"MANOR HOUSE
MANDEVILLE.
"_Dear Cousin Alicia,_
"It seemed such a long journey before we arrived here. Uncle was so
kind and told me about the different places as we passed through. But I
felt I was getting such a long way from you, as we passed town after
town. All my cousins were at the station to meet us; but Auntie was not
well enough to be there. I should like to describe them all to you, but
I am sure I could not. They are ever so much nicer than any of the
children I have read about in books. I will only tell you their names.
Perhaps you will see them all some day. Edith, Gwendolin, Percy, and
Frank, in the school-room; and in the nursery, Sylvia, Estelle, and
Rosebud. Uncle had never seen Rosebud. She is two years and three
months old, and is the sweetest little girl. She has such pretty ways.
I do love to hear her talk.
"We walked from the station through the park. Uncle seemed so glad to
see his own home again. The Manor House is very old; such quaint little
oriel windows, and turrets, and gables. I have not learned my way about
yet, but the school-room and nurseries are quite close together. It was
returning from Auntie's boudoir to the schoolroom I got lost, and I
found myself in quite a different part of the house. I opened a door I
thought was the school-room, and it was the housekeeper's room. Then a
maid took me to the school-room. Percy and Frank thought it very
amusing, and said they could find their way anywhere blindfold, and
Rosebud said 'Me tome wiff 'ou, Tarol.' I didn't see Auntie until after
tea. We all had tea together in the school-room, the nursery children as
well. The governess invited them. Her name is Miss Markham, she is
very strict, but I think she is kind too. I am thinking all the time of
the history of England when she speaks, and wondering what part of it
she belongs to. The elder children are going down to dinner, as it is
Uncle's first evening at home.
"Auntie was lying on a couch when I was taken to her room. She seemed
so full of grief and sadness. She wept when she held her arms around
me. But I just knew that Love is everywhere, and sorrow and sadness
cannot be where Love is. In a little while she was quite different, and
even smiled as she talked to me. She said I had comforted her so. I
would have liked to explain to her what had comforted her, but she does
not like me to say anything about Christian Science, and asked me not to
mention it before Uncle Raymond, because it makes him angry. Auntie
thinks I could not have been so ill as the doctors thought, or I should
not be quite well and strong now. Please tell me, dear Cousin, will it
be denying Christ, if I do not tell people what healed me? I did so
wish I could have told Auntie some of the beautiful things you have
taught me. Will you write to me very often, please? I am going to write
nearly every day to you. Auntie says I may--as often as I like. I have
such a dear little room all to myself, so I shall be able to do the
Lesson-Sermon every morning before breakfast. Thank you again for
giving me _Science and Health_ for my very own, and the Bible which was
my mother's. I want to study both books so well that when I am a man I
shall know them better than anything else in the world. I am to study
with Edith and Gwendolin for the present. Frank and Percy go to a large
public school at H--. I am to go with them when Uncle is quite sure I
am strong enough. He does not understand that I am perfectly well and
strong. I must leave off now. I have to put on my Eton suit for
dinner. I do not feel so far away from you as when I was in the train.
It is just as if you were in the room with me. I can feel your thoughts
like loving arms around me.
"Dear Cousin Alicia
"Your loving Carol.
"_P.S._ Bed-time. The post-bag had gone when I had finished my letter.
I just want to tell you, Auntie came down to dinner. Every one was so
surprised and delighted and we had such a happy evening. Uncle played
games with us after dinner, and Auntie looked on. The time went so
quickly, we were sorry when Uncle said: 'Bed-time, children. To your
tents: double quick march.' So we all had to scamper away. Uncle
Raymond came to dinner. He is so grave and stern, so different from
Father. He went into the study whilst Uncle was playing with us."
CHAPTER III.--A FORBIDDEN BOOK.
Carol had always been a lonely boy. The companionship of other children
was a pleasure he had never known. In the remote Devonshire village,
where all the years of his young life had been spent, there were no
children who could be invited to his home as friends and companions for
him. First his mother's delicate health, and then his own, had
prevented visits to or from his cousins. When he was seven years old a
fall from his pony caused an injury to his hip, which eventually
developed into what the doctors diagnosed as tubercular disease of the
hip bone. For three years his mother had been slowly dying of
consumption, and the boy had been the joy and brightness of her life.
She did not live long after she was told that what she was suffering
from he would suffer, too, in another form. She died about six months
before the war broke out in South Africa, and fulfilling a promise made
some time before, a favorite cousin, then resident in America, whose
girlhood had been spent with her as a sister, came to take charge of the
household and the young motherless invalid. Major Willmar was ordered
to the front shortly after operations commenced, but before he went he
had hopes that his boy would grow well and strong. There had been such
a marked change in him from the day Cousin Alicia arrived, bringing to
that saddened home love and--Truth.
