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CONTENTS

PAGE

I Tn UvraMH GmtT 7

11 Two DocTOH AMD A Nmn ... 36

III Tb« DocTon Call Upon Doiothy . 49

IV LowTH-^, THE New Appucant, mid

A Cali. laoii Mm. Gonon . . 59

V FtAlfX IirSTALLID Ilf Tit* "HOMB-

uvwG Place" 73

VI Doctor Rom axb DoiofBY Go 101

Theik Rob ^

VII Mrs. Arcbm Ri c o ai t iiM av Ols

Friend lOj

VIII An Old AcQUAiirrAWCMliiF RimnrED 118
IX Frank Keeps His ApfomnctilT WITH

THE Doctor ....... tag

X Mrs. Gordon's Discdvemy . . . 135

XI Mrs. Archer Bbcomm Eahhah
Thompson

CONTENTS

CHAPTER p^QB

XII Frank's Indisposition and a Tele-
phone Call from Mrs. Gordon . 153

XIII Mrs. Thompson Visits Her Daughter 160

XIV A Talk with Dorothy and the

Selection of Roads 177

XV Frank Enters the Hospital of the
New Birth

XVI Doctor Ross Keeps His Appointment

WITH D0K)THY 204

XVII Dorothy Bids Doctor and Mrs.

Gonx>N Fasbwell 217

XVIII The Mapsiact . . . . . . . 236

XIX Hannah Learns of the Doctor's

Marriage 249

XX Mrs, Thompson Gets a Gumpse of

THE "Home-living Place" . . a66
XXI Frank, Restored to Health, Leaves

THE Hospital op the New Birth 380

XXII Frank Again Visits the Shack . agi

The Success of Failure

CHAPTER I

^ THE UNBin»N GUEST

IN addition to the driving wind and the density of the
night, a heavy rain was fuS&ag yrhea die last train
for the day puUed into the little station of Petentown.
Its only passenger, a man, alighted and made his way
to where the station-agent was standing upon tiie
platform, and immediately inquired of him where he
could secure a conveyance to take him out to his shack,
a distance of about three miles.

"I'm sorry, sir," informed the agent, "but I don't
know of anyone who would be willing to hitch up and
drive you out on such a nig^t as this."

"Then, I shall have to waOc,'* said tlw man, and he
raised his hands and adjusted the collar of his eoat
more securely about his neck.

"Why not put up at the hotel for the night?" sug-
gested the agent. "You will find little trouble in get-
ting someone to drive you out in the morning."

S The Success of Pailur*

"Thank you." said tlie man, stooping over to turn
up h.s trousers at each ankle, "but I am determined to
reach there tonight."

"We have had considerable rain and the roads, I
hear are far from good. I shouldn't advise you to
try ,t, and the agent shook his head dissuasively, "for
it _vvc,uldnt be any fun tosing the road a night like

thelt^^n^"'' ^f"Z^- ^^^^'•theless, I shall make
walkM^Sr''. f T^""^ S^^"'ght the man

walked off mto the darkness and lonesomeness of a
country road.

tiJfnrpt'*^"^ '^^'^ ''''^y ^^^^ the sta.

shack nd his only reason tonight for continuing on to
Peterstown was to avoid the possible mee^ of

SI remembered
nghtly, after ttirning the comer, was straight and level
for. perhaps, a mile, when it tnmed to the left and led
over two long, steep hills, and then went off to the right
imothe woods This part of the road, he recalTe^X
shorten their iottmey by a mile to the next town.

After an hour of sttimbHng and groping in the dark
he turned in at what wa. caOed tte WoX

The Unbidden Guest

an additional five minutes' walk brought him to the gate
of the little pathway leading to the shack, or roughly
built bungalow. Very tired from striving with the wind
and wet from the heavy rain, he pushed open the gate
and walked up the path and unlocked the door. Enter-
ing, he stood motionless for a number of seconds before
striking a match, then carrying it he felt his way over
to the mantel-piece on the side of the room opposite
the door, where he found a candle-stick, in which was
a small piece of candle. This he lit, and then walked
back and closed the door.

The dim light disclosed a large room, in which could
gradually be discerned a table in the center, a couch on
the side away from the door to the left, a book-case to
the right and under the mantel-piece a large fire-place,
in which were laid logs of .vood ready for lighting. On
one side of the fire-place was a large arm-chair and on
the other side a smaU rocking-chair. Standing near
the door was a hat-rack, upon which oar acquaintance,
Mr. Franklin Thompson, hung his hat and coat. The
room was evidently one which served two purposes,
that of living-room and hall.

Franklin Thompson, or Frank, as we shall caU him,
after hanging up his hat and coat, drew a chair,
hitherto not visible, from a dark comer of the room
and placed it by the table. He seated himself upon it
and took from the inside pocket of his coat a small

'° The Success of Failure

noTnr 'V "^^^ ^ There will be

no more tomorrows to follow the nights, no more

Sr?!.' r """'^ facing. This
time I shall succeed."

thinf TJ?" r,!;" P'^™''^ ^'"'^^'^ ^his same

hl f ^ ? « this room of

heta^:^ ' u'' '°"^^*>' ^"^ truthfulness,

he had rtated emphatically that it should be his. And

ZZe Jw "^'^ surroundings to the

home of his youth, a failure.

His gaze leaves the bottle and travels slowlv and

S rr "early

*u* room. It then comes back to his folded arms
restmg upon the table, and hi, h. .d slowlv^veT^^
sbwly-droops until it reaches the folded arms and
there rem-s while his thoughts go baclc overThe pTst
m?nv effol o ^ "f disappointments, his

hasToul^?!^^'''^*'?* the battles he

has fought and lost. Could he have exchanged for the
practices of the world the principles under^Sng ri^

But ''J '"T' '''''' would have sS!
„S^h^'"f ^""^ himself to

«I1 h,8 manhood for a mess of pottage. For him to

The Unbidden Guest n

attain success, other than by worthy means, was out of

the question, and to have accepted it at any other price
would have meant failure, although of a different kind
he well knew. '

How very tired, how thoroughly wearied he is of
this walking in the dark these many years! The one
thing now he desires most is rest; to get away from
Life's continual questioning, to go to sleep rnd never
wake, to be able to forget and to be forgotien. No
longer does he wish for another existence, and he cares
nothmg for its rewards nor its punishments.

So wholly absorbed in painful recollection is he, that
he hears not a gentle and persistent knocking, nor is
he aroused by the opening and closing of the door, and
IS totally obUvMUs to the sound of a woman's tired and
faltering step and the trailii^ of her rain-soaked gar-
ments as she crosses the room. She is hatless and
coatless and her hair, in wet disorder, hangs over her
shouWers, and in the dim candle light her face looks
wan and worn. At the sight of the man, seated beside
the table, a sigh of relief and satisfaction escapes her,
and sitting down upon the couch she watches mtently
the motionless figure upon the chair.

The candle is slowly burning out, and not a sound is
heard, save for the rain pattering on tlie roof and
the swishing of the ram4Mitiied branches of the trees
outside.

The Success of Failure

An hour, or more, has pasied. and she is sriU watch-
mg rhen, with a groan, he raises his head and outs
out h. hand for the bottle. His fingers ctse upo'
and he proc*«ds to draw out the cork, still unmSu
of the sUent %«re which now rises and moves qu" e iv
o h,s s.de. He raises the botUe to his lips anS n a
few moments what he has come here to ^^nLl
been done; but as he is about to pour its contTnts inln

and unbidden guest, and with authority she draws it
down until his arm rests with the other upon the teWe
and the vial, released from the now tremS^ finZl:'
falls to the ground, spilling its contents. ^ ^ '
u "^^^^ sputters and goes out It is

the hour before dawn and afl is in darLss. The rain
has ceased, and all that can be heard i. u- ,

the wind through the treT * ^ "^'^'"^^

Surprised, and not a little alarmed, by this interfer

o"? the"^^ 'TTT '^^'^ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Of the room, fully alive to the fact that he is not alonp

Someone is here, but who? He is not hyly m^.
o hhtS '^iiV°*t r'^; controftheS;^

whoivSn^hu 7 '"^ ^'^"^ ^^^^ foot is
whoHy incapable of commanding his voice. After mak

mg many vain attempts to speak, he is muTh reiiTxtl

when the voice of the woman, iow-tcnS^"

breaks the silence, and she says : ^

The Unbiddtn Gnm 13

"You are greaUy agitated; be quiet and do not try
to talk. As briefly as possible I wiU explain my pres-
ence here. An important errand called me out tonight
and I was caught in the storm. From the road I saw
the feeble light of the candle shining through the win-
dow and, being unable to proceed further, I turned into
the path leading to the door, upon which I knocked
many times but received no answer. Encouraged by
the silence within I opened the door and entered."

When she had finished speaking, Frank with a long,
shuddering sigh settled back in his chair without utter-
ing a word. Was he sorry, he questioned, that he had
been prevented from carrying out the purpose of his
visit to the shack? He did not know. Was he glad?
He did not know. That he was still here, when he ex-
pected to be he krow not where, was evident. He
shivered, and for the first time that night he began to
feel the cold dampness of the room . My, but he was
cold! Then he remembered his unbidden guest; she
must be cold, also, for her clothes, like his, were rain-
soaked.

Turning his head in the ifoectkm from which her
voice had come, he said unsteadily :

"You, I am sure, must be suffering from the coki
and dampness of the night."

"Yes," she replied, shivering, "I am cold."

Without saying another word, Frank stretched out

'4 The Success ef FaUme

a much bestiflFened leg and put his hand in a pocket of
Ins trousers and brought out a box of matches. Strik-
mg one upon its side, he rose shakUy to his feet and
walking slowly carried it carefully over to the fire-
place and applied it to the paper and loose bark that
was under the wood. A bright blaze which lit up the
room was the result, and he saw, seated upon the couch,
a young woman about whose age one could not be

H^l* '^''''^ ^"'■"^^ "P to him was

ghastly pale and infinitely sad. Her dress was wet. the

aCrr'f^:[ '^"^ ^" ^'^^ '^''y

V turned away and walked over to the window and

hght of anodw day was breaking through the clouds
The night had passed and the day from asleep was
awakening. He stood there looking out, and a war of
conflicting emotions raged within him. Somcthine
irreater and stronger than he had hitherto known was

t7l T?'"*^, gasped,
gassed and struggled, as it fought for supremacy. On
and on, as the minutes passed, it strove, beating back
and crushing out all resisting force. . It won^e no
longer resisted ; he submitted. As the strife ceased, he
«ined his head wearily against the window frame, and

hirjlt, °^!ri^^"» * commanding silence, bidding
him be still, and for ti« first time in his Hfe he rested

The Unbidden Guest

Then there rose up within him a great longing to be
Mid to do, and was as a man awakened from a long,
long sleep, refreshed and strengthened.

