The Miracle Man by Frank L. Packard

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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?"

"I get your idea," said Madison to himself--while he gazed at Thornton
in pained surprise; "but there'll never be more than the day's catch in
the box at a time, though of course you don't know that. You see, we'll
empty it every night, and start it off fresh every morning, with a
trinket or two put back for bait. I'm glad you mentioned it though, it's
a little detail I mustn't forget to speak to the Flopper about." But
aloud he said, and there was a sort of shocked awe in his voice:
"Steal--_here_! In this sacred place! No man would dare--the most
hardened criminal would draw back. Why do even we who sit here speak as
we have been speaking with hushed and lowered voices?--that very sense
of a presence unseen around us, that hovers over us, is a mightier
safeguard than the strongest bolts and locks, than the steel-barred
vaults of any bank. It would seem indeed to profane our own faith even
to entertain such an idea--to me this place is a solemn shrine, and
there is only purity and faith and stillness here, the dwelling place of
a power as compassionate as it is mighty."

Madison stopped abruptly--and a silence fell. Each seemed busy with
their own thoughts. About them was quiet, stillness, peace--twilight was
falling, and a soft, mellow light was in the room.

"No one would dare"--the words came from Mrs. Thornton in almost
breathless corroboration, almost of their own accord it seemed, as
though heavy upon her lay the solemnity of her surroundings.

Madison's hand went to his pocket--slowly he drew out his check-book and
laid it upon the table.

"I am not a rich man"--his voice was very low, very earnest--"but I feel
that this is something deeper, grander, bigger than anything the world
perhaps has ever known before; something higher and above one's own
self; it seems as though here were the chrysalis that, once developed to
its perfect state, would sweep pain and sorrow from suffering humanity;
it is as though a new, glad era had dawned for all mankind. I am glad
to give and humbly proud to have a part in this." He took out his
fountain pen, opened the check-book, and began to write.

Thornton leaned forward a little, watching him.

Silence fell again--there was no sound save the almost inaudible
scratching of Madison's pen. Upon Mrs. Thornton's face was a happy,
radiant smile; Helena's face was impassive, but in the dark eyes lurked
a puzzled light; the two Holmes sat awkwardly, still upon the edges of
their chairs, gazing at their son across the room, incredulously, as
though they still could not believe--and occasionally Mrs. Holmes wiped
her eyes.

Madison's pen moved on: "Pay to the order of Miss Helena Vail the sum of
ten thousand dollars." He carefully inscribed the amount in numerals in
the lower left-hand corner. "Honest," he confided to himself, as he
signed the check, "I feel so philanthropic I could almost make myself
believe I had this money in the bank." He tore the check from its stub,
and, standing up, handed it to Helena. "I am not a rich man, Miss Vail,
as I said," he smiled gravely, "but I can give this, and I give it with
great joy in my heart."

Helena took the check, glanced at it, gasped a little, lifted her eyes,
an instant's mocking glint in them, and veiled them quickly with her
long lashes.

"No"--Madison's hand, palm up, went out protestingly--"no, do not thank
me--it is little enough." He sat down again, drew the Patriarch's blank
book toward him, and, on the line beneath the one where the Patriarch
had ended his essay with the words, "such is the power of faith," wrote
his name and set down the amount of his contribution after it.

"Ten thousand dollars!"--it was Mrs. Thornton speaking, as she took the
check from Helena. She turned quickly to her husband. "Robert, have you
your check-book here?"

Thornton shook his head.

"No, dear," he said. "I'm afraid I haven't."

"Well, it doesn't matter," said Mrs. Thornton brightly. "You can use one
of Mr. Madison's checks and write the name of your own bank on
it--you've often done that, you know."

"A suggestion," said Madison to himself, "for which I thank you, Mrs.
Thornton--it sounds so much less crude coming from you than from me."
But aloud he said courteously, "Take my pen, Mr. Thornton."

"Thank you," said Thornton, as Madison placed it in his hand.

Mrs. Thornton and her husband had their heads together now, and were
whispering--Thornton with his eyes on Helena, who sat with lowered head,
twirling Madison's check in her hands. Then Thornton drew the check-book
toward him, scratched out the printed name of the bank that it bore,
wrote in another, and went on filling out the check.

"Eeny-meeny-miny-mo," said Madison to himself. "The suspense is awful.
How much does he raise the ante? Next to the miracle, this is the first
real thrill I've had--I feel like an elevator starting down quick."

As Madison had done, Thornton tore out the check and handed it to
Helena. Helena stared at it, lifted her eyes to Thornton, flushed--and
looked down at the check again.

"_Fifty thousand_," she murmured breathlessly.

"Splendid!" cried Madison enthusiastically, rising from his chair and
pushing the newly established record of contributions toward Thornton.
"Splendid! There's sixty thousand of the five hundred already.
Splendid!"

Young Holmes ran toward his parents.

"I want to give too, dad," he whispered. "I want to give too."

"Reckon so," said Holmes, getting up heavily. "Reckon so--an' I was
a-goin' to. I ain't got much though," he added timorously, as his hand
went into his pocket.

There was a little exclamation from Helena, and she moved a step forward
as though to interpose. Madison looked at her quickly--and quietly
stepped around the table, placing himself between her and Holmes; and,
facing Holmes, leaned over the table from the far side toward the other.

