DR. STANLEY HAS AN OBJECT LESSON.
She found Katherine already awake.
"What do you think of tramps who take possession of your room and
drive you out of your comfortable bed?" playfully demanded the
girl, and nodding brightly at her.
"I like it--that is, when I have the privilege of choosing the
tramp," her teacher laughingly responded, as she sat up and
glanced at the clock; "besides, this couch is every bit as
comfortable as the bed. Did you rest well, Kathie?"
"Beautifully. The last I knew, until about ten minutes ago, you
were reading the twenty-third psalm."
Miss Reynolds arose and began to dress. Once or twice she found
her eyes straying to Katherine's bandaged hand, and longed to
inquire regarding its condition. But she wisely resisted the
temptation and maintained a discreet silence.
"You will not try to go down to breakfast, Kathie," she remarked,
as she completed her toilet, and the bell began to ring just at
that moment.
"No, I think I will keep out of sight to-day. I do not wish to
answer questions. Besides, I haven't anything here suitable to put
on." and she bestowed a rueful look upon her pretty evening dress,
all crumpled and burned, that lay over the back of a chair.
"True; but I will go for one of your dresses when I come up from
breakfast," said her friend; "meantime, if you care to get up, you
can slip on this negligee of mine," and she threw a dainty wrapper
over the foot of the bed as she spoke.
As soon as Miss Reynolds left the room, Katherine arose and
dressed, then sat down to read. She was glad to be alone, for,
though she was entirely free from pain, she felt she still had
work to do for herself.
For nearly an hour she read and worked diligently, and then her
teacher returned, bearing a tempting breakfast, which she soon
dispatched with the appetite of a healthy, hungry girl.
"I met Prof. Seabrook and his wife on my way up," Miss Reynolds
observed, as she began putting away the things she had worn the
previous evening, "and both inquired most kindly for you. The
professor said you are excused from the class lecture this
morning, if you wish, and Mrs. Seabrook will come to see you
later. They both expressed themselves as deeply grateful for what
you did last night."
"I scarcely know what I did," Katherine returned, flushing. "Dr.
Stanley came so quickly to the rescue that it was all over before
I could think clearly. It seems like a dream."
"Yes, he told me all about it last night, Kathie, and said but for
your rare presence of mind there might have been a bad fire. He
was pretty well cut up, however, when he found that you had hidden
yourself away and he had lost a patient," Miss Reynolds replied
with a laugh of amusement, which was merrily echoed by her guest.
"He doesn't seem to take much stock in Science, dear," she
presently resumed. "He was simply amazed when I told him you were
sleeping--I thought it best, as long as your work was done, to
relieve his anxiety--and declared that was impossible, unless you
had taken a powerful opiate."
"An opiate is something which mortal mind says produces repose;
well, I had taken a large dose of that 'Peace, be still,' which,
rightly administered, never fails to give the sufferer and the
weary rest," said Katherine, with luminous eyes.
"It was beautiful, Kathie, and, figuratively speaking, I 'put off
my shoes from off my feet,' feeling that the 'place whereon I
stood was, indeed, holy ground,'" reverently observed her
companion. "But, tell me, weren't you afraid when you saw the
flames?"
"Yes, for an instant, then I forgot everything but the 'secret
place' and 'the shadow.'"
"How much those words mean to me now! And you believe that every
statement of that ninety-first psalm can be proved--made
practical?' gravely inquired Miss Reynolds.
"Every one."
"Well, I think I am beginning to know it, too; though, as yet, it
is like 'seeing through a glass darkly,'" and a sweet seriousness
settled over the woman's face. "But," she went on, arousing
herself after a moment, "if you will tell me what to bring you I
will now go to your room for some clothes."
"Really, I am perfectly able to go for them myself," Katherine
began.
"No, indeed; you are going to remain just where you are, at least
for the morning," said her teacher, authoritatively. "At this hour
you would be sure to meet many of the students and become the
target for innumerable questions."
"Well, then, bring my linen suit and my 'Horace,' please. I have
to complete an essay on that accomplished and agreeable gentleman
'as a poet and a wit,' and I can spend the morning working upon
it."
Miss Reynolds slipped away on her errand, but she no sooner
reached the main hall than she was surrounded by a bevy of excited
maidens and besieged with a volley of inquiries regarding the
accident of the previous night.
Dorothy's nurse, Alice, had described the scene in the lecture
hall to one of the maids, when, of course, the news had spread
like wildfire, and it, together with Katherine's "heroism," was
the one topic of the day. Sadie had also heard it and was on her
way to see her chum when she, too, met the teacher in the hall.
She went back to her room with her, found the things Katherine had
designated, and then, as it was nearly time for the class lecture,
sent word that she would come to see her after study hours were
over.