It was daylight when Frank raised his head and
apin looked out of the window. The sun had raised
his head from the soft pillow of gray and was bathing
the sky with bright rays of golden red. The trees
unaffected by the storm, stoM as proudly erect as ever'
and the earth, clad in her mantle of green. looked
marvelously fresh and young. Nature was singing her
morning hymn in magnificent silence.

When Frank at last turned away from the window he
found his guest of the night standing on the rug before
the fire. He wondered how long she had been standing
there Gliding himself for his remissness, he stepped
quickly over to the hat-rack and from behind it he
drew a large folded reclining chair. This he opener'
and placed at a comfortable distance from the fire, and
said : '

"Won't you sit down here and rest?"

Jhank you," she replied, seating herself in the chair

Picking up tiie poker Frank stirred up the burning
logs of wood and then went out through a door which
led into the kitchen, returning shortly carrying in his
arms more logs. Three he placed upon the fire and
the remaining two he laid upon the rug

After replenishing the fire, Frank turned to his guest

The Success of Failure

and was about to ask her if she found the chair com-
fortable and if she felt at all rested, when, to his sur-
prise, b* found she had fallen asleep. It was now his
turn to watch. Whp could she be? he queried as he
sat down in the arm-chair a short distance away. What
errand could have taken her out so late at night in the
storm?

As he sat there, his eyes travelled over her face and
noted the broad, white forehead, fn»n which tiie hair
in a damp, dark mass fell back, the prettily curved
eye-brows, the closed lids, the well-shaped nose,
the HKnith which was neither small nor large, and the
firmly rounded chin. As she slefrt the lines of care
left her face and into its paleness Acre crept a faint
pink.

The sun had been up an hour and was pouring his
warm rays Arough the window when she awoke.
Frank had not stirred from his seat at the comer of
the fire-place. Sitting up she regarded him out of a
pair of dark-brown eyes with a look of mournful in-
terrogation, and asked :

"How long have I been asleep?"

"About an hour," answered Frank, looidng at his
watch as he ro«e from his chair. "It is now six
o'clock."

"It is late," she said, "and my work is not yet done."
"She sto^ d up and her hair, with which the wind

The UnbiddeH Guest ,7
and rain had played havoc, fell down her back in a

Ttt T ? ''f^' P^"^ ^''^'^^h had held

. to her head shrped out upon the floor. Stooping
down she picked them up .nd with her h^d!

laTked

•'What a diflFerence the condition of the weather

makes m our appreciation of the outside world. laS
night, we, anxious to escape from the*howling. drivh^

shelfer"'™ "i"' ^

s h.!^ u ^^^'^ *y » '^^^'^ and the earth

IS baskmg m the warm rays of the sun. The storm is
forgotten and nature is aglee."

"That is true of the country, I think," replied Frank
r««mi«g his seat, "but in the large cities' whh heir'
many conveniences I am not k» st« that it r^

say that a clear sky ,s not preferable to clouds nor that

wither. But-take transportation, for instance-there

ZT"^' ,7^' -^^-t a large dty

For the wealthy and the not so wealthy there Z

thetlbwf • "^'"^^^ workin/class^h^^^ t

the subways the elevated, surface cars and bus lines

notCJ m/" the weather dc^s

not materially affect dty people.'*

The Success of Failure

"Why do you say 'the ordinary working-class'?" she
uked, regarding Frank curiously. "I have been Uught

to regard all human beings as extraordinary."

"Evidently the knowledge imparted to you by your
teachers was not acquired in a large city with an ex-
cess populatkm of working people," said Frank, laugh-
ing, "or you would readily understand why I use that
phrase."

"What makes them ordinary?" she asked, sitting
down in her chair.

"Well, I don't know, but I suppose one would say
their position in life."

Slowly raising her eyes she regarded him wonder-

ingly, and said :

"Life is an unbidden guest and knows no degree,
and with it is endowed every member of the human
family. Its source may only be found m the Greater

Life. How then can members belonginp' to that family
have different positions in life ? There is only the one.''

"Tbey have, just the same," stubbornly replied
Frank. "An^ bitter is the war waged between indi-
viduals for tL positions."

' Is not thai i singular situation, the fighting of
humanity against itself?" she asked wonderingly.

^'Humanity does not regard it as such."

"Is the result of the warfare satisfoctoryr

"Taking it as a whole, I axn sorry to say, it is iK>t

Tkt Unbiditn Gmtt ,p

The weak are forced to give place to the strong, drop-
pmg o«t one by one. from the ranks, and little; if anyi
hing ,s known of them themfter. The ttnmg who
take the,r place m time become weak and are. fa turn
replaced by others more vigorous. And so it goes on'

Uron^^ ^

it iiot r * <fivi«led tgafatt fttdf / i.

place. That ,s to secure hfa own good man must k)ok

to the good of his brother-man "

fZ^JT" ,'^"*^^l^dge of the world." said
t^rfh would know

o f hatTf hi- own gooi at the ex^nse

theprL J Some mao .Iways^ays

JSuch knowledge is worthless, for it is not possible
for man to sow evil and reap good nor to sow g^t d
reap ev nor to take tha* tJ^ sooa and

can be given." ^* ^'^^'l"*^* *'«tum

The Success of Failure

"By that you mean man must pay with good fo9
any good he gets." *

"I do," she replied emphatically.

"I am afraid the men and women of the world wtUi
whom I am acquainted would not agree with you," re-
plied Frank laughing.

"That would not be wonderful, would it ?" asked she
smiling. "They do not agree with themselves." And
getting up from her chair she walked over to the win-
dow and looked out.

Frank laughed, and getting to his feet joined her at
the window.

"The perversion of humanity is remarkable," she
continued. "Oie does not find it so in the vtgt'

table world. Look at that tree with its bark-covered
enormous trunk and its strong spreading branches
decked with their beautiful green leaves. See how
erectly it stands as though health and strength were
to be its heritage for years and years to come. The
elements necessary for its preservation are evidently
work'ng in harmony, and any attack must come from
a foreign foe. Supposing, however, one of the ele-
ments should decide that it needed a certain proportion
of anoth«* element and should enter into conflict for
its possession and it should succeed in separating the
compnnent part and attaching it to itself, it would only
impoverish the other element and lessen its possibili-

The Unbidden Guest

ties and add to itadf that of which it had no need and
which would eventually perish for the lack of the

proper environment to perform its pre-ordained func-
tion. At first, possibly, the absence would not be per-
ceptible, but as time went on the constant draining
would be felt by the remaining etements and they would
gradually become incapacitated, and the end of the
tree would be death. So it must be with the social tree
of man's planting, whose roots are sunk in the soil of
self and whose elements are constantly warring airainst
each other."

"You are not so ignorant of the world and its doings
as I thought," replied Frank with a smile.

"I am well acquainted with that tree," she answered
sadly. "Its great bare trunk is o'erspread with scars
and its gigantic outstretched limbs touch with their
shadows many lands. The branches at the Uyp with
their ceaseless tossing, stirred by the winds from the
Land of More, keep those underneath constantly mov-
ing and cause the fluttering of their leaves in the breeze
from the Isle of Want Right below these are the
branches whose leaves are blown hither and thither by
a gale from the Ocean of Need, and hidden beneath are
the timid and frail stems with their tiny blighted leaves.
Nearly at the bottom are huge limbs covered with
leaves turning yelkw, vainly struggling against the
gusts of wind from the Btver of Greed, only to be

The Success of Failure

carried off, again and again, to the City of Nowhere.
At the bottom the branches are withered and old and
reach out their long gaunt arms over the Province of
Death."

"And yet," said Frank thoughtfully, "it is a tree in
which, rightly or wrongly, the interests of man are cen-
tered and his life is sustained by its fruits."

"Are its fruits satisfying?"

"I cannot say that they are alt(^[ether so/' gPcxmiily
responded Frank.

"In what do they lack?"

"Much. They fail to produce unity or to meet the
aspirations of man."

"In othor words, their life sustainii^ qualities are
those of discord and dissatisfaction."

"That is the result of my experience and observa*
tion."

The face which she turned up to him looked wan and
gray and her eyes were swimming in unshed tears as
she asked :

"How long will man continue to partake of its
fruits, fruits which are so barren of good and which
cannot truly benefit anyone?"

"You are tired. Come back to your chair," said
Frank sympathetically, turning and leading tfce way.

"My weariness is nothing unusual," she replied as
sne followed him and sank wearily down mto her

The Unbidden Guest 23

chair. "Indeed, I am often very, very weary," and
sighing she leaned her head back and gaicd sadly into

the fire.

Frank turned over with the poker what remained
in the grr.te of the burning logs and added those whioh
were lying on the rug. He then sat down in the rock-
ing-chair at the comer of the fire-place, and looking
smilingly at her, said gently :

"Why worry about this tree which has existed long
before our entrance upon the scene of its activities ahd
which will continue to exist km^ after we have ceased
to be leaves upon its branches, for, grieve as we will
and labor as we must, we cannot change it nor stop its
growth." '

"That is the never-ceasirg monotonous song which
the leaves smg as they swing backwards and forwai-ds
upon its branches," she said a trifle impatiently. "It
is a dismal song and aic in which all of its no^es
disagree."

"Why weep, then, over what cannot be helped?"
asked Frank smiling. "We cannot remove the singers
nor alter the song."

"But is that true?" she asked, sitting upright in her
chair. "If so, it would indeed be foolish to sorrow
over that that admits of no remedy. But is it not
possible for man to live without lodging in its branches,
without partaking of its fruits or of singing iU toagf.

Tite Success of Failure

Is not the planting of his own tree given to every man ?
Does not the decision of the soil in which it shall grow
rest with him, whether it shall be that of service or
that of self in which its roots shall grow and spread
out ? Can he not decide whether his tree shall be hus-
banded by his own efforts rather than by those of an-
other? Is it not his right to say whether its branches
shall be abiding places, and the fruit growing thereupon
be life sustaining?"

