"Why--what was it?"
Again Cyrus hesitated. His father smiled--the smile of reassurance. "Go
ahead and tell me about it."
"Will you promise not to be angry or say anything bad?"
"Yes, I promise."
"Well, when I broke the window pane in the parlor to-day I was going to
wait and let Joanna tell you about it when I was out of the way. But
when you looked at me to-night after I had told about the dream I saw
that you were in such a hurry to find out about the message from Ruth,
that you wouldn't think so much of the window pane. So I told you."
Dr. Alton smiled and kept his promise, refraining from criticism.
But he recalled the look in the boy's eyes, a few moments since--the
look as of gently exploring another's thoughts. The recollection at
this present moment brought a singular feeling almost of awe; as of
something beyond human limitations. Was he on the border land of the
supernatural? And yet, as he looked into the honest face of Cyrus, his
wonder did not lessen. He found, therein, no solution of the mystery.
He discovered nothing beyond the familiar face of his normal, sane
and healthy boy, absorbed in things that became his age. He knew that
Cyrus, like other boys, would rather eat than pray; that he preferred
stealing apples to hearing sermons and would rather be a pirate than
a bishop. This knowledge did not trouble the father. He had been a boy
himself.
Then, sitting on the old sofa beside Zac and Cyrus, he asked
many questions. They were all answered. Cyrus had nothing to
conceal. With boyish frankness he told many things, some serious,
some amusing--little secrets of his own--when he had enjoyed his
extraordinary gift. His experiences in divining the thoughts of others
were given as matter of fact occurrences. He had believed, until now,
that this power was possessed by all the world.
It was a cozy group on the old sofa before the open wood fire, Zac,
Cyrus and Dr. Alton, and they stayed an hour or more. Dr. Alton began
to realize that this faculty was not only mind reading but something
far beyond. That thoughts of others should come to this boy with
no effort of his own was almost incredible. Even more amazing was
the transmission through space not only of spoken words but of the
unuttered wishes of far away friends. Was his son the master of a vital
secret, a mysterious power now unknown to science but, in future years
perhaps, to be common knowledge? Was it within the realms of material
science? Or was it an individual form of spiritual sympathy, some
ethereal harmony attuned by superhuman guidance to a chosen few?
When Cyrus had gone upstairs to bed Dr. Alton sat long before the open
fine, remembering. And there was much to remember. At last he stepped
out into the night air and stood upon the doorstep. Before him, in
the moon-light, were snow-covered fields, tall skeletons of elms and
maples, their leafless branches like barren memories against the sky.
But this New England landscape was not what he saw. He saw, through his
closed eyelids, the blue waters of the Adriatic. Close beside him a
pair of loving eyes, dark, tragic--but smiling now--were looking deep
into his own and the woman's lips were asking if it were possible for
the unborn child to inherit its mother's power of divining another's
thoughts. And he--the wise young doctor!--shook his head and smiled at
the foolish question.
And, lo! not only had the power descended to the boy but with it had
come an added faculty even more mysterious and unbelievable!
[Illustration]