look.

"Sure; I almost forgot, and the inevitable cream chocolates for
Sunday will have to be forthcoming, I suppose," he laughingly
rejoined. "Anything else?"

"No, I guess not; only tell Uncle Phil, if you see him, to be sure
to come out to-morrow."

"Very well," then kissing her fondly, he bowed formally to
Katherine and quietly left the room.

Ten minutes later Mrs. Seabrook returned, and Katherine persuaded
her to go out for a walk, a privilege which the closely confined
woman was glad to avail herself of, and Dorothy was soon absorbed
in the description of a moonlight fete on the Grand Canal in
Venice, and which Katherine had participated in during her recent
tour abroad.

Meantime Mrs. Seabrook was walking briskly towards the highway,
but with a very thoughtful expression on her refined face.

It was one of those soft, balmy days of May that almost delude one
into the belief that it is June; that thrill the heart with
tenderness for every living thing, and quicken responsive pulses
with their unfolding beauty. She had been shut up the whole week
with Dorrie, while, with Miss Reynolds alarmingly ill and several
of the students threatened with as many different ailments, her
time had been more than full, and her mind heavily burdened with
care and anxiety. So it was with a sense of freedom and grateful
appreciation that she pursued her way, breathing in the pure and
refreshing air, basking in the genial sunshine and feasting her
eyes upon the loveliness all around her; but thinking, thinking
with a strange feeling of awe deep down in her heart.

She had just passed the entrance to the grounds of the seminary,
when she saw her brother, Dr. Stanley, approaching from the
opposite direction.

She hurried forward to greet him.

"I am more than glad to see you, Phillip," she said, as she
slipped her hand, girl fashion, into his, as it hung by his side.
"Come and walk with me. I want to talk to you."

"I am on my way to Dorrie," he replied. "I met William in a car,
as I was returning to town from a visit to a patient, and he told
me she had been very poorly to-day. So I took the next car back to
see her."

"Yes, she had a very bad night, but has grown more comfortable
within the last few hours. Miss Minturn offered to sit with her
and let me out for a breath of air," his sister explained.

"I owe Miss Minturn my personal thanks. But perhaps I ought to go
on and take a look at Dorrie," said the physician, thoughtfully.

"No, Phil; come with me. I am heavy-hearted, discouraged, and I
need to be comforted," said the much-tried woman, the sound of
tears in her voice. "Miss Minturn is very nice with Dorothy," she
continued, struggling for self-control; "the child always seems
happy and to forget herself when she is with her. Perhaps, though,
you haven't time," she added, with sudden thought.

"Yes, I have, Emelie," the man gently replied, "and we will have
one of our old tramps together. Come! Let us get as far as
possible from that pile of brick and stone and its too familiar
surroundings." And still holding her hand, swinging it gently back
and forth, he led her along the road towards the open country.

"What a strange world this is, Phil!" Mrs. Seabrook broke out,
suddenly, after they had traversed quite a distance and talked of
various matters. "Everything in it seems to be at cross-purposes."

"Do you think so, Emelie? Look!"

The man checked her steps and pointed to the view before them.
They had come to the brow of a hill, and there, spread out beneath
them, was a valley teeming with luxuriant beauty that was a
delight to the eye and full of exhilarating charm. Thrifty farms
dotted the broad expanse as far as they could see; springing
fields of grain, interspersed with verdant meadows, and rich
pastures dotted with their feeding kine were suggestive of
prosperous homes and husbandmen; stretches of woodlands, with
their sturdy trunks and vigorous branches, unfurled their banners
of living green in varying shades and lent an air of dignity and
strength to the attractive landscape. Here and there an apple
orchard, with trees in full bloom, gave a dainty touch of color to
brighten the whole, and a small river winding its glimmering way,
like a rope of silver thrown at random, made a graceful trail over
the scene; while above it all fleecy clouds, skimming athwart a
sky of vivid blue, cast lights and shadows that could not have
failed to thrill and inspire the soul of an old master painter.

"I know--that is lovely! No, there are no cross-purposes in
nature; it all seems in perfect harmony," murmured Mrs. Seabrook,
her eyes glowing with keen appreciation of the exquisite picture
before her. "It is only poor humanity that seems all out of tune,"
she went on, the tense lines coming back to her face. "Oh,
Phillip! what is this mystery of suffering that we see all about
us? If God is tender, and loving, and supreme, why--oh! why--is
the world so full of it?"