It can, therefore, be easily understood that the first few days at the
Manor were to Carol days almost of bewilderment. As soon as his cousins
found that their joy in having Father back again, safe and sound, did
not hurt Carol, nothing restrained their wild exuberance of spirits.
They could not understand the gentle, reserved boy, who spoke with so
much love and tenderness of his father, yet had no tears or sadness
because he would return no more.
"Perhaps he doesn't quite understand," said Gwendolin.
"I think he does," said Edith, "and I am sure he loved Uncle as much as
we love Father. There is such a far-away look in his eyes, when he
speaks of his father and mother, just as if he were looking at something
we cannot see. Although he is so gentle and kind, especially to the
little ones, I am sure no one could persuade him to do anything he
thought wrong. He is a dear boy. I am glad he is going to study with
us for the present, because the boys at school would not understand him.
Even Percy and Frank are inclined to mistake his gentleness for
weakness. Yet I could imagine him standing and facing any real danger,
when most boys would run away."
From the first Edith had conceived a great affection for her Cousin
Carol, and, as a consequence, she understood him better. On many
occasions she was able to help him, when Percy and Frank were somewhat
brusque and impatient in their treatment of him. They could not
understand his reluctance to join in some of their games. He loved to
look on; but everything was new and strange to him. He had never been
used to playing the games which were so much to Frank and Percy. Edith
then quietly explained to her less thoughtful brothers that they should
not expect a boy who had spent three years on an invalid's couch to be
able to play the games in which they were so proficient.
Carol was often in the nursery, Nurse was so big and motherly. She had
welcomed him, as if he had been one of her own children from the first.
It was a fixed idea amongst the children that as long as there had been
a Manor House, Nurse had presided over the nursery. She was always
ready to tell them stories of their father and uncles and aunts in the
old days. She even had tales of their grandfather, and many past
generations of Mandevilles, and in all the stories, of however long ago,
they imagined Nurse playing part. One thing they never could imagine:
that was the Manor House without her.
When the little girls wanted him, and that was very frequently, Carol
was always ready to go to the nursery, and often accompanied them on
their walks. Percy and Frank considered it much beneath their dignity
to take a walk "with the babies."
The improvement in Mrs. Mandeville's health, which had commenced on
Carol's first visit to her room, continued. In a few days she had taken
her usual place in the household, and the children rejoiced in the
nightly visits to their bedrooms. How glad they were when there were no
visitors downstairs, and they could keep her quite a long time.
Upon the occasion of her first visit to Carol's room, she found him
sitting up in bed, reading. She had expected to find him asleep, as the
other children had detained her so long.
"My little book-worm, what is the story you find so interesting?" she
asked playfully, intending to tell him lovingly the next morning that
she did not like the children to read in bed.
"Auntie, it isn't a story book. It is _Science and Health_. I read it
every night and morning."
"What a very strange book for a little boy to be interested in! The
title sounds quite alarmingly dry."
"Oh, Auntie, have you never heard of it? It is such a wonderful book. I
am beginning to understand it now. At first I could not, but Cousin
Alicia used to explain it so beautifully to me, and now I love to read
it."
"I cannot say I remember the title, dear, but I should like to look into
it. Will you spare it to me this evening? I think it is time now for
lights to be extinguished."
Carol gave the book to her gladly, little thinking it would be many long
days before he would see it again.
When Mrs. Mandeville returned to the drawing-room, the Rector was there.
"Do you know anything of this book, Raymond?" she asked, giving it into
his hand. "I found Carol reading it in bed--_Science and Health_." The
frown which was habitually on the Rector's face deepened.
"Indeed I do," he said, "and I should like to do with every copy what I
am going to do with this."
He walked over to the fireplace; his intentions were plain. Mrs.
Mandeville caught hold of his arm.
"No, no, Raymond, you must not. The book was a present from Miss
Desmond to Carol, and you have no right to destroy it, however strongly
you may disapprove of his reading it."
"I do more than disapprove. I absolutely forbid him to read any more of
it; the most unorthodox rubbish that has been published for centuries.
The worst of it is, it has taken hold of some people, especially women,
and they are carried away by it."
The Rector slipped the little book into his pocket. As he had not
destroyed it, he meant to make sure there should be no chance of its
falling again into Carol's hands. He, as well as Mrs. Mandeville, was
the boy's legal guardian.
Mrs. Mandeville was sorry. She felt sure from the way Carol had spoken
that the book was precious to him. Very gently, the next morning, she
told him of his uncle's decision. She noted the quivering lips; the
tears he was bravely trying not to shed.
"Dear boy, did you value it so much?" she said.
"Oh, Auntie!" The simple exclamation expressed more pain and regret
than many words could have done.