"You are an idealist, I see," said Frank, with an
amused smile. "Such conditions as you portray might
be possible where men and women do not have to battle
for their bread and butter; but down here, in this
world, where man has to give himself that his body
may live, it is, I assiire you, a different matter."
"What is an idealist ?" she queried perplexedly.
**The world's definition of an idealist is, I think," said
Frank slowly, "a person who sees Hfe as it should be
and not as it is."

"That seems rather contradictory, does it not? For
if a physician be ignorant of a disease and the reason
olits existence, what assurance has tiie i^icted patient
that his prescriptions w ' be remedial?"

"The world has many fust such physicians, howevtt,
who, without a proper understanding of conditions,
constantly prescribe remedies whose application they
believe wodd greMfy tesMn, if not whoUy remove, the

The Unbiddfn Guest 25

innumerable disorders with which society is strug-
gling; and their lack of efficacy they attribute to the
fact that the tnajerity of people, if not totally negligent,
do not altogether depend upon their rigid application
to allay their ills, but prefer, somewhat, to rely ttpoa
home-made remedies."

"And is not tiie home-made remedy the only one upon
which we can safely rely to find the true acMirce of
health ?" she asked. "For if we are to have a perfect
\\'e, we must have a perfect I."

"Oh, I see," said Frank, with a light laugh, "you
are not only an idealist but an individualist as well."

'If by that bg word you mtan" she replied nniling,
•that good and bad start with the individual but can-
not exist at the same time and the effect of their opera-
tions is decidedly distinct and separate, then I am an
individualist."

•'By that you would say, I suppow," said Frank,
taking up the poker and turning over the unbumt side
of the logs until they rested upon the burning red
coals, society is no stronger than its weakest member
and no better tiian its wowt"

"Society is a unit and acfanits of no clasn&atkn.
It has but one source, one gate of entrance and one of
departure. But enough of this for the present : I moat
leave you shortly and my message is to you."

"To me!" exclaimed Franie, much surprised.

a6 The Success of Failure

"Yes, to you," she replied gently.

"What message can you possibly have to give me?"
he asked doubtingly. "I was not aware that any of my
acquaintances kiscw of my intention to leave the city,
nor my purpose of leaving."

"It was not known to an acquaintance," she said
quietly ; "it was known to a friend."

"A friend," repeated he, his forehead drawing to-
gether in puzzled lines. "You are surely mistaken, for
I can assure you there is no one to whom my coming
and going would be of interest nor to whom my liv-
ing or dyuig would make a difference. The only per-
son who would have cared is gone, and her body lies
out there in the woods and rests amidst the wild
flowers which she loved. That one was my mother.
She and I made this little shack our home for many
years, and when she died and went away I found Ae
little place too lonesome, so I went into the city and
engaged apartments. However, it was lonely there,
too, for acquaintances one might make, but friends,
never."

"I know," she replied sympathetically. "Neverthe-
less, the author of the message which I Imng you is

a friend."
"His name?"

"The message I may give you. but the ntmt of Ac

The Unbidden Guest ajT

sender the coming years of your life upon earth must
disclose/' she replied.

"What is the message, then?"

"This is the message," she replied, and slowly re-
cited the following lines :

"Success is die hostage of every man and awaits
him who rightly seeks. But why seek to pluck its fair
flowers in groves where only the weeds of failure grow,
which appear from a distance so beautiful in their
rosy-hue and so greatly to be desired, but which, upon
possesion, stain with their redness all that they touch.
Their leaves are full of holes, through which filter tiny
streams of human tears, and at their roots lie the de-
cayed hopes and aspirations of man."

Frank, much perplexed, listened attentively to the

recital of the message. At its completion, he said :
"What is its meaning and in what way does it apply

to me?"

"Its meaning is, I should say," she replied, "<me
should not seek to purchase with the world's coin^
that which it cannot buy "

"Would you have me infer," indignantly interrupted
Frank, "that I was other than honest and truthful in
my efforts to attain success? Had I beoi so, tlw
failures and disaj^intments would have hurt me less.

The Success of Failure

It was because of my inability to reconcile conditions
that I lost hope and love of life. I could not under-
stand why fifteen years of patient, honest effort should
result in fifteen years of fruitless effort ; that I should
not he materially any better off in the end of that time
than I was in the beginning, and that for my labor I
had nothing to show but a pair of well-worn, empty
hands. The uselessnesi of the struggle oppressed
me, and I decided to open the dkx)r and go out. I
had no desire for a future existence and longed for
annihilation."

"Nor to proffer," continued she, "in exchange for
world-called success, a coinage which the worid is slow
to recognize and fails to make its own."

"That sounds remarkably well," impatiently replied
Frank, "but is not to succeed the ambition of every
normal man?"

"Yes," she answered widi a strange smile. "But
man, as the world knows him, is not normal. He is
abnormal, and all that he does must partake of that
abnormality, which accounts for the bewildering fact
that he ascribes his almormality to the abnormalities ol
conditions, when just the ofq>osite is the truth. No
words prescribe a remedy more folly dian tiicte: 'Ye
must be bom again/ "

As she quoted the last five words, Frank, somewhat
irritated and thoroughly mystified, rose from his chair

The Unbidden Guest

and walked to the door, opened it and looked out.
Standing there in the doorway with the cool breeze
blowing his h^Xt btck from his forehead, he mentally
explored every ronemberaUe node and cnumy of his
past to locate, if possible, some incident which would
enlighten the present situation. That he had never
heretofore met this woman, to whose interfering hand
he owed his life, he was positive. Why was she here
and from whom had she obtained the information of
his morbid intention upon his arrival at the shack?
Why had she brought to him such a message, the pur-
port of which he could not perceive ? Try as he would,
he could not recall a single instaiKe whidi, b any way,
could account for her presence. Bafifed, he abandoned
the search, trusting that she, ntarily or inadver-
tently, would disclose her identi . explain away the
disquieting circumstances. Turning, he came in and
closed the doOr and again took his seat in tiie roddng-
chair. She was lying quietly back in her chair gaxii^
dreamily into the fire, and evidently her thoughts were
far away, for neither by word nor sign did she intimate
she was aware of his presence as he sat down. Not a
sound tm^e tiie stilhiess of the toom lor wtwnX
minutes, then, with a gentle sig^ die straq^iteiied
and regarded '.Am inquiringly.

"Of what are you thinking?" she smilingly asked.

"I am thinking of you," he replied moodily.

Thi Success of Failure

"Thinking of me." «hc repetted. "So, at Iwt. yott
are thinking of me."

"Yes, I am thinking of you. I am wondering
who you are, where you came from and why you are
here."

"I regret the only explanation I am aUe to give of
myself, instead of lessening, would greatly increase
your wonderment," she said musingly. "However, I
am glad to know that the who, where and why of my
existence is to you no longer a matter of indifference.

"Tell me, anyway," he pleaded.

"A friend to everybody, am I," she replied gravely,
"and my dwelling-place is everywhere. To me is given
the opening and the closing of the door to which all
come, early or late, who have sought to team si»ritual
truths at a material school."

Frank responded with a helpless shake of his bead
and sigh of incomprehension.

"The crossing of the threshold of this door by man's
own hand is an unrntatn venture," con^ned she.
"Man may force life out of his body, but tfiat doea
not mean he will be relieved iVom responsibility ; does
not assure him of any better conditions ; does not guar-
antee freedom from his troubles, nor the cessaticm of
the agonizing memwrfes of his mind. He may destragr
tiw temple, but the intelligent control is independent
of temples. Whence it comes and whither it goes no

The Unbidden Guest

3»

man can telL He knows it exists, and he exists because
of it. Of the forces that are at work in the world to
which he would, when life here becomes to him intoler-
able, so recklessly and ignorantly thrust himself, he
has no knowlec^. He has no fffoof tiiat he shall be
immune from suffering, nor Uiat the taking-off of one
dress may not mean the putting-on of another, and that
the getting rid of the self he took with him may not
be a more difficult task than he believed."

'What, then, is man to do with this Hie, this hide>
structible thing with which he is endowed?" asked
Frank despairingly. "Is he always to be a thing of
burdens and strife? Is he never to know, in the course
of his day, the where of his being and the why of his
way?"

"Man is slow to learn the purpose of life," she re-
plied with a sad shake of her head. "He has made of
it an intricate problem, one which he is unable to
solve."

"And is it not, too, an intricate problem to yoaf
"Life, to me, is a wonderful thing, with its story un-
told. It is the one thing which cannot be bought nor
cannot be sold, and is to every man a gift so precious,
could he but learn its trtiti» and know its purpose.**

"Life, if not a curse, '3 ctmndeml everything else
but a precious gift by a great many people," gloomily
responded Frank; "for well do they know what its

The Success of Failure

meaning shall be to them in their declining days, should
they live ; and that is an inability to work and a dreaded
poverty-stricken old age. In large cities such instances
are not rare, and it is nol turpriiuig that peof^ should
regard life as a r^;rettaUe thing, something with which
they would have dispensed had they been consulted,
when they are so frequently confronted with the real-
istic and ever depressing pictures of ag-ed men and
wmnen, whose years of labor have left them nat^
but a quavering voice, trembling hands and an uncer-
tam step, eating the bread of charity. As they view the
pictures, they are painfully aware that only a few
short years stand between them and frames from which
Oieir faces may look out; for, labor as they will and
deprive themselves of the present necessities as they
feel they must to provide for future demands, the fruit
of their labor, at times, barely suffices to meet their
daily needs. Indeed, they feel they are paying a big
price for the privilege of Uvmg."

"The world, I sec, has no use for the falling leaves,"
she said, "and endeavors to forget they were once the
buds of spring. Their beauty being gone and their
useftilness at an ei^, tlwy are permitted to lie when
they have fallen and to be trodden under foot, or, if the
cool winds of autumn do not near them to a kindliei
country, they are raked up into a pile and forgotten.'

"That is the situation, exactly."

The Unbidden Guest

"And what has life meant to you ?" she asked smiling.

"Life," eplied Frat;!:, with a doleful tbaiw ol Ut
head, "has meant but one thing to me."

"And what wai tint one thfog?"
An everlasting struggle to get nowhert."

"When you started out, you meant to get aomewliere
and be somebody, didn't you?" asked she, tegarding
Frank with her big brown eyes.

"I meant to sttccced."

"And you did not?"

