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ng is possible; with faith nothing is impossible." Madison's gray eyes rested, magnificently thoughtful and troubled, upon the Patriarch. "I have never thought much about it," he replied upon the slate, after a tactful moment's pause. "But I believe that. There is something here, about the place, about you that inspires confidence--I was prepared to cling to my skepticism when I came in, but I do not feel that way now. If only I knew you a little better, were with you a little more, I believe I could have the faith you speak of." "How long do you remain in Needley?" the Patriarch wrote. Madison got up from his chair, went slowly to the fireplace, and, with his back to the Patriarch, stood watching the crackling logs. "The old chap's no fool," he informed himself, "even if he is gone a little in one particular. He certainly does believe in himself for fair! Wonder where he got his education--notice the English he writes? And, say--_going blind_! Fancy that! Santa Claus, you overwhelm me, you are too bountiful, you are too generous--you'll have nothing left for the next chimney! Deaf and dumb--and blind. Really, I do not deserve this--I really don't--let me at least tip the hat-boy, or I'll feel mean." He turned gravely to the Patriarch; resuming his chair with an expression on his face as one arrived at a weighty decision after a mental battle with one's self. "I will stay here until I am cured. I put myself in your hands. What am I to do?" he wrote quickly--and held out his hand almost anxiously for the other's assent. The Patriarch smiled seriously as, after peering at the slate, he took the outstretched hand and laid his other one unaffectedly upon Madison's shoulder. "Be sure then that I can help you," wrote the Patriarch cheerfully. "There is no course of treatment such as you may, perhaps, imagine. My power lies in a perfect faith to help you once you, in turn, have faith yourself--that is all. It is but the practical application of the old dogma that mind is superior to matter. You must come and see me every day, and we will talk together." "I will come--gladly," Madison replied; and, taking the slate, carefully wiped off the writing--as he had previously wiped it off every time it came into his hands--with a damp rag that the Patriarch had taken from the table drawer when he had produced the slate and pencil. "This slate racket is the limit," said Madison to himself, as his pencil began t
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