Dr. Stanley lifted the hand that he was still holding and laid it
within his arm, drawing her closer to him with a tenderness which
told her that he both knew and shared the heavy burden that
weighed so heavily upon her heart.

"Emelie," he said, his eyes lingering upon the scene before them,
"that is a question that I have often asked myself, especially
during the last two years that I spent in those hospitals abroad,
and witnessed the wretchedness they contained. And I suppose
everybody has been asking it over and over for ages gone by. We
have been taught that sin is the root of it all," he went on,
musingly; "that sin brought sickness and death. Then, as you say,
if God is supreme, why doesn't He abolish the sin, or at least
show humanity how to conquer it in a practical way, to overcome or
lessen the results of sin? But no! The same tragedy is repeated
with every generation, and seems likely to go on for ages to
come."

"Sin! What sin could an innocent child like Dorrie be guilty of,
to bring upon her the curse of torture that she has endured for
the last eight years?" cried Mrs. Seabrook, a note of intolerant
anguish in her tones. "I know you will say theology teaches that
it is the heredity sin of our first parents; but, Phillip, that is
not fair nor just--it is not logical reasoning. I believe I am
beginning to be very skeptical, for that argument hasn't a true
ring to it. What human father or mother would torture their
offspring simply because an ancestor, many generations ago, had
committed a crime, however heinous? Oh, sometimes I am almost on
the verge of declaring there is no God. That would bring chaos, I
know," she added, with a deprecatory smile, as she saw her
brother's brow contract; "but it really does seem as if the pros
and cons are disproportionate, the cons far outnumbering the pros,
as far as poor humanity is concerned."

"Emelie, you need change of scene; you are becoming morbid," said
Phillip Stanley, looking with fond anxiety into the somber eyes
upraised to his.

"Change of scene would not remove the sword that hangs over me,
for you know that where I go Dorrie must also go. Oh! Phillip, do
you believe that anything will ever permanently relieve that child
of pain?" Mrs. Seabrook cried, a sob escaping her quivering lips.
"I don't expect she is ever going to be straight, like other
girls. I only ask that she may be freed from suffering. Have you
any real faith in that proposed operation, or even that--that she
will live through it? You have been trying to 'build her up,' but
she appears to be running down instead."

"I know, dear, her case does seem to be very trying, although I
see no especial cause for anxiety. I hope when the season is more
advanced and you go to the mountains she will improve more
rapidly. But how would you like to change the treatment?" And Dr.
Stanley bent a searching look upon the troubled face beside him.

"Have some one else?"

"Yes; try another specialist."

"No, Philip; we have tried everything--every school, and countless
specialists, for eight years," said Mrs. Seabrook, wearily. "I
have more confidence in you than in anyone else, for I know that
you are putting your whole heart into the case, and yet--"

"What is it, Emelie? Do not fear to speak your mind freely," said
her brother, encouragingly.

"Phillip, what do you think of the Christian Scientists? Would it
be too ridiculous to try their method for a while?" she faltered,
and flushing crimson.

Dr. Stanley smiled.

"Has Dorothy been talking to you also about the miracles of
nineteen hundred years ago?" he inquired, evasively.

"No; what do you mean?"

He related his recent conversation with his niece on the subject,
and told of his promise to read the Scripture references she had
given him.

"I kept my word," he said, in conclusion, "and became so
interested that I read the account of every miracle that Christ
and His apostles performed."

"Oh! Dorrie never tires of reading or of asking questions about
them," returned Mrs. Seabrook; "but that has had nothing to do
with my thought. Something very queer has occurred during the last
twenty-four hours. You remember I spoke to you yesterday regarding
Miss Reynolds' illness?"

"Yes; you thought her condition rather serious, I believe."

"Phillip, she really was very ill; I was thoroughly alarmed about
her. Always, before this, when she has had these attacks, she has
been very willing to have a physician, but this time she flatly
refused to let me call anyone. Last night she was worse than I
ever saw, her, and Miss Minturn took care of her."

"Ah!" ejaculated Dr. Stanley, in a peculiar tone.

"You know, perhaps, that Miss Minturn is a Christian Scientist?"
said his sister, inquiringly.

"Yes."

"Well, I went to Miss Reynolds' room late last night: and, truly,
I came away in fear and trembling. I could not sleep well because
of anxiety on her account. This morning, however, Miss Minturn
told me, in her quiet way, that she was 'more comfortable.' But
you can imagine my astonishment when I went to see the woman, less
than an hour ago, and found her up and dressed, having just
finished a dinner of roast beef and vegetables--in fact, our
regular Saturday menu--pie and all."