"No," grimly acknowledged Frank, "I failed."
"Why did you fail? Was it the result of the
seddi^?"

"I don't kiKm what you mean," replied Frwik, ba-

ing his temper as he always did when he thought his
business integrity was questioned. "I sought earnestly,
honesUy and faithfully to sue reed, and there, I can
assure you, were no questionable methods in my

seeking."

'Every life has its own shadow and reflects what
it seeks," she replied. "The conditions under which
man labors are the products of his own seeking. lie is
forv-ver striving for the shadow when he might have
the substance. Things of account he deems of no-
account, and at the feet of those of no-account he lays
the best the world has to give, himself. To his dead
gods he sacrifices himself daily."

34 The Success of Failure

"I must say," impatiently repUed Frank, "it is all
beyond me."

"It is so now and it has been so in the past, bat m
the future it shall not be so " she replied, and her voice
rang with authority, which immediately silenced Frank
and claimed his attention. "You are," she went on,
"to learn of me. I shall teach you to know the things
that are from the things that are not and to discern
the riches that lie in poverty and the poverty that lies
in riches. Through me you shall sift the chaff of
seeming until you find the grain of meaning. No more
will the thought of self-destruction possess you, for
you will know that life to you is a precious gift, some-
thing neither to be abused nor to be abased, but to be
understood. Your residence, choice and place of labor
you may select, but from me you are to learn all the
lessons of life."

She finished speaking and rose from her chair.
Frank sat staring at her in speediless amazement, and
it was not until her hand was laid upon the handle of
the door leading to the little path which led to the road
that he found his voice sufficiently to stammer out:
"It— i»-.incredit>Ie "

"You think so now," interrupted she, "but as the
years go by your present belief will not only becane
incredible, but an impossibility."

She opened the door and stood in tf» doorway.

The Unbidden Guest

Frank joined her and for several seconds they silently-
looked off into the wooded distance. She was the first
to speak, and said hurriedfy :

I must not remain Vaagex, for I am needed vise-
where."

She stepped down into the little path and had reached
the road before Frank recalled she had not told him
her name. Hastening after her, he said :

"You have not told me your name."

"The world calls me, Failure," she said, smiling
sadly; "but my name you shall decide when you see
me again."

Frank stood and watdwd her, hit mind distrat^[fat

with many perplexing questions, as she went down the
Woods' Road. Soon her erect figure was lost to view
among the trees and heavy foliage; and he, vainly en-
deavoring to unravd the snarled events of the past few
hours, went back to the ihack.

CHAPTER II

TWO DOCTORS AND A NUBSB

"¥T will never do," said Doctor Gordon to Doctor
1 Ross, "to attempt to ctirtail her activities. How-
ever, the proposition which she submitted for my con-
sideration last Monday I hardly believe will meet with
your approval."
"No, what was it?"

"She proposes to establish an instittiticm which die
believes will eventually banish the ills of man."

"You did not encourage her in any such nonsense,
I hope," said Doctor Ross sternly. "She would only
succeed in making herself ridiculous. She hasn't an
idea what it would mean, and I shall use all the ai^
ments of which I am capable to dissuade her fran at-
tempting anything of the kind."

"That is how you would feel, I knew," replied Doc-
tor Gordon. "At first, I felt very much the same way
about it But, upon re^ctkm, I am not so sure that
it might not be, after all, a rather good thing. At any
rate, the arguments she advanced in favor of the ar-
rangement were very convincing."

Two Doctors and a Nurse

"I cannot think of any that would reconcile
me to anything so impossible for her," replied Doctor

Ross.

"She urged, for one thing— the truth of which is evi-
fletit— the necessity for the expansion of her acttvtties."

"Of course, you did not fail to remind her, Gcwdon,
of tlie consequences of her past activities."

"You may be sure I did not, but she only laughed
and bade me forget, as she was trying to do, the ill-
eflfects of her past activities. She appeared to be very
anxious to obtain my approval of the plan and to induce
me. by persuasive argument, to admit it was a good
one. I told her I preferred, before endorsing or further
discussing its merits or demerits, to talk it over witfi
you. I suggested, too, that she mig^t pmtmally sub-
mit for your consideration and endorsement the reasons
wliy she believed such an arrangement would be to her
of great benefit."

"Did she agree to <fc) tiiatr

"'^he did. Although, she said, she knew it would
not ; e of any use, for you would nev«r approve of such

a venture."

"And she is right there," replied Doctor Ross de-
cidedly.

"You think, then, it is entirely out of the question?"
queried Doctor Gordon. "Well, perhaps it is."
"It certainly is," emphatically replied Doctor Ross.

The Success of Failure

"What possible reason she can give for the further
expansion of her activities, I am curious to know."

"Supposing we go over there, then, this afternoon,"
sug^sted Doctor Gordon.

"All right, if it is convenient for yoa," agreed Doctor
Ross.

"Will four o'clock suit you?" inquired Doctor
Gordon.

"Make it four-thirty. I am due at the hospital at two
and do not leave before four."

"Very well, I shall telephone her she may expect us
at four-thirty," said Doctor Gordon.

"Shall I call for you or will you call for me at the
hospital?" asked Doctor Ross.

"I haven't many calls this afternoon, so I will call
for you."

"I'll give John the afternoon off, then," said Doctor
Ross. "It will be the first one he has had in a month."

"He will have no objections, such being the case, if
you make use of my automobile this afternoon," said
Doctor Gordon smiling, and he stood up and took his
coat and hat from a stand close by him.

"What's your hurry?" asked Doctor Ross. "Stay

and take luncheon with me."

"I should like to. but I can't. My days of semi-de-
tached bachelorhood are ended for this year."
"What, is Margaret back?"

Two Doctors and a Nurse 39

"Yes, and what's more, she made me promise to
bring you back to luncheon with me. So get your coat
and hat and ccone akx^."

"Ill have to call up tfie garage, first," said Doctor

Ross.

"What is the use of calling up the garage, now?"
asked Doctor Gordon. "John won't be there."

"That's so," admitted Doctor R(»s, going over to
the washbowl and turning on the cold and hot water
faucets, "he goes to lunch between twelve and one,
and, " looking at his watch, "it is now half-past twelve.
I could leave a message, I suppose," he omtinued,
turning off the water and pulling up his ^irt sleeves
preparatory to washing his hands, "only he never takes
an order from anyone but me, and "

"At one forty-five," supplemented Doctor Gordon,
"he would be fbund seated in the machine in front of
the door waiting for orders."

"That's just it," assented Doctor Ross, replacing his
white linen coat with one of blue serge, "John does not
believe in taking chances."

"Well, I am afraid," said Doctor Gordmi, stepping
toward the door, "if you don't hurry we will run a
chance of getting a good, warm meal ai^ a pleasant
reception from Margaret."

"I'll be with you in just a moment," said Doctor
Ross, reaching fbr his hat "But I must speak to Mn.

The Success of Failure

Archer first," and he pressed a button at the side of his
desk, which summoned from an inner office a young
wwnan attired in the white uniform of a nurse. She
acknowledged with a smile and a graceful inclination
of her head Doctor Grt>rdon's pleasant greeting, and
then looked inquiringly at her employer,

"Mrs. Archer," said he, "kindly inform Mrs. Bar-
stow I shall not be in for luncheon."

"Very well, doctor," she replied.

As they were going out of the front-door, he turned
and said :

"I shall not be in before six; you may have Ronald
over, if you wish."

"Thank you, doctor. You are very good," she said,
following them to close the door. As they took their
seats in the automobile they raised their hats and, as
she closed the door, a happy laugh came from her lips
at the thought of spending the aftemooo with her boy,
and she ran down basemoit sUurs to the dining-
room.

After conveying the doctor's message to the waitress,
Mrs. Archer greeted with a cheery nod and smile the
other diners at the taWe, two young men and three
young women, who were discussing in a somewhat
animated manner women's suffrage. Not wishing to
be drawn into the conversation, she picked up a medical
Jcwmal lying by her plate and tore off the wrapper, and

Two Doctors and a Nurse

in a very few moments was, a|>pareiit!y, absorbed in the

peru; al of its pages.

Sitting there, dressed in her white uniform, she made
rather an attractive picture. Her hair, a light-brown,
was loosely taken back and held in neat braids firmly
to t:ie back of her head with long, bone hair-pins. Her
gray-blue eyes, surmounted by a broad, low forehead,
were particularly serious in their expression ; her nose,
indicative of her ancestry, turned up slightly, and her
mouth. ?et above a somewhat pointed chin, was large.
Her skin, though fair, lacked the rosiness attributed to
the children of Erin.

As the meal advanced, the other persons seated at the
table, one by one, arose and left the dining-room, and
Mrs. Archer was left alone. Thrownig the journal,
which rhe was pretending to read, to one side, she
pushed back her plate and hastily drank the mouthful
of coffee remaining in her cup and hurried upstairs.
There were a number of things die had to do before
she could summon Martha by telephone to brhiir
Ronald over, and she wanted to spend as much time
with ],im as she possibly could, for it was not often,
now, they spent an afternoon together. Her hurrying
feet had barely reached the top step of the stairs when
the telephone-bell rang. She took down the receiver
anfl held it to her ear and, in response to her gentle
"Haiio r ' the voice of Doctor Ross said :

The Success of Failure

"Mrs. Archerr
"Yes, doctor."

"Tell John, when he comet around, I telephoned
you he might have tht afternoon oflF and that I shall
not need the car before eight o'clock to-night."

"Very well, doctor," she replied a trifle reluctantly.
"But you know how John objects to taking orders
from anyone but you."

"I know," he answered ; "but he was not to be found
at the garage when I called up a few mmnents ago."

"I'll tell him, then."

"By the way," he continued, "if you do not object,
try and prevail upon him to take Rmnld for a Uttte
spin."

"You are very kind, doctor," she said, very
much pleased. "That will be splendid, he gets out so
little."

"That's what I thot^t," he replied. "Goodby."
She answered back, "Goodby" and hung up the

receiver.

Glancing at the clock, she found it was now fifteen
minutes past one. In half-an-hour John would be
around. She must tdqrfKwe Martha at once to get
Rmiald ready and bring him right over. John, of
course, could call for him, but, motherlike, she wanted
to assure herself that he was sufficiently wrapped be-
fore going for his ride. She again look down tiie

Two Doctors <md a Nurst

receiver and gave the number, and almost immediately
a voice in response, said: "Creighton."