"Darling, I am sorry; but we must believe that Uncle Raymond has good
reasons for taking the book away. He says it is fearful heresy. You
must not forget that your dear grandfather was a bishop, also your
great-grandfather. I could not tell you during how many generations
there has always been at least one member of our family a dignitary of
the Church."
"What does unorthodox mean, Auntie?"
"It means contrary to, or opposed to the teachings of our beloved
church. Your dear father and mother were both good church people."
"Yes, Auntie; but that did not make Mummie better when she was so ill.
The vicar often used to sit with her, and pray for her in church, but
she was never better for it. When Cousin Alicia came and I was so ill,
I began at once to get better. That little book, _Science and Health_,
had taught her to understand the Bible, and God answered her prayers for
me!"
"It was certainly a remarkable coincidence--your improving so quickly
after Miss Desmond came; but it may have been the result of some fresh
medicine the doctor was trying."
"Auntie, I was not taking any medicine. The first night Cousin Alicia
came I slept till morning, and the next day I wanted something to eat.
The nurses thought it was wonderful, because they had had such
difficulty to get me to eat before. Then when they dressed the wounds
on my hip every morning I used to scream so, some of the servants went
where they could not hear me. In only one week I lost all the pain and
I did not cry at all, and very soon one by one the wounds healed."
"It was very remarkable, dear. But do you associate your healing with
the book which Uncle Raymond has taken away?"
"Why, Auntie, _Science and Health_ is the Key to the Bible, and the
Bible is the 'tree whose leaves are for the healing of the nations.'
But people have not understood until they had that Key how to go to the
Bible for healing. Cousin Alicia understood; that was why she was able
to heal me."
"What you say seems very strange, Carol. If Uncle had not taken the book
away, I should have liked to look into it. I expect he would refuse if
I asked him to let me read it."
It did not occur to Mrs. Mandeville that she could obtain another copy
of the book. The confiscated copy was not the only one to be had. Her
conversation with Carol was interrupted just then. The same night when
she went, as the evening before, to his bedroom, she found him sitting
up in bed. He greeted her eagerly with the words:
"Auntie, I have been thinking."
"Dear boy, what have you been thinking?" She kissed the earnest,
upturned face, and realized for the first time that he had a very
beautiful countenance, so like, she thought, one of Murillo's child
angels.
"I have been thinking, Auntie, of what you said about unorthodox. A
good many years ago when Protestants were called heretics, they were
unorthodox to the Church of Rome, were they not?"
"Certainly, dear."
"But Protestants are not called heretics now, are they?"
"I think we never hear them so spoken of now, dear, because there are
more Protestants in England than Roman Catholics."
"Then, Auntie, when there are more Christian Scientists than other
church people, _they_ won't be called heretics."
"Will that ever be?" Mrs. Mandeville asked with a smile.
"Yes, Auntie; it must be, because Christian Scientists obey Jesus. All
that he said and commanded in the New Testament, they try to carry out.
He commanded his disciples to heal the sick."
"His disciples of that day, dear."
"But, Auntie, didn't he say: 'What I say unto you I say unto all.' If
we love him we shall keep all his commandments. That is why I am sorry
Uncle Raymond has taken away my _Science and Health_. I want to
understand it like Cousin Alicia does; then some day, if I know little
boys or girls ill like I was, I could heal them. It makes me so sorry
now that I cannot study. I have written to Cousin Alicia to help me. I
know she will. It has been so difficult all day to stand 'porter at the
door of thought.' Such a lot of unkind thoughts would keep trying to
get in. I know I must not let any of them in, and Cousin Alicia will
help me to keep them out."
"I am afraid I do not quite understand, Carol."
"Don't you, Auntie? I have a little book that will explain. It is
called 'At the Door.' Our mind is like a beautiful white mansion, and
thoughts are like people who go in and out. If we let unkind thoughts
pass in, all kind thoughts go away. Self-pity isn't at all a nice
person, I have had such difficulty to keep him out all day, especially
when I remembered that Father knew I was studying _Science and Health_,
and he did not take it away from me."
"I will tell that to Uncle Raymond, dear, perhaps it will cause him to
alter his decision."
"Thank you, Auntie; I know it will be all right. I have only to be
patient. They have all gone away now, self-pity and indignation, and
anger. If I keep my mansion so full of love, there will be no room for
them to squeeze in, will there?"
"No, darling. Now go to sleep. I will take the little book down with
me and read it."
Mrs. Mandeville remembered as she went downstairs her visit three years
ago to Carol's home. Then she would have described him as a very spoilt
child, making allowance for his illness, he was fretful, selfish,
exacting. What had wrought such a marvellous change? The physical
healing seemed slight in comparison.