"What! with all that fever?" exclaimed Dr. Stanley, aghast.

"Well, that was the queerest thing about it," said Mrs. Seabrook,
in a tone of perplexity; "there wasn't a sign of fever about her
and the swelling of her throat was all gone. But for looking a
trifle pale and hollow-eyed, she seemed nearly as well as ever.
She would not talk of herself, though; she just evaded our
questions--Miss Williams was with me--but ran on about Dorothy and
school matters in general, as lively as a cricket. Now, putting
this and that together, I am inclined to think that Miss Minturn
had something to do with this wonderful change. What do you
think?" she concluded, turning to her brother with an eager look.

"I would not be at all surprised if she had," Dr. Stanley gravely
observed.

"You 'would not be at all surprised'! Then, Phillip, you do
believe in Christian Science healing, after all!" exclaimed his
sister, almost breathlessly.

"No, I do not 'believe' in it, and yet I know that strange, even
marvelous, things are done in its name," Phillip Stanley replied.
"Has Will never told you that I suggested we try it before having
Dorrie submit to an operation?" he added, after a moment of
thought.

"No, he has never mentioned the subject to me."

"Well, I did," and then the young man proceeded to relate the
incident that had occurred on the Ivernia during his return
passage and his subsequent conversation with his brother-in-law.

"While I have no faith in it as a 'demonstrable science,'" he
continued, "and while there is much that, to me, seems absurdly
inconsistent in what they teach, I am not so egotistical and
obstinate as to utterly repudiate, with a supercilious wave of the
hand, any method of healing that could do what I know was done for
that suffering child last fall. And, my dear sister, I am sure I
do not need to tell you that I would be willing to yield
everything--go to any legitimate length to save our Dorrie from a
trying ordeal, which, after all, might not bring the result we
hope for. It is a question that remains to be proved, you know,"
he concluded, gently.

"Do not think for a moment," he presently resumed, "that I believe
Christian Science could cure her; at the same time I would not
object to giving it a trial--making a test--to see if it would
relieve her present suffering."

"Why not test it upon yourself, Phil?" his sister abruptly
demanded.

The man started, then flushed.

"You refer to my imperfect sight?"

"Yes, of course; you need it for nothing else."

"Pshaw! Emelie; there is nothing that can mend a dislocated optic
nerve," returned the physician, with an impatient shrug.

They walked on some distance farther, both intent upon the subject
which they had been discussing.

"Well, Phillip, I am going to ask Will to try what it will do for
Dorothy," Mrs. Seabrook at length asserted, in a resolute tone.
"Of course, if it is only mental treatment, it cannot do the child
any harm, even if it does her no good."

"I hope you may succeed, dear, in winning his consent," her
brother returned. "He was rather short with me about it, and I
could see that, for some reason, he was quite stirred up over the
subject."

"I think it would be unreasonable to refuse to make a trial of it,
after we have spent years fruitlessly testing other things," was
the somewhat sharp reply. Then she added, as she turned her face
towards home: "I think I will have to go back now, Phil. I have
been out nearly an hour, and I must not impose upon Miss Minturn.
This walk and talk have done me good, though. I feel both cheered
and refreshed."

They walked briskly back to the seminary, chatting socially on
various topics, and Dr. Stanley was glad to see a healthful glow
upon his companion's cheeks and a brighter look in her eyes by the
time they entered the building.

They found Katherine reading the ninety-first psalm to Dorothy,
who was lying restfully among her pillows, with a look of peace in
her eyes that was like balm to the mother's aching heart.

The moment Phillip Stanley caught sight of Katherine he settled
his chin with a resolute air, a sudden purpose taking form in his
thought.

"Emelie," he said, in his sister's ear, "will you manage so that I
can have a few minutes' conversation with Miss Minturn?"

She nodded, giving him a bright look, then went forward to
Dorothy's side, while Dr. Stanley turned to greet Katherine, who
had risen upon their appearance.




CHAPTER XI.

DR. STANLEY ASKS SOME QUESTIONS.


"We meet occasionally, Miss Minturn," Dr. Stanley observed in a
genial tone, as he cordially extended his hand to her. "I hope
everything is progressing satisfactorily in the junior class."

"As far as I know, all is well," she returned, her scarlet lips
parting in a smile that just showed the tips of her white teeth,
though she flushed slightly under her companion's glance. "I can
speak with authority for only one, however. I am compelled to work
pretty diligently; but I rather enjoy that."