"Kindly," siw reqttttted, "connect me with apart*
nient twenty-six."

There was a faint btizziiig, and then Mardia't voice,
asking. "Who is it?"

"It is I, Martha. Get Ronald ready as quickly as
you can and bring htm over to the c^lce. Jcdm is
going to take him out &»' a rkle in tiie doctor's
automobile."

"Won't that be fine !" delightedly exclaimed Martha.

"It will, indeed. Let me speak to him."

Very soon, the gentle voice of a child came over the
wire, saying, ''Hallo, mannnar

"HaUo, darlii^," she rqdied. "Hurry up and let
Martha dress you, for you are to tpead tiie iJtnnooo
with your mother."

She could hear the childish exclamation of delight,
the merry laugh and die clapping of tiny hands as
Martha Ufted him down from the ttocL

"Goodby, little son," she murmured fondly, as shi"
hung up the recetver and went back to her w<ak in the
inner office.

The last bottle had been put back in its place and the
last instrument leaned and put away when John,
seated in &t cat, ttopped ittmit ct ^ 6o». He

The Success of Failurt

glanced neither to the right nor to the left but looked
straight ahead. To get his attention, she walked to
the window and rapped gently on the pane. He did not
turn his head, and thinking, perhaps, he had not heard,
she rapped louder, but without effect, for he still con-
tinued to retain his dignified attitude. Fearful of at-
tracting the unwelcome notice of others if she kept on
rapping, she left the window and went into the hall
and. opening the street-door, called aoftly, "John," but
he either could not, or would not, hear. Indignant at
being compelled-to appear in the street in her uniform,
she ran down the steps and in no gentle tone of voice
demanded of John what he meant b :tting in the
automobile ignoring her raps on the window-pane and
her call from the door?

Without turning his head John said with respectful
emphasis, "I heard you rap and I heard vou call, but
I take no raps and I take no calls from' a nyone but
from the person whose servant I am.**

"Nevertheless," replied Mrs. Archer, striving to con-
trol her impatience, "I, too, must obey orders. Doctor
Ross telephoned me nearly an hour ago that he would
not need the car before eight o'clock tonight and that

you might have the afternoon off, but "

"I take no messages, I tell you,** interrupted John,
"from anyone but my master."
"He also said, before taking the automobile back to

Two Doctors and a Nurse

the garage, you should take Rraiald out far a short
ride," continued she.

"No man, wcnnan or child," replied John decisively,
"puts a foot in this ear mless my master, Mmsetl, or-
ders me to let them do so."

"Very well," retorted Mrs. Archer haughtily, "I
shall report your behaviour to the doctor when he re-
turns at six."

John did not deign to reply, and Mrs. Arcl»r, her

throat contracting and her eyes filling with tears, re-
traced her steps. Had she not fully realized the futility
of attempting to urge John to carry out his master's
instructions when they were not delivered to him per-
sonally, she would have tried to prevail upon him to
give Ronald his ride. She knew it would be useless
and the doctor, when he arrived home that night at
six o'clock, would find him sitting motionless, waiting
for orders, out there in the car. She was sorry, now,
she had mentkmed the ride to Martiia and prayed fer-
vently that die had not said my^mg aboot it to
Rcmald, knowing how disappointed he would be. He
was not like other children, this little son of iiers, for
so many of the games and amusements belonging
to their world had no part in his. Little Ronald was
blind. The occasional afternoons spent with his
mother, his daily waflc wiUi Marliia in iSxt park or a

The Success of Failun

trip with her on the can were regarded by him wMi

wonder and delight.

Mrs. Archer adored this boy of hers and he, in turn,
worshipped his mother; and although the little chap
could not tee her, she examined her face critically be-
fore the mirror in the haU. She straightened her atp,
which the wind had set awry, smoothed back the few
straying strands of hair and wiped her tear-filled eyes.
All traces of tears, she decided, must be at once re-
moved, or his tiny hands— with their tender, lingering
touch— in their passing over her face would surely
find them. So she passed quickly into the office and,
turning the cold water faucet, permitted the water to
flow until the bowl was a little more than half-full.
Then she bathed her face in it, after which she patted
it dry with a soft towel. The bell rang as she hung up
the towel, and she ran to the door and threw it open,
and into her arms she gathered her one great posses-
sion, her boy. She dismissed Martha and told her to
call for him at five o'clock. Then she ckwed the door
and carried Ronald into the inner office and sank with
him into a large, comfortable arm-chair. As she pro-
ceeded to remove his outer garments, he laid his little
hands protestingly upon hers and, in his quaint, old-
fashioned way, asked :

"Am I not going out for a ride with John in the doc-
tor's 'aunobile,' mother?"

Two Doctors tmd a Nmru

"Not this afternoon, darling," replied Mn. Archer,
releasing her hands and tMag off his hat and Idssii^

the top of his curly head,

"Why not. mother?" asked the child, raising a
quivering little face to hers. "Mart'a — said — you —
told— *er— John — was — going—to— take— me— fof >
ride "

"So mother thought, dear, but John says he cannot
do it." answered his mother, stifling a sigh as she stood
him down by her side and took off his coat which,
with his hat and gloves, die laid on a diair nearby.

"Why can't he, mother?" wailed the child, as he
climbed back into her lap and put two little, frail annt
about her neck and laid a wet cheek against hers.

"Mother does not know just why," replied she, rais-
ing the teu'-ftained face and kissing it tenderly. " Jdlm
has queer notions about some things."

Nothing more was said for several minutes. Ronald,
his face buried in his mother's neck, was perfectly
still; and save for the passing of her hand over his
hair, ui the sootiitng faduon nwtfiers have, Mrs.
Archer was as motionless. This little chap's sorrow
and, likewise, his joys were all hers, and she felt keenly
his failure to realize the pleasure of the anticipated
ride. However, ^e was not going to permit it to mar
his whole afternoon, wo, tmekag her head, she said
playfully in h» ear:

The Success of Failure

"Come now, honey, you are not going to let your
disappointment spoil your afternoon with mother, are
you?"

Ronald responded by stnig^tening up and with-
drawing his arms from around her neck. The doleful
face, with its sightless, blue eyes, brightened, and the
mouth, with its trembling lips, extended into a quiver-
ing anile. Lovingly his little hands, with tiieir deli-
cate touch, passed over her face, and, apparently, he
was satisfied with what he found there for, as he left
a birdlike kiss upon her lips, he said :

"You are very bootiful, mother."

"Motiwr is glad yov thmk so, little son/' she fcmdly
responded. "But what shall I do to amine you diis
afternoon?"

"Tell me a story, mother," he replied, nestling down
in her arms. "Tell me about the bootiful things which

I cannot see, tbt big trees and the pretty flowers

You know, everything."

His mother drew him closer to her and laid his light-
brown, curly head against her breast. Then she pr>
ceeded with her story and, childlike, in the telling his
disappdntment was forgotten.

CHAPTER III

THE DOCTORS CALL UPON DOROTHY

PKOMPTLY at four o'clock Doctor Gordon, seated in
his automobile, arrived at the hospital. Five mn.
utes later Doctor Ross took a seat beside him, and the
car, joining the dense traffic of countless automobiles,
cabs, tmcki tad numerous other vehicles of every kind
and description, began to slowly wead its way west-
ward.

It would be difficult for an observer watching the
two men as they sat conversing to determine from their
appearance the difference, if any, in their ages. Doug-
las Gordon pottessed tiie face of the optunkt The
merry blue eyes, set well back under heavy dark eye-
brows and o'er-topped by a forehead of extraordinary
height and breadth, looked out brightly and hopefully
upon everybody and everything. The mouth, above
which was a large and decidedly prominent nose, was
exceedingly pleasing in its expression, and disclosed,
when smiling, an excellent set of strong, white teeth.
The chin was incUned to be square, and was reallv the
only severe Mdng thbig about the face. The skin

The Success of FaUure

had the healthy color which is attributed to those who
spend the greater part of their time out in the open air,
and his great head, supported by a rather substantial
neck, was thickly covered with reddish-brown hair. In
height and weight he was slightly above the average,
and his years were forty, some years older than his
l»t>ther-in-law, Doctor Ross, but there were few who
could be made to believe it.

In appearance Robert Ross was decidedly unlike hh
brother-in-law, and he viewed the world, its doings and
its people from a somewhat different standpoint. He
was tall and slender and his shoulders, tmlike Doctor
Gordon'?, stooped sligfhtly forward. His face, with its
high cheek bones, was thin and long, and tlie pale,
dark skin which covered it did not suggest robustness
The eyes, set wide apart under heavy black eye-brows,
were big and black, and gave the rather disquieting
impression when their gloomy, speculative gaze was
directed at one that not only were they inspecting the
physical defect, or defects, but the moral ones were
being scrutinized and mentally passed upon, also. The
forehead was high and receding, and the finely-shaped
head was covered with thick, black hair, through which
a white one could he seen here and there. The nose
was long, btit well-formed, and the largeness of the
mouth was redeemed by the pletsant, if a trifle torioas,
smile which it wore when its owner gfreeted sn tc>

The Doctors Call Upon Dorothy 51

quaintance or friend. The finii, square chin indkated

its possessor might be depended upon to perform any-
thing which he deemed it worth while to undertake.

Doctor Gordon, whose sunny nature so endeared
him to his patients and fellow-practitioners, had an
unfaltering faith in the inherent good of hnmanity and
in the final eliminatioi of its ever-appearing evils, and
believed the social leavening elements of society would
eventually produce conditions wholly conducive to the
well-being of mankind. In this respect he differed
greatly from his brodier-fai-law, for Doctor Row had
little, if any, faith in human-kind, and regarded society
as a rather uncertain structure. He had scant patience
with people who lived in the past or dreamed of the
future. It was the things of today, and not thos? of
yesterday or tomorrow, whidi bamtM him, ami ht
did not believe &i wtHdag for fotwt reme&s Incorrect
present ills.

Despite the dissimilarity, however, the friendship
existing between tiie two mm was no common one,
and there was littte ia the fifo of one wfaiefa did not
interest the other.