"It's not the amount, Holmes," he said kindly. "In the broad, true sense
the amount counts for nothing--all cannot give the same."

"Yes," said Holmes. "Reckon that's the way I feel." He counted the bills
in his hand, and dropped them into the little japanned box; then
scrawled his name in the book beneath Thornton's, adding the
amount--eight dollars.

Madison looked around the group benignantly.

"I think they should know out there what we have done," he said,
pointing toward the lawn. "Let us go and tell them, not in any set
speech, but just simply--each of us speaking to a few--the few will tell
others. Shall we go?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Thornton. "Yes; let us tell them." She turned to Helena
and kissed her. "Try and come often to see me, dear--we shall be here
now for a little while at least. Is it asking too much? Robert will
bring you back and forth from the village. And perhaps, if I may, I will
come out here to see you--may I?"

"I shall be very glad to do as my wife suggests," said Thornton, holding
out his hand. "You will come, Miss Vail?"

"You are very good, both of you," Helena answered simply. She raised her
eyes to Thornton--her hand was still in his. "Yes, I will try to come."

"Oh, break away!" muttered Madison impatiently--but silently. He stepped
to the door and opened it. "Will you lead the way, Mrs. Thornton?" he
said calmly.

Thornton and his wife passed out; and the Holmes, with clumsy, earnest
words upon their lips to Helena, followed. Madison hung back--then
stepped quickly to Helena.

"Tear up that check of mine so small you can't find the pieces, Helena,"
he said hurriedly; "and send Thornton's right off to any old bank you
like in New York. Endorse it, and write them a note saying you wish to
open an account. Enclose your signature, and tell them to mail back the
bank-book, a check-book, deposit slips and all that. They'll know by the
newspapers that Thornton's subscribed fifty thousand before they get the
check, and they'll feel honored to be your depository. Do it to-night,
understand?"

"Yes," said Helena, nodding her head. "I'll see to it all right." Then,
a little perturbed: "But those poor Holmes and their eight dollars, Doc,
I--"

"Now don't be greedy, Helena," said Madison cheerfully. "You mustn't
expect everybody to hand out ten and fifty thousand, just because
Thornton and I did--try and appreciate the little things of life too."

"Oh!" exclaimed Helena angrily. "Doc Madison, I'd like to--"

"Yes, all right, of course," interrupted Madison, grinning. "Good-by,
that's all--I'm off--see, they're waiting for me"--and leaving Helena
with an outraged little flush upon her cheek, he hurried through the
door after the others.

--XIV--

KNOTTING THE STRINGS

It is a very old saying, and therefore of course indisputably true, that
some have greatness thrust upon them. True of men, it is, in one
instance at least, true of places--Needley, from an unheard of, modest,
innocuous and unassuming little hamlet, leaped in a flash into the focus
of the world's eyes. In huge headlines the papers in every city of every
State carried it on their front pages. And while the first astounding
despatch from the metropolitan newspaper man was being copied by leading
dailies everywhere, there came on top of it, clinching its veracity
beyond possibility of doubt, the news that Robert Thornton, the well
known Chicago multi-millionaire, had given fifty thousand dollars to the
cause. A man, much less a multi-millionaire, does not give fifty
thousand dollars for a bubble, so the managing editors of the leading
dailies rushed for their star reporters--and the star reporters rushed
for Needley--and the red-haired, sorrowful-faced man in the Needley
station grew haggard, tottered on the verge of collapse, and, between
the sheafs of flimsy that the reporters fought for the opportunity of
pushing at him, wired desperately for a relief.

Needley awoke and came to life--as from the dead. There was bustle,
activity, and suppressed and unsuppressed excitement on every hand--the
Waldorf Hotel once more opened its doors--the Congress Hotel was already
full.

The reporters interviewed everybody with but one exception--the
Patriarch.

They interviewed Madison--and Madison talked to them gravely, quietly, a
little self-deprecatingly, a little abashed at the thought of personal
exploitage.

"I wouldn't be interviewed at all," he told them, "if it were not that
mankind at large is entitled to every bit of evidence that can be
obtained. Yes; I gave what I could afford, but it was Holmes, a poor
man, who gave most of all--have you seen him? Myself? What does that
matter? I am unknown, my personality, unlike Mr. Thornton's, can carry
no weight. I am, I suppose, what you might call a rolling stone, a world
wanderer. My parents left me a moderate fortune, and I have travelled
pretty well and pretty constantly all over the world during the last
twelve or fifteen years. How did I come to Needley? Well, you can call
it luck, or something more than that, whichever way it appeals to you. I
was feeling seedy, a little off-color, and I started down for a rest and
lay-off in Maine. I happened to ask a man in Portland if he knew of a
quiet place. He meant to be humorous, I imagine. He said Needley was the
quietest place he knew of. I took him at his word."

"But how do you account for these miraculous cures?" they asked.

"You have seen them--the results," Madison replied. "You know the cures
to be living, vital, irrefutable facts--don't you?"

"Yes," they agreed.

"Then," said Madison, "there can be but one answer--faith. There is no
other--faith. Are we not, in view of what has happened, of what exists
before our very eyes, forced to the belief that faith is the greatest
thing, the most potential factor in the world?"

"And do you believe then that all who come here will be cured?"

Madison shook his head.

"Ah, no," he said; "far from it. Many will come with but the semblance
of faith, and for those there can be no cure--that is evident on the
face of it, is it not?"

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