Chapter 8

"I know how you feel--felt just the same myself for a bit," said he quietly. "But now look here, you've got to pull yourselves together--there's nothing to be afraid of. It's natural enough. It's faith, Helena--and that's what we were banking on--only not quite so hard. That kid and Mrs. Thornton annexed the real brand, that's all--and when the genuine thing is on tap I cross my fingers and yell for faith--there's nothing to stop it. And that's the way it's got both of you too, eh? Well, that only makes our game the safer and the more certain, doesn't it? So, come on now, pull yourselves together."

"In de last act when I was gettin' me head into joint," mumbled the Flopper, "was when de kid yelled--I can hear it yet, an'--"

"Forget it!" Madison broke in a little sharply; then, tactfully, his voice full of unbounded admiration: "You're an artist, Flopper--a wonder. You pulled the greatest act that was ever on the boards, and you pulled it as no other man on earth could have pulled it. Flopper, you make me feel humble when I look at you."

"Swipe me!" said the Flopper, brightening. "D'ye mean it, Doc--honest?"

"Mean it!" ejaculated Madison. "You're the whole thing, Flopper--you win. Come on now, Helena, buck up--we've got another little act due in about fifteen minutes--don't let a lot of yowling rubes get your goat. Why, say, we've got the whole show on the stampede--and we've got to rush our luck."

"Sure!" said the Flopper. "Dat's de way to talk--leave it to de Doc every time--. I ain't feazed half de way I was."

"I'm all right," said Helena a little tremulously. "What is it we're to do?"

"Good!" said Madison, smiling at her approvingly. "That sounds better. Now listen--and listen hard. From this minute this cottage is the Shrine. Get that?--Shrine. You've got to keep the hush falling here, and keep it falling all the time--a sort of holy, hallowed silence, understand? Lay it on thick--make the crowd stand back--make the guy that comes in here feel as though he ought to come in on his knees and as if he'd be struck dead if he didn't. Get the slow music and the low lights working. And keep the Patriarch well back of the drop except when he's on for a turn. Get me? He's no side-show with a barker in front of the tent--don't forget that for a minute. The harder it is to see the Patriarch and the less he's seen, the bigger he plays up when he's on. He goes to no man under any conditions, and the only man or woman that gets to him is through faith and supplication, and a double order of it at that. Keep the solemn, breathless tap turned on all the time."

Helena looked at him with a strange little smile quivering on her lips.

"It's a good thing I've got a sense of humor," she said slowly, "or else I think I'd--I'd--"

"No, you wouldn't," said Madison cheerfully. "But time's flying. You're going to have visitors in a few minutes, and here's where the Patriarch gets tucked away out of sight behind the veil for a starter, leaving his presence hovering and throbbing all around in the air--you stay with him, Flopper, in a back room somewhere and hold his hand. Where is he now?"

"In his armchair in the sitting-room," said Helena. "And he's still listening in that queer way he did out on the lawn. I think he knows in a little way what's happened."

"That's good," said Madison; "it'll make him happy. Well, lead him gently into retirement. I guess that's all--now hurry."

"Who is it that's coming?" interposed Helena quickly, as Madison started away from the window.

Madison grinned.

"Some friends of the Hopper's. Mr. and Mrs. Thankoffering--you'll like them immensely, Helena. The lady walks quite well now, and--"

"Walks!" exclaimed the Flopper, who evidently had not assimilated Madison's previous reference to Mrs. Thornton. "De lady dat I come wid in de private car--_walks_?"

"Of course," said Madison pleasantly.

"Cured? All cured?" gasped the Flopper.

"Of course," said Madison again--complacently.

"Say," said the Flopper, "say, I'm goin' dippy. Another one de same as de kid, Doc?"

"Same as the kid, Flopper--faith."

"Swipe me!" said the Flopper helplessly.

--XII--

"SAID THE SPIDER TO THE FLY"

By the wheel-chair, Mrs. Thornton, her husband and Doc Madison were in earnest conversation--and around them was a mass of people. The crowd had divided into two, or, rather, was constantly coming and going between two points--young Holmes and Mrs. Thornton--and still the hysteria was upon men and women, still that wavering, moanlike sound floated over the lawn.

