Katherine's Sheaves Part 39

Mrs. Minturn followed her.

"I am going now," she said, "but I shall continue to work for Dorrie all day, at intervals, and will run over now and then. All is going well, so 'be not afraid, only believe.'"

"How can I ever express what is in my heart?" faltered Mrs.

Seabrook, tears raining over her face.

"You do not need to try, for I know it all, having once been almost where Dorrie seemed to be last night," her friend returned.

"But do not make a marvel of it--just know that G.o.d's ways are 'divinely natural,' and that it is unnatural for anything but health and harmony to exist in His universe. I have left my book, and you can read to her if she expresses a wish to have you do so."

There were very grateful, reverent hearts in the Hunt cottage that day and during the days that followed, for Dorothy continued to improve rapidly and steadily, and there was no return of the old pain that had made life so wretched for her for years.

The fourth day after her long night-watch Mrs. Minturn sent a roomy carriage--the back seat piled with down coverlids--"to take them all for a drive."

Dr. Stanley, still governed largely by the "old thought," would have vetoed such a suggestion under different circ.u.mstances, and claimed that the child was still too weak to attempt anything of the kind. But he felt that he, himself, was now under orders, and meekly refrained from even expressing an opinion.

So they thankfully accepted their neighbor's kindness, and when he saw Dorrie's delight in being once more out of doors, when he met her dancing eyes and noted the faint color coming into her cheeks and lips, and every day realized that she was getting stronger, something within seemed to tell him that she would yet be well; and--figuratively speaking--he reverently took off his materia medica hat to Mrs. Minturn and secretly registered the vow of Ruth to Naomi--"Thy people shall be my people and thy G.o.d my G.o.d."

One evening, after Dorothy was in bed and asleep, he came upon his sister in the upper hall reading "Science and Health," and he smiled, for since the night of their great trial she had literally devoured the book every spare moment she could get.

"Have you written Will anything about our recent experiences?" he inquired, as she glanced up at him.

"No; and I am not going to--just yet. Of course, I have written him," she hastened to add, "but I have said nothing about Dorrie, except that she is improving. I think"--thoughtfully--"I will make 'open confession' by another week, for I had a talk with Mrs.

Minturn, this afternoon, and she feels that it is hardly fair, that she is not quite justified to go on with the treatment without his consent."

"Suppose he should still object?" suggested Dr. Stanley.

"Oh, he will not--he cannot when he learns the truth and of the great change in her; that the old pain is gone and she sleeps the whole night through," earnestly returned Mrs. Seabrook, but flus.h.i.+ng hotly, for she had been secretly dreading to tell her husband of the responsibility she had a.s.sumed.

"Well, when you are ready to write let me know, for I also shall have something to say to him," said her brother, gravely.

A week later two voluminous letters, charged with matter of serious import, went sailing over the ocean on their way to Paris, where it was expected they would find Prof. Seabrook, who, having turned his face home-ward, would spend the last week of August there.

Each was characteristic of the writer; the mother's touchingly pathetic in describing the "valley of the shadow" through which they had pa.s.sed, and glowing with love and grat.i.tude to G.o.d in view of the present hopeful and peaceful conditions; closing with an earnest, even piteous, appeal for her husband's unqualified consent to continue Christian Science treatment.

The young physician was no less earnest in laying the case before his brother-in-law, but rather more logical and philosophical in discussing it, as well as very positive in his deductions. In conclusion he wrote:

"Perhaps you may be surprised to learn that I have been reading up on this subject during the last few months; but, as I have also been practicing medicine, at the same time, the mental conflict has been something indescribable. I told myself, in my presumption and egotism, that if there was healing power in Christian Science I would look into it and utilize it in connection with my own methods. The result has been a state of perpetual fizz--I know no better word to describe it; and now, after our recent experience, I find myself willing to sit humbly at the feet of higher authority and learn of a better and more efficacious healing art than I know of at present. For, I tell you in plain terms, Dorothy was dying--she was past all human aid when that blessed woman came, like an angel of peace, to us and in one night brought back our darling from the border of the unseen world. She, with her understanding of Christian Science, saved her. There can be no doubt on that point, and the child is better than I have ever seen her since her accident. There has been no return of pain, and you can imagine what that means to us all. She sleeps well, and has a healthy, normal appet.i.te. But Mrs. Minturn is very conscientious-- says she cannot work in a divided household, and must have your approval, if she is to go on with the good work. Now, Will, be a man; put your prejudices away on some upper shelf--or, better still, cast them to the winds; pocket your ecclesiastical and intellectual pride, and give Dorrie a chance. I am convinced 'there is more in this philosophy than we have ever dreamed of,'

and I am going to know more about it. Cable just two words--'go on'--if you are willing, and, at the rate she is going on now, I'll wager a hat against a cane that you won't know your own daughter when you arrive. Bring the cane, please! In the same spirit of good fellows.h.i.+p as ever. "Affectionately yours, "PHIL."

There was a season of anxious, yet blessed, waiting after these letters were dispatched. Blessed for Dorothy, who was gaining every hour, and happy as the day was long; anxious for Mrs.