"I am sure you do. I recall a fluent reading from Horace, which I
inadvertently interrupted on the Ivernia, last fall, and which
must have required earnest application; and I also remember that
that same student could not be tempted from her task until the
lesson was done," the gentleman rejoined, jocosely. Then turning
to Dorothy, he inquired:

"And how does my small niece find herself this afternoon?"

"Miss Minturn, I have enjoyed my walk more than I can tell you,"
said Mrs. Seabrook, as she removed her hat and wrap, but wondering
at the unaccustomed crimson in the girl's cheeks. "And now," she
added, "if you have time I would like to show you a portfolio of
engravings which Prof. Seabrook received last week from an old
classmate who is now abroad."

Katherine could never resist fine pictures, and followed her
hostess into an adjoining room, where the portfolio was placed
upon a table, and she was invited to inspect its contents at her
leisure, Mrs. Seabrook excusing herself to prepare some
nourishment for Dorothy.

Katherine found many of the engravings to be copies of paintings
by some of the great masters, and which she had seen, in various
galleries, the previous summer. They were very finely executed,
and she became so absorbed in them that she was unconscious of the
presence of anyone until Dr. Stanley's smooth, cultured tones fell
upon her startled ears.

"That is a beautiful thing, Miss Minturn," he observed, bending
nearer to look more closely at a copy of a section of the
'Creation' as painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in the
Vatican at Rome. "The foreshortening and perspective there is
wonderful! Michael Angelo was the master of them all! Of course,
you have seen many of the wonders of that great storehouse of
art?"

"Yes; mamma and I spent a great deal of time in the Vatican. What
a treasure vault it is!" Katherine replied, and then, as she
turned other pictures to view, they fell to talking of scenes
familiar to them both.

At length she came upon a reproduction of the healing of the lame
man by Peter, at the "Gate Beautiful" of the Temple in Jerusalem.

It was full of strength and life, as well as of touches of beauty
and pathos, and the girl's face lighted with keen appreciation as
she saw it.

"That is a queer story," Dr. Stanley observed, and eagerly seizing
the opportunity for which he had been waiting.

"Queer?" repeated Katherine, inquiringly.

"Yes; it seems so to me. Do you believe that man--Peter, I
believe, was his name--performed that cure instantaneously, as
related?"

"No; but God did, working through him," said Katherine.

"You firmly believe that such an incident really occurred?"

"I certainly do."

"And you just as firmly believe that such healing can be done
now?"

The girl lifted a quick, searching look to her companion, half
expecting to see the skeptical curl, which she so well remembered,
wreathing his mobile lips.

But, instead, she found herself looking into a pair of grave,
earnest blue eyes, and there was no sign of levity or derision in
the fine face.

"Yes, it has been done many times during the last thirty years,"
she quietly replied.

"Do you speak from actual knowledge or only from hearsay?"

"Both. I know of two cases, and my mother could tell you of
several others."

"Do you believe that Dorothy could be healed? made straight and
well?"

"Oh, Dr. Stanley!" Katherine breathed, with luminous eyes. "Yes,
indeed! yes. Will they try the Science for her? Oh! how I have
yearned to have that dear child made whole!"

Her face was so radiant with hope, yet so softly tender and so
beautiful, the physician was deeply moved.

"I cannot say as to that," he replied. "But will you tell me, Miss
Minturn, what, in your method, heals the sick?"

"God--the power that created the universe and holds it in His
grasp, who 'spake and it was done.'"

"Ah! but that is so vague, so intangible, I cannot comprehend your
meaning," said the man, with an impatient shrug of his broad
shoulders. "I do not doubt the existence of God," he continued,
"nor His omnipotence, for I believe that the Creator must have all
power over His own creation. But how--how can suffering humanity
avail itself of that power? If I could grasp that--if I were sure
it could be done by a really scientific process, I would never
again prescribe a drug or touch a surgical instrument."

He spoke with evident emotion, almost passionately, for they could
hear Dorothy sobbing, from the returning pain, in the other room,
and, with all his learning and experience, the man had a heart-
sickening sense of discouragement in view of his own and others'
helplessness to cope with that demon of torture which was surely
destroying his niece and, indirectly, wearing to a shadow his only
sister.

"You say you believe in God--that you do not doubt His power; but
is that statement of your attitude quite true, Dr. Stanley?"
Katherine gently inquired. "If you really believed it, if all who
claim that they have faith in an omnipotent God really believed
it, would you or they ever assume that drugs or surgical
instruments were needed to assist God to do His work?"

