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.