"I am stunned and stupified," Madison was saying, and his hand trembled visibly in its outflung gesture. "I am not, I am afraid, a man of deep sensibilities, but I cannot help feeling that I have been permitted, been chosen even, to witness this sight, a sight that will stay with me till I die, for some great, ulterior purpose. It's as though this place were hallowed, set apart; that here, if only one has faith, that man's miraculous power is boundless--that I should help someway. I--I'm afraid I don't explain myself well."

"I know what you mean," Mrs. Thornton returned eagerly. "It is what I was saying to my husband--to make this place known, to help to bring suffering people here."

Madison nodded silently.

"And if you, who have no personal cause for gratitude, feel like that, how much more should we who--who--oh, there are no words to tell it--my heart is too full"--Mrs. Thornton smiled through tears. "Robert, you said you would do anything."

"Yes, dear," Thornton answered gravely. "But what? We cannot do things in a moment. If money--"

Madison shook his head.

"It's beyond money," he said. "Money is only a secondary consideration. It's the needs of the place that are paramount. It's not so much the bringing of people here--they will hear of what has taken place and will come of their own accord, they will flock here in numbers as time goes on. But then--what? What can be done with them in this little village? For a time perhaps they could be accommodated--but after that they must be turned away."

"Turned away!" exclaimed Mrs. Thornton, in a hurt cry. "Turned away from hope--to bitterness and misery again! No, no, they must not I Why"--she grasped her husband's arm agitatedly--"why couldn't we buy land and put little houses upon it where they could stay?"

Madison leaned suddenly toward her.

"I believe you've hit on the idea, Mrs. Thornton," he said excitedly. "Why not? It would be the finest thing that was ever done in the world. But why not go further--this should not be a private enterprise with the burden on the few." He turned abruptly to Mr. Thornton. "What a monument from grateful hearts, what a tribute to that saintly soul a huge sanatorium, built and properly endowed, would be! And it is feasible--purely from the voluntary contributions of those who come here and have money--free as the air to the poor who are sick--free to _all_, for that matter--no one asked to give--but the poorest would gladly lay down their mites."

"Yes--oh, yes!" cried Mrs. Thornton raptly.

"Yes," admitted Mr. Thornton thoughtfully; "that might be done."

"There is no doubt of it," asserted Madison enthusiastically. "It needs but the initiative on the part of some one, on our part, and the rest will take care of itself. But we must, of course, have the endorsement of the Patriarch--why not go to the cottage now, at once, and talk it over?"

"Can we see _him_?" asked Mrs. Thornton wistfully. "Oh, I would like to kneel at his feet and pour out my gratitude. But see how all these people go no nearer than that row of trees, as though love or fear or reverence kept them from going further, as though it were almost forbidden, holy ground, as though they were held back by an invisible barrier in spite of themselves."

"True," said Madison; "and I sense that very thing myself--all men must sense it after what has taken place, all must feel the presence of a power too majestic, too full of awe for the mind to grasp. This faith"--he threw out his hands in an impotent gesture--"we can only accept it unquestioningly, as a mighty thing, an actual, living, existent thing, even if we cannot fully understand. But I feel that with what we have in mind we have a right to go there now--and we should take that little lad who was cured as well--and his parents, they should come too."

"And shall we see _him_?" Mrs. Thornton asked again tensely.

"Why, I do not know," Madison replied; "but at least we shall see his niece, Miss Vail, and it is with her in any case that we would have to discuss the plan, for the Patriarch, you know, is deaf and dumb and blind."

"You know them, don't you?" Thornton inquired.

Madison smiled, a little strangely, a little deprecatingly.

"If one can speak of 'knowing' such as they--yes," he answered. "When I came two weeks ago, the Patriarch was not wholly blind, and he was very kind to me. I learned to love the gentle soul of the man, and in a way, skeptical though I was, I felt his power--but I never realized until this afternoon how stupendous, how immeasurable it was."

"Let us go to the cottage, then," said Thornton. "Naida, dear, let me help you; it is quite a little distance and--"

She put out her hands in a happy, intimate way to hold him off.