"Jove! that is an argument that has never occurred to me before!"
Phillip Stanley exclaimed. "But," he went on, doubtfully, "the
curse came, and man was driven to do something to mitigate it; and
it has been conceded, all down the ages, that these same doctors
and material remedies are agencies that were required and provided
by an all-wise Providence for that purpose."

"Yes, man, in his arrogance, has claimed that, and so has
practically denied the omnipotence of God. But this same God has
said, over and over, 'Whatsoever ye ask ye shall receive,' and
'Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy-laden and I will
give you rest.' But he has never said, 'Ask to be healed of
disease and I will send you doctors, to experiment with drugs,
roots and herbs, and mechanical appliances;' or, 'if ye are worn
out with care and heavy-laden with suffering they shall build you
costly sanitariums, wherein to rest and be treated.' But only the
rich or a favored few may avail themselves of these. If these
remedies or retreats were infallible and could reach all mankind,
there might be some plausibility in such arguments; but such is
not the case, as you must know. Where, in God's Word, which is
conceded to be the guide for humanity, do you find authority for
them?" Katherine inquired, in conclusion.

"You have me there, Miss Minturn," rejoined her companion, with a
quizzical smile; "honesty compels me to confess that I have not
been much of a Bible student, at least of late years. But allow me
to say that your arguments against doctors, drugs and hospitals
are very quaint, not to say convincing," he added, with an amused
laugh.

"Well, let me assure you that you cannot find an instance, from
Genesis to Revelation, where God commands man to call upon
physicians, or to use material remedies for sickness any more than
for sin," Katherine continued, earnestly. "But we do find many
injunctions to depend upon Him alone in such extremity. In
Deuteronomy we read, 'And the Lord will take away from thee all
sickness.' Again, we are told what the penalty is for not calling
upon Him--'Asa died because he sought the physicians and not unto
God.' David tells us, 'It is God who healeth all our diseases,'
and there are many more passages I could quote to prove the
point."

"But why, if that is the only right way, has not God made it so
plain that no one could go astray?" questioned Dr. Stanley.

"He has made it plain, and man would not go astray if he were
obedient; but, in his arrogance and egotism, he has ignored God
and 'sought out many inventions' [Footnote: Eccles., 7.29.] to rob
Him of His prerogative," said Katherine.

"Well, to go back still farther, why has God permitted such evils
and untold misery to exist in the world?" thoughtfully inquired
the gentleman.

"He has not 'permitted' it," the girl positively declared.

"Isn't that rather a bold assertion, if God is omnipotent?"
Phillip Stanley demanded, in surprise.

"No; for He asserts that He looks on evil with 'no degree of
allowance.' For instance, you are supposed to be supreme in the
sick room, your word law; but if your patient ignores your
directions and remedies and substitutes others in place of them,
you are not 'permitting' such willful disobedience. But the
patient suffers for it none the less, and you are in no way
responsible for his condition. So mortals, in their presumption
and perverseness, have become idolaters, have set up false gods or
devices to rob God of His power. Take another illustration: Truth
and honesty are supreme in their realm, but there are people who
prefer to lie when truth would serve them better, and who would
rather steal than get an honest living. But truth and honesty do
not permit--are not responsible for such perversion. Until the
liar and the thief turn to truth and honesty, to reclaim them,
they will suffer from the results of their sins; they cannot
substitute anything else."

"I see your point, Miss Minturn, and you have given me something
to think of. You argue, too, like a veritable doctor of divinity,"
said Dr. Stanley, with a smile.

"Oh! no, I do not," retorted Katherine, with a roguish gleam in
her brown eyes; "for, let your doctor of divinity get sick and he
will argue for material remedies every time."

"That is true, and my intellect, my education and experience
prompt me to reason from the same standpoint," was the grave
response. "My professional pride also cries out 'Absurd!
Impossible! Impractical!' But I dearly love that little girl in
there," and the man's voice grew gentle as a woman's and trembled
in spite of his manhood, as he glanced towards the adjoining room.
"I love my sister, whose life is a mental and physical martyrdom,
and I would sacrifice all I have--yea, even professional authority
and pride--to bring health and happiness to them. There is one
thing left to try for Dorothy, to relieve that pain--only one; but
my heart shrinks, revolts from it. That is why I have sought this
conversation with you, Miss Minturn, hoping to g

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