them to wait, quiet, until she had put the little human creature,
suffering from some hidden sin or lack of faith, into a more total
communion with the Infinite, the Healer; had even begged them not to
allow their ill-concealed doubts to delay the perfect cure.

The nurse, heedless of the Infinite, the Healer, had interposed with a
few more facts; had pointed out that physical mal-nutrition can not be
made good by a diet of compressed air, however theological that air may
be. The baby needed, not the Infinite, but finite stimulants and
predigested foods. It needed to be left in peace and quiet, not be
stirred up to listen to what, in her increasing ire, the nurse termed
mummery and flummery. As for sin, the poor baby wasn't the sinner. It
hadn't gone and neglected its only son--

In mercy, less for the logic of the nurse and the consequent feelings
of his wife, than for his own nerves, Brenton interrupted. Like most
men between two women, he only made the matter infinitely worse. There
was a discussion; then there were words. Then Brenton lost his temper
and departed on his heels, leaving his wife, the nurse, and the fretful
baby wailing aloud in a discordant trio. As a natural result, Katharine
forgot the needs of the child and sought the healing contact of the
All-Mind upon her own account, while the nurse, drying her tears in
haste, seized the child in one arm, the opportunity in the other, and
administered the simple remedies she always kept on hand. Brenton,
meanwhile, sought Doctor Keltridge. Half an hour later, he was back
again, the doctor by his side.

The old doctor, dragged helter-skelter from his laboratory, was in
wildest disarray, and his eyes were still a little vague, as he
followed Brenton up the stairs to the nursery. Across the threshold of
the nursery, however, the vagueness vanished; the eyes grew keen as
sharp-pointed bits of steel, yet strangely gentle, while he sat down
beside the crib and laid one mammoth brown hand above the scrawny
little claw. Then, for just a minute, the keen eyes narrowed to a line.
A minute afterward, he looked up and smiled across at Brenton.

"Yes, the little chap is sick, this time; it is about as well you
called me in. It's been a bad summer for the children; he's had to take
his turn with the rest of them, and it has pulled him down. Poor little
youngster!" And one huge forefinger gently hooked itself into the neck
of the little gown, drew it away and disclosed the