When, the following week, Dr. Burton brought his wife and daughter home,
both he and Mrs. Burton gratefully spoke of the Science which had healed
her. The little girl, in her wheel-chair, had been so familiar an
object of compassion to the villagers that, when they saw her walking,
they wanted to know what had brought it about. Then Mr. Higgs
triumphantly held up a little book.
"It's all in here, bless the Lord," he said. "What's become o' my
rheumatiz, you ask. I don't know what's become o' it. I only know it's
gone. What becomes o' the darkness when you let the sunshine in? I'm
getting to understand it better every day. There's no need to trouble
what's become o' error when you let the Truth in."
Then he told them of his little grand-daughter, and how she, too, had
lost something. There was no need to say what. All the village had
known of the little girl's sad affliction. Many listened to him, and
looked curiously at the little book, but only a few believed. It was
easier to attribute the healing to nature, or natural causes, than to
spiritual laws. The return of Eloise was a great joy to Carol. She was
able to tell him much that he wanted to know. He so seldom spoke of his
home, Mrs. Mandeville would have been surprised to know how often he had
to fight against a sick longing for the dear scenes of his childhood,
and the cousin-friend who was now the representative of both father and
mother.
The Burtons arrived home too late for Carol to meet them at the station,
as he intended.
The next morning he was an early visitor at their house. Eloise had
only just finished breakfast.
"Oh, Carol!"
"Oh, Eloise!"
In a moment the two children were locked in each other's arms. Between
them was a bond of sympathy which neither could have defined, stronger,
more tender, than the tie of human relationship. Then, joyfully, Eloise
began to tell him all about her visit. She had so many messages to
deliver, and Carol had so many questions to ask, it was lunch time
before they were half through. Dr. Burton came in from his rounds. He
told them that he had called at the Manor, and had gained Mrs.
Mandeville's permission to keep Carol for the rest of the day.
"Thank you so much, Dr. Burton, I am very pleased to stay," Carol said
in answer.
Dr. Burton laid both hands on the boy's shoulders.
"My boy," he said gravely, "the pleasure is ours. We owe you a debt of
gratitude we can never hope to repay."
The words brought a flush of pleasure to Carol's face. He could not
think that he had done anything to deserve such gratitude.
After lunch, when she found the trunks had been unpacked, Eloise showed
Carol a little book, Miss Desmond's parting gift to her. It was exactly
like the book that had been given to Carol. He took it from Eloise, as
she held it out to him, but immediately laid it down on the table.
"Shall we do part of the Lesson together, Carol? It will be so nice. I
have done part of it every morning with Miss Desmond."
"Yes, I used to," Carol said, and Eloise detected a note of sadness in
his voice.
"Do you study it alone now, Carol?" she said.
"No, I never study it at all, Eloise. I have not a book. The book
Cousin Alicia gave me Uncle Raymond has."
"Then we can do it together every week from my book, cannot we?"
"No, Eloise, Uncle Raymond took my book away because he did not wish me
to study it. Until he gives me permission, I cannot read it with you."
"I am so sorry, Carol. The Rector always speaks so kindly to me when he
sees me, I should not mind asking him to let you have it again--shall I?
Perhaps he does not know how much you want it."
"Auntie asked him when I was ill, and he would not. I do not think it
would be any use for you to ask him, dear Eloise."
"And wouldn't you like to have my book sometimes, Carol?"
"Not without Uncle Raymond's permission. He is my guardian. I must be
obedient to his wishes. Don't look sorry, Eloise. It is all right. We
can only take one step at a time. It is sure to be given back to me
when I am ready to take another step."
"Will my book be taken away from me? Father and Mother are both pleased
for me to have it."
"Why, no, Eloise. The lesson I need to learn is perhaps not the lesson
you need. Everyone who comes into Science has something to
overcome--some particular lesson to master, Cousin Alicia said. Mine is
obedience, cheerful, willing obedience, and every victory of Truth over
error makes us stronger."
Then with the _gaiete de coeur_ of childhood, the subject was dismissed.
Eloise quickly proposed going to the garden where they spent the
afternoon, Carol teaching her to play croquet. Peals of merry laughter
reached Mrs. Burton as she sat at an open French window, causing her
heart anew to overflow with loving gratitude to the One who had "sent
His word," and her child was made whole.
When Mrs. Mandeville paid her usual visit to Carol's room that night,
she found him with wide-open eyes, a flush of excitement on his cheeks.
"I have had such a happy day, Auntie," he said. "I do love Eloise so
much, and she loves me, too" (Mrs. Mandeville smiled), "and we both love
Cousin Alicia. Since I came to bed I have been trying to think what love
is, and it seems it is like light, it can never be described in words.
The blind boy in the poem asked,
'What is that thing called light,
Which I can ne'er enjoy?'
No one could tell him to make him understand, could they? So no one
could make anyone understand in words what love is. Just as light comes
from the sun, and we can only see it with our eyes, so love comes from
God, who is Love, and we can only be conscious of it in our hearts.
Isn't it St. John, Auntie, who says we have passed from death unto life
when we love the brethren? Then just as eyes which cannot see the light
are called blind, mustn't it be that hearts which do not love are dead?"
"It seems to follow naturally your line of reasoning, Carol, though I
cannot say the thought ever occurred to me before. There is one marked
trait in all little children, they are so full of love."
"Yes, Auntie, especially darling Rosebud. She loves everyone. Do you
remember when I was ill, and you lifted her on the bed, how she said: 'I
do 'ove 'ou so welly much, Tarol'?"
"Yes, dear, I remember. Rosebud often makes me think of a line of one
of the poets:
'For a smile of God, thou art.'"
"That is just beautiful, Auntie, and it explains why little children
know what love is, before they know anything else, before they even walk
or talk."
"Yes, Carol, all great poets seem able to grasp some momentous truth,
and give it to the world in a beautiful line or verse."
"Cousin Alicia has given Eloise a copy of _Science and Health_ just like
the one she gave me, Auntie. Eloise showed it to me, and offered to
lend it to me. But it would not be right for me to read it until Uncle
Raymond gives me permission, would it? Do you think he may when he
knows of Eloise's healing?"
"He does know, dear. I was talking to him last night about it. He
attributes it to the change into Devonshire, or--or some other reason.
I think he suggested hypnotism."
"But they took her to Germany some time ago, and that change made no
difference, nor the great German doctor she was under."
"That is so, dear, still Uncle Raymond will not listen. I think it will
be unwise to talk any more on the subject to him."
"Do you think then, Auntie, he will not be willing for me to have the
book again until--until I am a man?"
"I fear that may be so, dear."
"Oh, Auntie!"
For a moment the grave eyes filled with tears. The next instant they
were dashed away. "What am I thinking of? Error, error, begone! Love
_can_ find a way, and Love _will_ find a way. It is quite all right,
Auntie," clasping both arms around her neck.
"Just wait and see! If we are not standing 'porter at the door of
thought' every moment, what a lot of wrong thoughts come trooping in."