When Miss Reynolds reached her own door again, she found a maid
standing there with a long box in her hands.
"Mrs. Seabrook told me to bring this up to you, marm," the girl
observed; but on entering her room and relieving herself of her
armful of clothing, she saw that the package was addressed to
"Miss Katherine Minturn."
"What have we here, I wonder?" she remarked, as she passed it to
her companion, together with a pair of scissors.
Katherine cut the string and lifted the cover, when a cry of
delight broke from her.
"Dear Miss Reynolds! look!" she said, holding the box towards her
for inspection.
It was filled with fragrant, long-stemmed Jack roses.
"How lovely! Who can the donor be?" she said. "Ah! there is a
card, tucked almost out of sight, under the foliage."
Katherine drew it forth, and a quick flush suffused her face as
she read the name, "Phillip Harris Stanley." She passed it to her
friend, then bent over her box of crimson beauties, as if to
inhale their perfume, but really to hide the deepening color in
her cheeks.
Presently a bell rang and Miss Reynolds was obliged to go to a
class, thus leaving Katherine alone with her books and her
flowers, and in a very happy frame of mind.
It was nearly noon before Mrs. Seabrook could steal away from her
duties to go to see her; and when Katherine, in response to her
knock, admitted her, she took the girl into her arms and kissed
her with quivering lips, her eyes brimming with tears.
"My dear child, you know it is simply impossible for me to tell
you all there is in my heart," she began, but her voice broke and
she had to stop to maintain her self-control.
"Do not try, dear Mrs. Seabrook," said Katherine, as she returned
her caress. "I know it all, and you cannot be more thankful than I
am that Dorothy escaped without even having her pleasure spoiled."
"She talks of nothing but her 'beautiful time' and your
'bravery,'" the mother resumed. "She says that even though she
cannot remember much of what happened, after you wrapped the
portiere about the chair, she did hear you tell her 'not to be
afraid, for she was God's child and could not be harmed.' She was
not harmed in any way; she simply fainted from the shock, and
seems even brighter to-day than she was yesterday. But you
suffered for her," and Mrs. Seabrook's tremulous lips failed her
again, as she softly touched the girl's bandaged hand.
"It is almost nothing now," said Katherine, brightly. "I am fast
forgetting it myself, and want everybody else to. Does Dorrie
know?"
"No; my brother thought it best not to tell her."
"I am glad; pray keep it from her if possible."
"But is it not very sore? Are you not suffering?"
"Not in the least, I assure you. The pain lasted only a little
while; I slept lovely and feel as good as new this morning."
"But your beautiful dress was ruined, though that, of course,
shall be replaced; and you lost your good time last night," and
the woman heaved a regretful sigh.
Katherine laughed out merrily.
"You will not let me 'forget,'" she said. "But there will be
plenty of other 'good times,' and all else is as nothing in the
balance, compared with Dorothy's safety." Then, to change the
subject, she inquired: "Now, tell me, wasn't that last tableau
about as fine as anything could be?"
"It was exquisite beyond description," said Mrs. Seabrook, with
animation. "Mr. Seabrook was delighted with it, and so pleased to
have Dorrie in it. It was lovely of the juniors to take so much
pains for her and make her the central figure. The whole
entertainment was a great success; your production was very bright
and clever, and our guests from outside had nothing but praise for
everything. Oh! by the way, Miss Minturn, my husband sends his
kindest regards to you by me. He said it was all he could do until
he could see you personally."
After chatting a little longer she arose to go, saying she was
expecting company to dine with her.
Then she paused and again gently touched the spotless handkerchief
bound around Katherine's hand.
"My dear," she observed, searching her face with curious eyes, "I
cannot reconcile your bright and happy appearance with this; to me
it is a marvel, and I wish--oh! how I wish--"
She checked herself suddenly, but Katherine read her thought.
"I know," she said, softly, "and my heart has been full of the
same yearning for a long time. It will come, dear Mrs. Seabrook,
if we keep on wishing and praying."
"If I only knew how to pray as--as you do!" was the wistful
response.
"The Lord's Prayer meets every human need, particularly the
clause, 'Thy will be done on earth as in heaven;' only we need to
know it was never our Father's 'will' that His children should
suffer," Katherine returned.
Tears rushed to the elder woman's eyes.
"I wish I could understand," she began, brokenly. Then, bending
forward, she left a light kiss on the girl's cheek and abruptly
left the room.
There were tears in Katherine's eyes also, but a tender smile on
her lips.
"Divine Love is preparing the soil for the seed," she murmured to
herself as she went back to her essay.