"You can't realize it, Robert, can you? That dear, practical business head of yours makes it even harder for you than it is for me--and I can hardly realize it myself. But I _am_ cured, dear, and I'm well and strong, and I don't need any help--why, Robert, I am going to help you now, instead of always being a source of worry and anxiety to you. Come, let us go."

"If you will walk slowly," suggested Madison, "I'll speak to the little Holmes boy and his parents, and bring them with us."

He moved away as he spoke--in the direction of a racking cough, that rose above the confused, murmuring, whispering, shaken voices on every hand; and in a little knot of people he was, for a moment, pressed close against Pale Face Harry.

"All right," whispered Pale Face Harry, "it's in your pocket now--but, say, no more runs like that for me, I'm all in. I thought sure I was cured myself--I hadn't coughed for--"

"Never mind about that now," said Madison rapidly. "I want the crowd kept away from the doors of the bank vault if they show any tendency to get too close, though I don't think that'll happen--they're too numbed and scared yet. But you know the game. Keep the awe going and the 'holy ground' signs up. Anybody that steps across that stretch between the trees and the cottage on and after the present date of writing does it with bowed head and his shoes off--get the idea?"

Pale Face Harry grinned.

"That's easy," he said. "Anything'd steer 'em now--they're like sheep. Leave it to me to keep the soft pedal on."

With a nod, Madison turned away, the tense expression on his face assumed again--and presently he was talking to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, and patting the boy's head in a clumsy, overwrought way.

"I--I don't dar'st to go," said Mrs. Holmes, clutching wildly at the boy, still sobbing, still beyond control of herself.

"But Mrs. Thornton is going," said Madison gently, "and I know your gratitude is no less than hers--it couldn't be less with this little lad restored to you. I am sure you want to show it--don't you?"

"I think we'd orter go, ma," said Mr. Holmes uneasily.

The boy put his hand in Madison's.

"I want to go, mister," he choked. "Take me, mister, won't you?"

"Yes, I think we'd orter go," repeated Mr. Holmes. "Come along, ma," he said, taking his wife's arm.

It was a strange group--the Thorntons, rich, refined, to whom luxury was necessity; the Holmes, poor, uncultured, coarsely dressed; and Madison, who walked with set face, head lowered a little, his pace slowing perceptibly, humbly it seemed, the nearer he came to the cottage door. Neither Thornton, nor Holmes, nor Holmes' wife spoke. Mrs. Thornton's arm was flung around the boy's shoulder, and he kept looking up into her tearful face--there was a bond between them that, young as he was, held him in its thrall. Out across the lawn, dotted here and there, in knots and groups and little crowds, men and women stopped where they stood and watched, making no effort to follow--and some, at the renewed evidence of the miraculous, once more so vividly before their eyes, dropped again to their knees.

They reached the door, and Madison drew back a little and with the others waited silently after he had knocked. Then the door opened slowly, and Helena, slim and girlish in her simple white dress, appeared upon the threshold. Her great dark eyes travelled slowly from one to another, and then her face lighted with a gentle smile.

"Miss Vail," said Madison diffidently, "this is Mrs. Thornton and her husband, and the little lad, with his parents, who owes so much to the Patriarch, and they have come to--"

"To try and say a little of what is in their hearts"--Mrs. Thornton stepped impulsively forward and held out her hands to Helena--and then, breaking down suddenly, she began to sob, and the two were in each other's arms, Mrs. Thornton's head buried on Helena's shoulder, Helena's face lowered, her brown hair mingling with the gold of the other's, her arms about the frail form that shook convulsively.

Doc Madison shot a covert glance at the three behind him--Thornton, and Holmes, and Mrs. Holmes. Holmes, with downcast eyes, was shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot; Mrs. Holmes, her woman's instinct touched, was watching the scene with face aglow, her eyes moist anew; Thornton was staring fascinated at Helena, a sort of breathless, wondering admiration in his eyes.

Madison involuntarily followed Thornton's look; then stole a glance back at Thornton again--Thornton was still gazing intently at Helena.

"Say," observed Madison to himself, "the longer you live the more you learn, don't you? That's the kind of stuff Helena wears from now on, the clinging white with the bare throat effect and all that. Why, say, like that she's what the poets call radiantly divine--eh, what?"