Seabrook, who could not quite divest herself of the fear of her husband's disapproval, even though Mrs. Minturn was constantly admonis.h.i.+ng, "Let not your heart be troubled," and working to demonstrate that there could be no opposition to Truth and that the work, so well begun, could not be hindered by bigotry, pride or self-will.

At last, one morning there came a cable message--just two words, as Phillip Stanley had requested, but not what he had asked for.

"'Sail to-day,'" Mrs. Seabrook read aloud from the yellow slip, and lost color as she looked anxiously into her brother's eyes and questioned:

"What shall we do?"

"We will ask Mrs. Minturn," he gravely replied.

So the message was taken to her, and after a thoughtful silence she turned with her serene smile to the waiting mother.

"We will go on," she said. "The question is ignored, and silence gives consent until we have more definite instructions."

And go on they did, all working together, praying, reading, trusting, while they waited for the white-winged vessel and the traveler that were speeding towards them.

Three days later, a black bordered envelope was handed Katherine.

"It has no more power than you give it, dearie," observed her mother, who saw that she did not at once open it.

The girl thanked her with a smile, and instantly broke the seal.

"It is from Jennie Wild, mamma," she said, as she turned to the signature on the last page. Then she read aloud:

"DEAR MISS MINTURN: Auntie is gone, and it was all so sudden and awful I cannot realize it even yet. She just went to sleep last Thursday, in her chair, and never woke up. She was so dear--so dear, and I loved her with all my heart, and it seems to take everything out of the world for me, for her going leaves me alone, with no one to love, or have a kindred feeling for me. I had planned to do such great things for her when I should leave school, so that she need not work every minute to support me, and now I can do nothing and have been a burden to her all these years. It is dreadful to be a 'stray waif,' your ident.i.ty lost, and your only friend swept out of the world without a moment's warning.

"Well, I am young and strong--I can work, and sometime, perhaps, I shall understand why I am here--what special niche I am to fill; though at present nothing but a blank wall seems to loom up before me. Of course, this means I am not going back to Hilton, for auntie's annuity ceased when she went; the quarterly remittance came the day before, so there was enough, and a little more, to take care of her. I am going, tomorrow, to Jerome's, to see if I can get a place in the store. I want to stay here because, now and then, I can see you, the Seabrooks, and some of the other girls who have been good to me. Please write to me, dear Miss Minturn. I thought of you first in my trouble, for you always have something so comforting to say when one is unhappy. Do you know anything about Prof, and Mrs. Seabrook, or how Dorothy is? "Lovingly yours, "JENNIE WILD."

There was a long silence, after Katherine finished reading this epistle, during which both mother and daughter were absorbed in thought. They were alone, for Miss Reynolds had left a few days previous and Sadie had gone to Boston to do some shopping.

"Mamma," said Katherine, at length, breaking the silence, "there is Grandma Minturn's legacy."

Mrs. Minturn lifted a bewildered look to her.

"Ah!" she said, the next moment, as she caught her meaning, "I understand; you want to use it for Jennie."

"Yes; it is too bad for her education to be stopped. She is a conscientious student, in spite of her pranks, and I cannot endure the thought of her going into a dry-goods store as a clerk,"

Katherine replied.

"But the will states that the legacy is to be used for 'a European tour, or a wedding trousseau, or--'"

"I know; but, mamma, I've had my European tour with you--such a lovely one, too!" Katherine interposed; "while as for the trousseau"--this with a faint smile--"that is a possible need so far away in the dim distance as to be absolutely invisible at present. So if you will let me use the money for Jennie I shall be happy, and I am sure it will be 'bread' well 'cast upon the waters.'"

"Dear heart!" replied her mother, in a voice that was not quite steady, "it is a lovely thought; but we cannot decide so important a matter without consulting your father. If he approves you have my hearty sanction."'

John Minturn, big-hearted, whole-souled, and always ready to lend a helping hand to a needy brother or sister, was deeply touched by Katherine's generosity.

"Well, 'my girlie,' I guess you can do about as you have a mind to with grandma's legacy," he said, when she unfolded her plan to him. "To be sure she stated what it might be used for, but I think she meant you to get what you most wanted with it. You've had the trip abroad, as you say, and"--with a twinkle in his eyes that brought the color to her cheeks--"when the wedding finery is needed--which I hope won't be for a long time yet--I imagine it will promptly be forthcoming."

"Thank you, papa. I wonder if any other girl manages to get her own way as often as I do!" said the happy maiden, as she gave his ear a playful tweak and supplemented it with a kiss on his lips.

"Well, Miss Philanthropy, for once I'll concede that it is an irresistible 'way,'" he retorted, then added more seriously: "And I think we will insist that Miss Wild shall return to Hilton as a regular student and have no outside duties to handicap her in the race, for the next three years."

"That was my own thought, too, papa; but"--with a look of perplexity--"there are nearly three weeks before school opens, and I am wondering what she will do with herself during that time."

"Oh, that is easily managed; tell her to board with some nice family, and be getting her finery in order. Judging from what is going on upstairs, she'll need a few st.i.tches taken as well as some other people whom I know," returned the man, with a chuckle; for, unlike the majority of his kind, he took a deep interest in the apparel of his wife and daughter, especially in the "pretty nothings" which add so much to the tout ensemble.

But upon confiding her plans to Mrs. Seabrook, that lady at once vetoed the boarding proposition.