When the car left the street and turned into the
avenue. Doctor Ross, having finished stating, in re-
sponse to Doctor Gordoe's inquiry, the number of
patients who had applied at the clinic that alfemiooe
for treatment and citing some ol the totei e sUag caaei,

p The Success of Failure

lapsed into silence and gazed gloomily off up tiw
crowded avenue. His brother-in-Uw w« weU «^
quainted with his quiet moods and tocw it would be
futae to introduce any new topic of conversation, so
leaving him to his thoughts he sat silently lookmg out.
noting and mentally commenting upon the numerous
objecte of interest as they passed, and gtvmg an occa-
^ giimce at Ae varyii^ faces of the hurrymg
crowd, of people passing and repassing each other on
S;:" way n'orTh and south. In less than half-anW
the automobile drew up in front of a large, red-bnck

we we. Wdce up. Ross." said Doctor Gordon,
rising and «tepi»ng out upon the sidewalk.

"So I see" replied Doctor Ross, getting slowly up
and following Doctor Gordon through the entrance ^
the "Bentley Apartments." They ascended m the el^
vator to the fotirA fioor. where they ahghteo, and a
few short steps brought them to the door of the apart
ment on the right. In response to themg ^he bell,
a little lady, attired neatly in black, stood m the door-
way. White linen, hemstitched bands which covered
tiie collar and cuffs of her gown, slightly relieved its
^berness. Smiling brightly in greeting, she stretched
out a hand to each and drew them m and closed tl«

"^Ts she led the way to Ae small, but coaly furnished

The Doctors Call Upon Dorothy 53

sitting-room, she asked, smiling mischievously up at
Doctor Ross, "Have you come up to scold me, Bob?"

"Hardly that, Dorothy," he replied, looking down
into the twinkling, brown eyes with his grave, black
ones. "I have come up to try and dissuade you, if I
can, from attempting anything like a boarding-house."

"But it isn't going to be a boarding-house. Bob !"

"What is it going to be, then?" he asked, placing his
hat on the uWe and seating hjmself beside ber on the
couch.

"A home," she replied emphatically.

'What do you mean by a home, Dorothy?" asked
Doctor Gordon, sinking into the commodious, lea&eir-
cushioned arm-chair by the WMnkw.

"I mean, Douglas," she replied srailiag, "a home-
living place."

"It is possible, Dorothy," said Doctor Ross, rec:ard-
ing his shoes intently, "in the establishing of this liome-
living-place' to unknowit^ dimimte aO that may
mean a hcane."

It is so like you to think of that. Bob," replied she,
laying a small, white hand upon his shoulder.

"And that is something well worth your consi<tera-
tion, Dorothy," said Doctor Gordon. "Howevwr, go
ahead and tell Bob just what you wish to do."

"I propose," she replied, wrinkling up her smooth,
white forehead, "to make conditions livable for all.

I 54 The Success of Failure

Some of the children of men have too much, others too
little, and for that reason I intend to make a more
evt.1 distribution. To do this, I shall introduce my
idea of the 'home-living place' and the great need of its
furtherance, and shall encourage all who will to make
their home with me. Applicants, of course, will be
expected to furnish references as to their good faith."

"References! What is the good of references!"
impatiently demanded Doctor Ross. "They are not
always to be depended uptwi ; nor can they always be
accepted as a guarantee of the individual's honesty of
purpose. You'll want something more than refer-
ences, Dorothy, to make this venture a success."

"And what is the essential 'something,' Bob?"

"A greater knowledge of the world and the needs of
its people," he replied, smiling slightly, "of which, al-
though you won't admit it, you are wofully ignorant"

"Do you think so, Bob?" she asked teasingly.
"Sometimes I wonder if that is not true of you."

"It could hardly be posnUe, could it, considering toy
profession ?"

"I don't know," she replied dubiously. "Anyway, I
think you are a bit mistaken in believing that I am so
deplorably ignorant"

"You have a bowii^-acquaintaace, Dorothy, but I
am positive you have not a visiting one with the worid,"
replied the doctor.

The Doctors Call Upon Dorothy

"Oh. I don't know, Bob," she replied laughing, "in
the years spent traveling around thi« old globe I picked
up a tittle knowledge and became somewhat worldly-
wise."

"True, you have traveled and visited many foreign
countries and rubbed elbows with their strange chil-
dren, but you have nevei given, I am sure, any serious
consideratkm to the conditions under which they live."

"That is true. Bob," acquiesced she. "And for that
very reason I think my proposed undertaking is an
exceUent one. Through it, perhaps, I shall gain the
knowledge whidi you OUnk I lack, and through it be
ahte to lighten the burdttii and hrighten the Uves ol the
world's workers."

"Not so, but you will wish as time goes on that it
were possible to close your ears to the constant lament*-
tkms ol the wofld't children." i ^

"What makes yon so penimtstic about my under-
taking, Bob?" . „
"Your present total unfitness, Dorothy, that is all.
"Why not make your home wiA Margaret and me?"
asked Doctor Gordon. "You know we are very anx-
ious to have you. This IMag by yourself is, by no
means, good for you."
"I know," replied Dorothy, "and it is very good of

you to want me."
"But wcm't come, di, Dorotfiy?"

The Success of Fctilure

"No, Douglas," replied she, gravely shaking her
head, "I have decided to live my life serving and to
endeavor to know the working world and its people
better."

"Very well, Dorothy," said Doctor Gordon gently,
"I trust the knowledge gained will be worth the
serving." ^

"I think it will," said Doctor Ross. "The world is
iK»t such a bad plac^ after all, and I am half-inclined to
believe if the knowledge she imparts to the student is
not always the best, it is, perhaps, as much the fault of
the scholar as of the school."

"You mean," queried Dorothy, "the scholar is to
Uame for tiie schod

"No, for what he learns there."

"From what source do you expect to get the people
whom you intend to occupy this 'home-living place'
witii you ?" asked Doctor Gordon.

"Tht newspapers."

"Why not include the Workers' League?" asked

Doctor Ross.

"So you are willing to make a suggestion, Bob?"

"Nevertheless, Dorothy," said Doctw Ross gravely,
"I want it understood that I utterly disapprove of ^
whole plan. I do not like it at all, and wish it were
possible to dissuade you from attempting anything of
the kind. But as you are not to be deterred from your

The Doctors Coil Ufnm DoroHty

purpose, I shall say no more about it, but leave to the
future the disclosing of the folly or wiidom of yoar
decision.'*

"Dear old Bob," said Dorothy fently. '*Whtt a good
friend you are."

"And am I never to become anything more than that
to you, Dorothy?**

"Hush " ami tint glanced meamng^y at the occupant
of the chair by the window whose attention for the
moment was attracted by something he saw in the street
below.

"Never mind him, tel! me.'*

"Iton't, Bd)," pleaded she, raising troubled eyes to
his gloomy ones. "Don't look like that. Rest assured,
I shall have to call upon you, again and again, to help
me cross my bridges, in the crossing of which I hope to
learn somedifaig of ^e rti u ct ure g and Hie caote of
their building."

"What is that about bridges?" asked Doctor Gor-
don, withdrawing his eyes from the street and looking
enquiringly at Dorothy.

"Oh," die replied, laughing, **! wat |int t^n^r Bob
I should, in a& probabilily, need him to help me cron
my bridges."

"Time enough to think of crossing bridges when you
come to than, Dorothy," cheerily responded Doctor
Gordon. "But go and put oo your hit and ooi^ lor I

The Success of Failure

am going to take you back with us in the auttxnobite.

Margaret is home, and "

"I know, she telephoned me," similingly interrupted
Dorothy," her big, brown eyes shining as she rose and
took from the mantel-piece at her right a small, plainly-
trimmed hat which she placed upon her head, glancing
meanwhile into the mirror while she fattened it se-
curely to her heavy hair with two long hat-pins.

While she was thus occupied, Doctor Ross rose to
his feet and from the back of a chair took a long coat,
which he opened out and held while she sl^>ped her
•lender arms into its sleeves. She thanked him and
drew the coat more closely around her.

"Did Margaret tell you, when she called you up,
Dorothy," inquired Doctor Gordon, "that she intended
to keep your over night?"

"Ob, yes,'* repUed Dorodiy, with a nod of her head.
"There is my grip over there," and she pointed to a
comer of the room near the door.

Doctor Gordon rose and took immediate possession of
the grip and, after the usual examinaticm of windows
to see that all were securely locked and that nothing
was amiss with the lock of the door leading into the
apartment, they proceeded on their way.

CHAPTER IV

DOBOTRY, nn MBW APnJCANT, AND A CAIX PBOM
MM. COaDOVt

DOROTHY, at the beginning of our story, was at the
age when me forgets one's years. 1^ was (me of
a large family whose members, as iSaey grew vp, sepa-
rated and made their homes in every country of the
globe. Dorothy made hers in the United States of
America, and was for a time the prot^e of the father
of Margaret Gordon and of hier adopted firodier,
Robert Ross. However, th^ir inability to agree upon
many of the important issues of life brought about their
partial separation. For instance, their understanding
of the meaning of the word "service" was totally at
variance. Dc»ofliyb dteve dfertitq)|^d to everymie,
irrespective of birth, condition or place, and this belief
she carried out in her own daily life. She was bom
to serve, and "Bom to Serve" was her motto. "Never
ask anotluir to do what you would not care to do your-
self," was her fovorite prtcepL Whereas, Mai^ret
Gordon's acceptation of the mraning was oittrely dif-
ferent. "If," said she, "servitt can be procured for

The Success of Failure

mmty, or otherwise, why should I serve ?" She changed
the old adage to read, "Never do for yourself what \ mi
can get others to do for you." Such an acceptali.>n
was imixjssible to Dorothy, and she found Margaret's
questioning of "Why do you tire yourself out doing
this ?" or "Why don't you get somebody to do that for
you?" and "Why do you trouble yourself doiiv^ foi
otliers what they would not lift a finger to do for you?''
particularly irritating, and were. Aft consictered, as
tnterlerence wiA her liberties. Doctor Ross differed
from them both in his belief that "service" without
"love" was naught. This view of "service Dorothy
could not accept, and Margaret preferred to ignore it
altogether.

AHhot^ Awt, Dorothy did not ai ear so. Her
erect and tmconscious dignity of bearir and her light-
brown hair piled high upon her hec= , gave the im-
pression that she was much taller. T le expression of
her face, whkli waa of greal beauty and of wooderfta
strength, was mostly tnuMptil, and the smooth, brc«d
forehead rarely ever wore a fro\.'n. The big, brown
eves looked out quietly and fearlessly upon the world
and its people. The nose was faultless and the mouth
and chin perfect The slein was pak and lacked the
requisite colorit^ to make Im lace the most beai^ful
<Hie in the world.