Mrs. Thornton raised her head, and her hands creeping to Helena's face brushed the brown hair tenderly back from the white forehead.

"Oh, how good and sweet and pure you are!" she murmured brokenly.

A quick, sudden flush, passing to all but Madison as one of demure and startled modesty, swept in a crimson tide to Helena's face.

"You--you must not say that," she faltered, shaking her head. "I--you must not say that."

Mrs. Thornton smiled at her--and slipped her arm affectionately around Helena's waist.

"I could not help it, dear," she whispered. "It came spontaneously. And it makes me so happy to find you like this, and it makes it so much more a joy in doing what we have come to talk to you about."

"What you have come to talk to me about?"--Helena, steadying herself, repeated the words almost composedly.

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Thornton, an eagerness in her voice again. "But--may we come in? Is it--"

"All may come in here," Helena answered softly, "and"--her eyes met Thornton's fixed gaze and dropped quickly--"please come in," she ended abruptly.

--XIII--

REAL MONEY

The two women passed inside the cottage, Mrs. Thornton holding out her hand again to the little lad; while Holmes and his wife followed hesitantly, awed. In the rear, Thornton grasped Madison's arm suddenly.

"I never saw such a beautiful face," he whispered tensely. "It's wonderful."

"Yes," assented Madison. "But everything here seems full of a rare, strange beauty, a hallowed something--it lifts one beyond material things. You _feel_ it--a great, calm solemnity all about you."

He closed the door softly behind him.

Mrs. Thornton's eyes swept questioningly, anxiously and a little timidly about the plain, simple, quiet room; and then she spoke, her voice unconsciously hushed:

"He--he is not here?"

Helena shook her head, as she led Mrs. Thornton to a chair.

"Not now," she said in a low voice. "The strain of this afternoon has left him very weary and very tired--much has gone out of him in response to the faith he felt but could not see."

"But he knows?" said Mrs. Thornton eagerly, reaching for Helena's hand. "He knows?"

"Yes," Helena replied quietly, "he knows. He always knows." She nodded gravely to the others. "Please sit down," she said.

Madison quietly took the chair nearest the table; Thornton one a little in front of Madison and nearer his wife and Helena, who were close by the big, open fireplace; the two Holmes sat down on the edges of chairs a little behind Madison; while young Holmes knelt, his arms in Mrs. Thornton's lap, his head turned a little sideways, his chin cupped in one hand, as he stared breathlessly around him.

It was the boy who broke the momentary silence.

"Ain't that other fellow here, neither--the fellow that was worse'n me?" he whispered.

Helena leaned toward him.

"Yes; he is here," she answered, smiling sweetly. "He is with the Patriarch." She lifted her head to include the others in her words. "It is very wonderful, his gratitude. He will not leave the Patriarch--he says he will not leave him ever, that all he has to give for the debt he owes is the life that the Patriarch gave back to him, and he will listen to nothing but that he should devote that life to the Patriarch's service."

"I'd like to, too," said young Holmes, with a quick flush on his face. "Can I, miss--can I?"

"Perhaps," said Helena gently. "Who knows what there may be that you can do?"

"Dear boy," said Mrs. Thornton, stroking the lad's head. She looked quickly at Helena. "We, too, are grateful, more than there are words to tell, and we, too, would like to show our gratitude. We are rich and money--"

"Money!" the word came in shocked, hurt interruption from Helena, as a signal flashed from Madison's eyes. "The Patriarch does not do these things for money--it would be a bitter grief to him to be misjudged in that way, even in thought. It is the love in his heart for the suffering ones, and his power goes out to all who ask it freely, with no thought of recompense or gain, and his joy and happiness is the joy and happiness of others."

"And right off the bat too!" said Madison admiringly to himself. "Now, wouldn't that get you! Say, could you beat it--could you beat it!"

"Oh, I did not mean that," said Mrs. Thornton almost piteously. "Please, please do not think so, for I know so well that money in a personal sense could have no place here, that it would indeed be sacrilege. It is in quite another way--Robert, Mr. Madison, you explain what we would like to do."

It was Madison who explained.