She kept herself aloof from the other students as much as possible
until Monday, when she appeared as usual in her classes. She had
to run the gantlet of some inquiries regarding the extent of her
injuries, hut she made light of them, and her comrades began to
think they must have been greatly exaggerated, and so gave the
matter no further thought.
Monday afternoon, when the duties of the day were over, she went
to see Dorothy, who had sent her several pressing invitations
during the last three days.
"I thought you would never come, Miss Minturn," she exclaimed, the
moment the door opened to admit her, "and I have so wanted to talk
over that lovely--lovely time with you."
"I have been pretty busy, dear, since I saw you," Katherine
replied, bending to kiss the eager face.
"I expect you have, getting ready for exams, and everything, and
I've tried to be patient," said the child, with a sigh, as she
recalled how impatient she had felt. "Everybody says that was such
a beautiful tableau!" she went on, with shining eyes, "and we know
it was, don't we? I shall never forget it; only, it was too bad to
have such a scare afterwards and my pretty chariot spoiled. Wasn't
it lucky, though, that Uncle Phillip happened to come just when he
did and--" but she was obliged to pause here for breath.
"Indeed, it was most fortunate, and I am sorry that the chariot
was spoiled, for it would have been a pleasant reminder of our
lily queen's grandeur as long as you cared to preserve it,"
Katherine returned.
"But that was nothing compared with your dress!" was the regretful
rejoinder. "Uncle Phil said the skirt was ruined; but papa says
you shall have another every bit as nice--"
"Indeed, you shall, Miss Minturn," here interposed Prof. Seabrook,
coming from the adjoining room, where he had overheard the above
conversation.
He cordially extended his hand as he spoke, while his tone and
manner were more affable than they had been since the day of her
admission to the school.
"We owe you a great deal," he continued, "both for the pleasure
you were instrumental in giving our little girl last Friday night,
and for your presence of mind which saved--no one can estimate how
much--possibly a dangerous panic, the destruction of property and
much suffering."
He had been quietly inspecting the hand he held, while he was
speaking, and was greatly surprised to find only a slight
discoloration where he had expected to see unsightly sores or
scars, and, while he did not wish to undervalue her heroism and
self-abnegation, he began to think that his brother-in-law had
greatly over-estimated the injuries which she had sustained.
"I am afraid you are giving me far more credit than is my due,"
Katherine replied, releasing her hand and flushing as she read
something of what was passing in his mind. "I simply did what
first came to my thought and--"
"And exactly the right thing it was to do," the man smilingly
interposed.
"And Dr. Stanley did the rest," she persisted, finishing what had
been in her mind to say.
"Well, 'all's well that ends well,' and we are very grateful that
things are as they are," said the professor, earnestly, adding:
"You must allow me to repair whatever damage has teen done, as far
as money can do that. It pains me to know that you were burned,
but I am thankful to see that you did not suffer as severely as I
was led to infer." He glanced at her hand again as he concluded.
"I suffered more on Dorothy's account, I think, than in any other
way," the girl quietly replied.
"Why! were you burned, Miss Minturn?" Dorothy exclaimed, catching
her breath sharply.
"You would hardly know it now," she said, showing her hand, for
she saw she could no longer conceal the fact from her.
Dorothy took it, looked it over, then touched her lips lovingly to
it.
"I'm very sorry," she said, "but it couldn't have been so awful
bad to get well so quickly, could it?"
"It is all passed now, dearie, and we are glad that no one's good
time was spoiled, aren't we?" Katherine observed and hastening to
change the subject.
"Indeed, we are. It was such a happy time!" sighed Dorrie, in a
tone of supreme content. "I've dreamed and dreamed of it. I wake
in the morning thinking of it, and mamma and I talk and talk about
it."
"I wish to add, Miss Katherine," her principal here interposed,
"that your special contribution to the programme of last Friday
evening was exceedingly entertaining; and"--his eyes resting very
kindly on her--"having learned the circumstances that inspired it,
I heartily appreciate the spirit with which you met and mastered
them. Now, Dorrie, I will not keep you from your talk with her any
longer," and, with a genial smile and bow, the gentleman left the
room.
Katherine remained an hour with Dorothy and allowed her to
expatiate upon her "good time" to her heart's content, after which
she went out into the grounds for a little quiet meditation by
herself.
She was very happy because of what Prof. Seabrook had said to her
and the marked change in his manner towards her. He had addressed
her by her first name, too, for the first time, a thing which he
never did in speaking to students in public; but there were a
favored few whom he sometimes greeted thus when he chanced to meet
them informally, and it now seemed as if she were henceforth to be
numbered with them.