In the securing of proper quarters for the estaUish-

Dorothy, the Nm AfpUcmt, and o Catt 6i

inj^ of her home liv-ng place. Dorothy permitted rry
I ttle time to elapse irter the doctors' visit, atid amoitg
the many appK^ants who applied for a^ittsiM *M
FranUin HKMBimm. Doro^ was bu^ «^W^ed o«
morning in ctutwn Wtflld i iiK « wImi BuIIib, ^ coloffii
maid of all w( ? . , announced r

A gentlenia." to see you. Miss 1 ichardson."

Very well, Bertha, ' replied IkmAy vm^bom nas-
ing her eyes from ^ enrtatn. "AA Mai tt^ tMs
way."

i did. ma'am, he's right here."

Doro»hy glanced up quickly and war i of
medium height, with hat m hand, maa^g to lae r «r
way. **H«p«49-yott-iB?** nid frfenaa^.
yon coine in and sit down?"

"Tliank you," he replied, remain g v re he stoc '
"it is liardly worth while. I was lire J hert
the 'Wofkert' League.' Y«i fcawe » vacant}' T
fiever

"I have only owe that would suit vou," 1
Dorothy, rising an ~tet»i)iiig him .nto tiie ail.
it is right here," oj ning a ' or a few fc to tfe= eft,
whidh diackMed a ^laaH I neat ; iM ro«n.
Its sew fivsbfai^^ aB<l <&ft*i^HeB a ^^aete iS'lfci hwb.
he said :

That will do ver ' nicely, aT. * th yoir p " n
I shall take possessi* of it at on-. c."

The Success of FaUure

•J\\c room is ready for occupancy," replied Dorothy
smiling. "You may come whenever you wish."

"Thank you," he !»aid, regarding Dorothy somewhat
quizzically from a pair of keen gray eyes. **Yoa pro-
vide keys, of course."

Certainly. Wait a moment and I will get them for
\ou, ■ and stepping back into the room from whidi she
iiad come, she returned almost immediately, holdinf
two keys in her hand, which, after stating to wWch
locks they belonged, she handed them to him.

He thanked her and was making his way slowly to-
ward the door leading into the public hall, when she
stopped him with the inquiry :
"May I know your name?"
•You may," he said turning. "My name is Franklin

Thompson."

The door closed after him and Dwo&y went Dux
to her curtain-mending, reflecting Aat this appltcaiit
was some years older than any of the others. They
were mere youngsters in comparison, but this one was
a man whose years must be as many as her own. It
had not been her intention to admit into her "luuM-
livmg place** anyone m old as herself, and now she is
beginning to question the wisdom of admitting Mr.
Franklin Thompson as an inmate. To his appearance
she had not given much heed, and could only remem-
ber that his hair was slightly gray at the templet and

Dorothy, the New AppUamt, and a Call 63

at each side of his moutii were deep Utws. Agentlemn

though he may be, she regrets that his age will pre-
clude the friendly intimacy that exists between the
"kiddies," as she calls the other members of the "home-
living place," and herself. Just then atvoice, which
she recognim, acoomptskd by foot^qM in the haU,
breaks in upon her thoughts, and she heart:

"Don t trouble, Bertha, I'll find her."

The voice and footsteps belonged to Mrs. Gordon, so
Dorothy called out :

Tm in here, Margaret !"

'So this is where you are, and as busy as usual.
What are you doing?" said a tall, dark, handsomo
woman becomingly dressed in brown, entering and
crossing tlie room to where Dorotl^ sat

"Not so very busy now," replied D(m>thy, removing
from a chair beside her the mate to the curtain she was
mending. "Here, sit down. These curtains were
dotted with tiny holes which have taken some time to
mend. However, I have Msriy finMwd mending Acm
and tiiey will be ready for the wash tomorrow."

"Well, Dorothy," asked Mrs. Gordon, leaning back
in her chair, "do you find your guests as keenly anx-
ious for a 'h(Mne-iiving place' as you thot^ht?"

"So far, it appears to meet with tiieir ^^Mvciatka,"
replied Dorothy. "But," surprtw^y, "whi^ l»ing» ypn
out so early this morning?"

The Success of Failure

"What r I you ask that?" laughingly asked Mrs.
Gordo*. ,iot so very early. It is nearly ten."

"Oh. ' 't know," replied Dorothy. "It is rather
tmusual for vou to get out in the morning, isn't it?"

"Well it is rather exceptional, I will admit," replied
Mrs. Gordon smaing, "but I should not say remarkrf>I«
when an early morning's call upon one's brother is the

Ctuie Now don't look frightened, there is notlun^

the matter with Bob." added she quickly, noting the
look of alarm that spread rapidly over Dorothy's face,
"unless, perhaps, it is stubbornnets.

"Oh, Margaret," deprecated Dorothy.

"Pig-headedness, then," said Mrs. Gordon, laying

emphasis on the pig.

"Why, Margaret, what is the troidMe? adwd
Dorotiiy, her eyes openmg wide m anwwment. "What
has he dcme or what won't he do?"

"Ever since I returned from my trip," replied Mrs.
Gordon gravely. "I have been anxiously waiting for
the opportune time and place to pres«it themselves
when I could, without offending him, not only catt to
Bob's attention the folly of engaging to perform the
duties of an office-nurse such a young and pretty
woman as Mrs. Archer, but also to impress upm him
the impropriety of retaining her m hif employ, he being
a man ami an unmarried physician. However, as At
days and weeks went by. the tooked-for opportune

Dorothy, the New Applicant, and a Call 65

grew more and more remote, so becoming wppnSxat'
sivc of unkind criticiMa aad goodness oily knows mkalt

else I "

"You decided the proper time should be this morning
and the proper place riiould be Bob's office," inter-
rupted Dorothy, looking smilingly across at her caller.

"Yes," emphatically replitd Mrs. Gordon. "I de-
termined last night that I should not let another day
go by without speaking to Bob about it. But I might
just as wdl hxn spsred mjrsdf tin trmible, for I wm
given to understand it was none of my Iranness."

"Bob fails to see the impropriety, I suppose," said
Dorothy, lowering her eye-lids to hide the merry
twinkle in her eyes.

"Wen, if kt does, he won't admit it/' ioi^ied Mrs.
Gordon.

"He has no intention, then, of following your advice
and dismissing Mrs. Archer?" queried Dorothy, hold-
ing the curtain up in her outstretched hands to look for
more hoki 1^ at iSb/t same time, hkie Irom Mrs.
Cordon's view her laughing face.

"None whatever, I regret to say," gloomily replied
Mrs. Gordon. "At first he seemed very much amused
and ridictded the idea of discharging a capable nurse
because WM ytswxff and pfdly. And w^en I hi^ad
that his reputation might suffer, he only tai 9') ^ uA
said: 'I was in^y ooocMnad; that bt wa^ . ablt

66 The Success of Failure

to take care of his reputation and could certify to the
good conduct of his nurse.' But when I suggested
that the friendliness which existed between him and
Mrs Archer might, by some, be misconstrued, he be-
came indignant, and stated, in anything but pleasant
tones, 'That as long as there waa •• Uttte cause for
niisconatrttction he refused to discuss the situation
furthei, excepting to say that he was surprised that I
should have taken the trouble to come to him with such
a foolish suggestion or to expect him to give it, for a
moment, any serious consideration; Att the affairs of
his olBce were his own concern, and he considered it
proper and fitting that they should be so regarded by
others.' He was very angry, and so was I. I told him
he could rest assured that neither he nor to affairs
would soflfer Huout^ any im« if« w»ce of nrine in the

- ^ — — 99

llllUlv* *

"Poor Margaret," said Dorothy consolingly, as Mrs.
Gordon wiped away with her handkerchief thctears
which had slowly been gathering in her eyes di»fag the
recital, "your good fanentkns were, no doobt, mis-
understood, and Bob evidently looked upon yowr sug-
gestion as an impertinent interference."

"He. undoubtedly, did," sharply «P^^«^J*^J*JJ]'
don. "And it was not faitended to he anything of the
lort. Mrs. Archer nuiy be an excellent nurse, I am not
questiooinK her abUity. But, to prevent unfavorable

Dorothy, the New Applicant, and a Call 67

cotninent, I do think it would be wiser for him to have,
as an olifice nurse, a woman of toon mature yewrt.
Don't you think so, Dorothy?"

"I don't know, Margaret," replied Dorothy musing-
ly. "Sonoetinies, I tidnk; wt giW too anicfa coottdefB-
tion to the opinions of others. Perhaps it would be a«
well if we gave less and depended more upon the
still, small voice of the inner man or woman to bear
witness to cur r^teottraen."

"Or uarig^iteotisMst,'' retnnied Mrs. Gonfea.
"However, you haven't answered my question."

"I think T have, Margaret," replied Dorothy laugh-
ing. "Anyway, I have answered it as well as I should.**

"In other words,'' said Mrs. Gonkm with a dry,
short laugh, "mind your own business and observe
closely the steps thai lead vnto md from tb^ own
dwellin»."

"That's good advice, Margaret," said Dorothy, smil-
ing gravely as she snipped widi her sdisors the thread
from the last of the many tiny darMd spots and folded

up the curtain, "but like many other good things not
agreeable to the taste, although good for the system, it
is not in demand. Now, I am going to ask you a ques-
tioo. Was this In ter vi e w of yours with Bob over be-
fore Mrs. Archer arrived at the office?"

"Goodness gracious, yes!" replied Mrs. Gordon im-
patiently. "I called at the office shortly after eight

The Success of FaUurt

<^dock. She is not due untU some time later. Bob
had recovered his usual maimer and we were chatting
pleasantly when she stepped m a few minutes before
nine. You don't suppose the propriety, or unpropnety,
of her retainment by Bob as his office-nurse was dis-
cussed in her presence, do you?"

"Not knowingly, of course," Dorothy hastened to
reply "I was afraid she might have been in that
cubby-hole of a place at the left of the reception-room
and unintentionally have overheard the conversation.

"Oh, no," assured Mrt. Gordon, "A« was not there^
nor anyone else. The door was wide opoi and I looked

in "

""I am glad to hear that, for I should not like her to
even suspect, let alone know, the purpose of your visit
to the office ; nor would I have her dream that she w
the cause of the Httk unpleasantness that tprang up tint
morning between you and Bob."

