e'll advertise, 'Absent
treatment a specialty,' and altogether we can make ten thousand or even
twenty thousand, maybe, a year, in a little while. Keep our own
carriage, and so on. What do you say to that?" Miss Bowyer's uplifted
nose was now turned toward Phillida in triumphant expectation. She had
not long to wait for a reply. Phillida's feelings had gathered head
enough to break through. She answered promptly:

"I do not believe in your science, and wouldn't for the world take money
from those that I am able to help with my prayers." Phillida said this
with a sudden fire that dismayed Miss Bowyer.

"But you'll look into the matter maybe, Miss Callender?"

"No; I will not. I hate the whole business." Phillida wanted to add,
"and you besides"; however, she only said: "Don't say any more, please.
I won't have anything at all to do with it." Phillida rose, but Miss
Bowyer did not take the hint.

"You're pretty high-toned, it seems to me," said the Scientist, smiling,
and speaking without irritation. "You're going to throw away the great
chance of your life. Perhaps you'll read some books that set forth the
mighty truths of Christian Science if I send them. You ought to be open
to conviction. If you could only know some of the cases I myself have
lately cured--a case of belief in rheumatism of three years' standing,
and a case of belief in mental prostration of six years' duration. If
you could only have seen the joyful results. I cured lately an obstinate
case of belief in neuralgia, and another of cancer--advanced stage. A
case of belief in consumption with goitre was lately cured in the West.
Perhaps you'll look over some numbers of the 'International Magazine of
Christian Science' if I send them to you; under the head of 'Sheaves
from the Harvest Field,' it gives many remarkable cases."

"I have no time to read anything of the sort," said Phillida, still
standing.

"Oh, well, then, I'll just come in now and then and explain the
different parts of the science to you. It's a great subject, and we may
get mutual benefit by comparing notes."

The prospect of repeated calls from Eleanor Arabella Bowyer put
Phillida's already excited nerves into something like a panic. She had
reached the utmost point of endurance.

"No," she said; "I will have nothing at all to do with it. You must
excuse me; positively, I must be excused. I am very busy, and I can not
pursue the subject further."

"Certainly," said the Metaphys