All the same, she knew that, in his heart, he was not one whit
more tolerant of her religious views, and the skeptical gleam in
his eyes, while inspecting her hand, had told her that he had no
faith whatever that she had made a "demonstration" over a severe
burn. But it was evident there had been a radical change in his
attitude towards her; he no longer entertained any personal
repulsion, and thus, with the little fire of Friday night, all
"barriers had been burned away" and a bond of true sympathy re-
established between them. So, with a smile on her lips and a song
in her heart, she made her way to a favorite spot, beneath a
mammoth beech tree, where, drawing forth a pocket edition of
"Unity of Good" [Footnote: By Mary Baker G. Eddy.], that tiny
book, that multum in parvo which, to every earnest student of
Christian Science, becomes a veritable casket of precious jewels,
she was soon lost to all things material in the perusal of its
pages.
She had been reading fifteen minutes, perhaps, when a muffled step
on the heavy greensward caused her to glance up, to find Dr.
Stanley almost beside her.
"All inquiries regarding a certain lady's health, I perceive, are
quite unnecessary," he observed, as he searched her glowing face.
"Pray pardon me if I have startled you, but I would like to know
how that poor hand is getting on, if it is permissible to mention
it."
"It is not a 'poor hand'--it is a very good hand, indeed, thank
you, Dr. Stanley; at least, for all practical purposes," she
demurely returned, but keeping it persistently out of sight, among
the folds of her dress, where it had fallen when she arose to
greet him.
"Miss Minturn, aren't you going to shake hands with an old
friend?" he gravely queried, extending his hand to her, but with a
roguish sparkle in his handsome eyes.
Katherine laughed out musically, and reluctantly laid hers within
his palm.
The man's face assumed an inscrutable expression as he turned the
small member over and examined it with a critical look, even
pushing up her sleeve a trifle to view the arm; but the slender
wrist was fair and white and no flaw anywhere, except the slight
discoloration previously referred to, where the unsightly blisters
had been.
"Miss Minturn, it is less than three days since that accident
occurred, and those burns are entirely healed! What did you do for
them?" he demanded, in low, repressed tones.
"Nothing, except to know that 'God is an ever-present help in time
of trouble.'"
"Do you mean to tell me that you applied no lotion or salve? that
you did nothing but 'demonstrate mentally,' as you Scientists
express it?"
"That was all, Dr. Stanley. I had no lotion or salve."
"How long did you suffer from the pain? I suppose you shrink from
being questioned thus by a doctor," he interposed, as he observed
her heightened color; "but please tell me--I want to know."
"The burning sensation was all gone at the end of three-quarters
of an hour, by the clock, though I confess the time seemed much
longer than that," she admitted, with a faint smile. "I was
conscious that my hand was sore and very tender as long as I was
awake; but in the morning that also was a belief of the past."
"It is beyond me!" muttered the physician, with a puzzled brow.
"But," he added, frankly, "I am heartily glad you did not have to
suffer many hours, as I felt sure you would, after seeing the
condition of your hand that night. I went to your room with my
sister, after attending to Dorothy, but, as you know, failed to
find you. An hour later Miss Reynolds astounded me by telling me
that you were in her room, asleep."
"Yes, she kindly took me under the shelter of her wing."
"Miss Minturn"--accusingly--"you ran away from me; you did not
want me to find you;" but he smiled as he said it.
"It was far better for me, with our conflicting opinions. It would
only have prolonged my suffering if you had found me and insisted
upon dressing the burns, even though your motive was most kind,"
Katherine gently explained.
"I am almost tempted to believe that, after what I have heard and
seen," he thoughtfully admitted.
"I hope you do not feel that I did not appreciate your kindness,"
Katherine observed, a note of appeal in her voice. "I know that
you would have done your best for me, in your way. And now, let me
thank you again for the lovely Jacks. I have not seen such
beauties for a long time. I hope you received my note of
acknowledgment."
"Yes, and wondered how you had managed to hold a pen, much more
write your natural hand."
For a moment Katherine wondered how he could know her "natural
hand"; then she remembered that he had asked an exchange of cards
from herself and her mother the day before they landed the
previous fall. She had just given her last one away, so had been
obliged to write her name and address on a blank card.
"What is this little book, in which you were so absorbed as I came
upon you?" he resumed, as he picked it up from the seat where she
had laid it and turned to the title page. "U-m! another production
by that remarkable woman! Do you understand it?"
"I am growing to understand it better every time I read it. There
is much that is beautiful and helpful in it."
"Well, one would need to read over and over to comprehend what she
teaches, and"--reflectively--"I am not sure but what it would be
well worth one's while. But I must go. Dorrie will think I am very
late this afternoon. An, revoir, Miss Minturn," and slipping the
book into Katherine's hands, he lifted his hat and went his way,
while she looked after him with shining eyes.
"Mamma sowed better than she knew, there; the soil is good and the
seed is taking root," she told herself as she turned with a light
heart back to her book.