"It is Mrs. Thornton's idea, Miss Vail," he said earnestly; "and it is one that I know will realize the Patriarch's dearest wish--to extend his sphere of helpfulness to others, to reach out to all who are stricken and have faith to come. I remember his writing that on the slate, which he used for conversation before his sight was completely taken from him. I remember the words as though they were before me now: 'I have dreamed often of a wider field, of reaching out to help the thousands beyond this little town--it would be wondrous joy.'"

"Yes?" said Helena in a suppressed voice.

"In a way," Madison went on gravely, "his dream is already realized. What has happened here this afternoon will in a few hours be known to the whole civilized world, and there will be no room for incredulity or doubt--on whatever ground people see fit to base their belief, they must still believe; and, believing, they will come here in ever increasing numbers--but this little village is totally inadequate to accommodate them. At first, yes, as I said to Mrs. Thornton; but afterwards--no. Mrs. Thornton's idea, Mr. Thornton's idea and my own, if I may say so, is to build and endow a great sanatorium that, in consonance with the Patriarch's ideals, shall be free to all--and we feel that the money for this purpose will come gladly and spontaneously, as it so appropriately should come, from those who find joy and peace and health again at the Patriarch's hands."

Helena half rose from her chair, as she stole a veiled glance at Madison.

"It would be wonderful," she said, with a little catch in her voice. "And he--it would be the one thing in the world for him. But--but it would take a great deal of money."

"Yes," said Madison slowly; "at least half a million."

Thornton turned toward Madison.

"As much as that?" he asked tentatively.

"I should say so," replied Madison thoughtfully. "You see, it's the endowment after all that is the most important. Say that the building and equipment cost only a hundred thousand, that would only leave an income, from the other four hundred thousand at six per cent., of twenty-four thousand dollars--not enough in itself even, but it would be augmented of course by the contributions that would still go on."

Thornton nodded his head.

"That is so," he agreed; "but there is the time to consider--it would take a long time to raise that amount."

"No," said Madison. "A few months at the outside. Thornton"--he reached out and laid his hand impressively on the other's sleeve--we are not dealing with ordinary things here--we have witnessed this afternoon a sight that should teach us that. Here, in this very room, beside us now, your wife, that little boy, is evidence of power beyond anything we have ever known before. Have we not that same power to count on still? It would be an ingrate heart indeed that, owing all, returned nothing."

"Yes," murmured Mrs. Thornton. "Mr. Madison is right. I know it, I feel it--the money will come faster than we have any idea of."

Madison smiled at her quietly.

"It will come," he said. "People will give their money, their jewels, anything, and give joyfully--and until the amount in hand is large enough to warrant beginning operations, Miss Vail naturally will be its guardian."

"I?" said Helena hesitatingly. "I--I am only a girl, I would not know what to do."

"You would not have to do anything, Miss Vail," Madison informed her reassuringly. "When the time comes for advice, the making of plans and the carrying of them out, the brightest minds in this country will be offered freely and voluntarily, you will see."

"And meanwhile," inquired Thornton--he had been studying Helena's profile intently, "would you propose keeping the contributions here?"

"Of course!" said Madison. "And not only here, but openly displayed as an added incentive for others to give--if added incentive be needed. Here, for instance"--he rose as he spoke, went to the mantel over the fireplace and lifted down a quaint, japanned box, fashioned in the shape of a little chest, which he placed upon the table. "And here, too"--he crossed to the bookshelves in the alcove, and took down a very old, flexible-covered book. "Once," he said, "the Patriarch showed me this. It was a blank book originally, half of it is blank still; but in the front, in the Patriarch's own writing, is an essay he wrote in the years gone by on 'The Power of Faith'--what could be more fitting than that the remaining pages should be filled with a record of the contributions to that faith?" He laid the book on the table beside the little chest, and sat down again. "There is no display, no ornamentation, no attempt at anything of that kind--it is simplicity, those things serving which are first at hand--as it seems to me it should be--those who give record their names and gifts in this book--the little chest to hold the gifts is open, free to the inspection of all."

"But is that wise?" demurred Thornton. "So large a sum of money as must accumulate to be left openly about? Would it not be a temptation to some to steal? Might it not even endanger Miss Vail and the Patriarch himself--subject them, indeed, to attack?"