"Considerate Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, smihng a
trifle sarcastically. "But why Ais cottri<teraten«s?
It seems to me Aat yott and Bob.aiaEe, are more tiian
usually interested in a total stranger."

"That she is a stranger should be an excellent reason
for one's interest. I think." soberly replied Dorothy

"But nothing is known about her," per«sted Mrs.
Gordon. "Bob adnuti Aat he engaged her solely upon
tiie recommenditlon of Doctor Uwis. and he, yon

Dorothy, the New Applicant, and a Call 69

know, would recommend Satan, himself, if he hap-
pended to be out of work and he thought he needed it."

"Poor Mrs. Archer, I don't believe she is any nearer
related to that genttemui tiian we are, do yoaT*

"I don't know about that," dubiotaly retorted Mn.
Gordon. "I doa't like people who tre SO tctioait about
their past."

"Come now, Margaret, be fair," ui^^ed Dorothy
gently. "A Man to spe^ of the peet and of its asso-
ciations, does not always kofiy that it holds what we,
or the world, would deem questionable. I cannot be-
lieve that Mrs. Archer's reticence is due to anything
unworthy."

"Perb^M not^" tart^ lepHed Ifet. Gofdoo^ "never*
theless, I should feel easier in my mind if I could
learn something aboBt her whidi wodd justify that

statement."

•The past, I have no douh%" said Dorothy musingly,
her eyes fixed tbougfatfuBy opoa Mrs. Gordon's Imi^
"does not always omtain the most agrecaUe me w orka;
and for that reason, I believe, many people close and
lock the door upon it and throw away tlu: key, and in
the way of today they try to forget the road of y«^-
day, a road, no dooht, strewn whh shattered idcds and
bordered with fading ideals ud pehifn! recollections.
The brighter spots along the way are nearly, if not alto-
gether, obscured by the darker and greater ones. So

^ The Success of Failure

they wisely leave those things beh««4. tecaUteg of
wh ch would only serve to retard their progress, and
S^^dy X«P the duties of the present, neither hoping
J^TiTealg the future, only desiring to work

and wait

•■ A^d vou think th»t to Mrs. Archer"! atr
ing her »a pennWing than to travel out of the

"'"wi. all I .n say or do «m not change the^«e^
a««r., now. so we wffl drop the «bj«t tor the p«.-
•ot" nid Mm. Gordon resignedly.
•^A^ ptlise me you won't worry any more about
it Margaret," pleaded Dorothy, ^^'^S o^-^J^^^y-
L her small white hands affectionately upon Mrt.
'^'rcLnVla^^^^ "I a««re ym.

i^I^o-; it may prove to be so," repU^ Mj.
Gordon. doubVfully shaking her head as she took th«

little hands in her own.

"I know it will." assured Dorothy confidently.

"iTw hope s^." said Mrs. Gordon rather hopeless-
ly ^d^g^h ; quizzical smile. "Why don't you
marrBol Dorothy, and thus relieve me of all respcH
sibility in that direction?" ^ . .

Dorothy laughed and wiAdrew her hands

«Who knows, perhap. I may. some day. she said.

Dorothy, the New Aff^mtt, amd a CaU 7»

rising and smiling teasingly. "Juft now, how«w, I
am going out in Ae kitchen to make you a cup of tea.
You kxjk completely tired out. If you go home look-
ing the way you do, Douglas will fail to recognize
you. Why didn't you take your hat off when you came
in? You don't expect to be adced every time yoa

come here, do you?**
Mrs. Ckjnka Miiaed and raiaed her hand! to take out

the hat-pins.

' Thank you, Dorothy," she said, "I shall be glad to
have a cup of tea, for my head feeli a trifle fueer.
And I think, while you are outside, I shall take off my
hat and smooth my hair. When I came in I didn't
intend to stay more than a few minutes, and I hays
been here over an hour."

"You surely can afford it, once in a wMe," laughed
Dorothy. "It is not often yon honor me with yoor
presence in the morning.

On her way to the kitchen, Dorothy met her new
guest. Franklin Thompson, coming in carrying his
grip. In response to her nod and bright smile of reeog-
nitum, he removed his hat and bowed slightly. Leav-
ing instructions with Bertha to put on the kettle, she
hastened after him to see if he was rightly located.
When she reached him, his hand was on the handle of
the door of Ae room to^ right instead of being t^oa
that of the door of tlie room to Ae left, wh^ was tfw

The Sueew of Paihm

one selected by him. She laus^ied Ugbtly, and at the
sound he turned around.

"Yon are going tiie wrong room," she said,
opening ^tut door to the left. "This is the one."

"Pardon me/' he said, slightly embtrraMed, "I was
not aware I was trespassing."

"Nothing serious, I can assure you," Dorothy smil-
ii^y hastened to refrfy. "I trust you wtH find every-
thing to your liking and will soon feel at home."

"Thank you," he replied, glancing approvingly
around the room. "I am sure I shall shortly feel very
much at home."

CHAPTER V

FRANK INSTALLED IN THE "HOME-LIVING PLACE"

AS Dorodiy dosed tiie docHr and went out, Frai^,
with a long, deep sigh of relief, tossed his hat
upon the bed and sank wearily into a chair. The greater
psrt of yesterday and two hours of today had been
spent in seeking to loci^ a plact be cafi home.
The places he had hithM aeen eHhor dark and
uncleanly or the price asked was too high ; and it was,
therefore, with reluctance and doubt, when he came to
the last name on the list secured from the Woricers'
League, that he climbed ^ k>ng flight of ttatn kad-
ing to Dtm^/i liome-livh^ friace." His doubts and
fears were soon quieted, however, when he beheld the
bright, newly-furnished room facing the street. On
the floor, in the center of the room, was a pretty green
rug ; pushed dose against tbte wi^ wi^ white spref d
and linen covered ihIIow, was a lii^ brass bed ; in the
corner, with its white linen-covered top and hand em-
broidered-covered pin-cushion, stood a dark chiffonier ;
at the window, to match the chiffonier, was a medium-
sized todda^^-iiaiT; screwad bBto iSatt waQ, bot^ng

74 The Success of Failure

clean linen towels, were two racks ; irom a brass rod.
placed across the window, hung white. <^<^"ed swtot
Lh curtains, and built into the ^ was • ^'J^
for clothes. A lew «n«pe«irive pictures ado^^^^
waB.. tmoiig the nmnber being a blue and white motto,
which read : "Bom to Serve."

Two months had passed since Frank "^od in
the middle of the Woods' Road m front of tfie iteA
and watched the figure of hi. tmbiddeii o^ *a
mOToraWe night and «»ppear among the trees
^I^S^fX of the woods. Hejiid ^unylor^
after she had gone, but closed up the shack ai^ took
the midday train back to the city determttiing to fe^
get. if he could. hU terr&le «cpen«ce of the previo^
night, the visit of At woman and Ae conversation he

had had with her. j j ku «M

Upon arriving in the city, he proceedwi to hi» rtd
quarters, fully intending to quarrd. no longer, with
Liditiona. Howem, a. he took up the routme of
everyday living he found, as the days passed, he could
not suppress the spirit of unrest that was ^rdy gr^
ing upon him. And it was this spirit of unrest wMd*
prompted the seeking of •nrronnduigs. As toe
went on. he dimly realixed Aat his attitude towwd
everybody and everything was undergomg a decided
ch«^what he had hitherto regarded negaU^yhe
was now beginning to regard positively. ConditiOBi

wherein he had been mentally pasaive he wa» tow be-
coming mentaUy active. In some fa dtf Cffl w b i e

he wit tmm»fM—m —

A» Car teck as he could remember, Frank and his
mother had lived alone in the little shack in the woods.
She had bought it when he was a tiny baby, she had
told him, and there the happiest days of hit fift bad
beenspeitt Aa « child lit « not permitted to attend
tlie village iciioot, hia early education being uudcrt-\ken
by his mother. When he became old enough to be
trusted to travel unaccompanied on the train, to
motlier selected a school in a aeaihy city. For lix
years he went to th» tchool, tridnf Ae ewly mornmg

train and retunung late in the aftemooo. He was not
considered a particularly promising student by his
teachers, possessing but the intellect of an o"*"*^'
everyday boy. HU fiSwe to gftdttite wet » l»en dis-
appointment to lus mother, for only through her un-
complaininf istfHknW hmi his edncation been made

possible. . ». J

From the time he left school until the present, he had
been exceedingly unfortunate to his bumty to hold a
positioa after » had once been secured. Varied and
many were the private concerns and corporations by
which he had been employed, and yet he could o^
boast of one where he had remained a ytar. In ffle
others, he had stayed anywhere from one day to six

ye Tfn Success of Faiburg

months, and. singularly, he was not discharged from
anyone of them because he ladted applicatkm or Ije-
cause he had not pcffbrmed W» d«ti«t latiifactonly.
These constant changes were not due to any fault of
his for he was not only a willing and faithful worker,
but he was truthful and honest They were, due.^in
many instances, to dimness in twsineit. whea an order
would come from ^ private cOct to cut down ex-
penses, which frequently meant a reduction in the office
force; and, as Frank was usually the last one em-
ployed, he was generally the first to go. Owing to tlib
state of affairs, be coidd not afford to remain idle and
wait for the "good and permanent thing" to present
i»jelf, but was f'^ ced to work whenever the oppor-
tunity offered. Sometimes he would substitute, or fill
in when some other man, through sickneit— or tome-
thing quite as undesirable— was coiiq>dled to be abeeat.
This might be for a day, perhaps a week, or even
l(inger ; it all depended upon the inability of the other
unfortunate fellow to be present. Not infrequentiy the
concerns went out of business or merged ialo otlw
corporations.

Of the identity of his father and the source of his
mother's income, Frank had been kept in ignorance.
To all questions relating thereto his mother had always

maintained a dignified sUence. and
referred to the days iM*»fcHii to Aoea of w

Frank Installed in the "Home-living PUu^* T7

She discouraged the idea of visitors and, excepting the
woman who came every week to wash and to do the
week's cleaning, a stranger was never seen around tiie
shack.

After her dettfi, Tnmk, in his loneliness, searched
every nook and comer of the shack, looked through
every book in the bookcase, threw everything out of the
drawers of her desk and of her bureau and examUied
every article of fumttnre in the hope that he mtg^t
find, conceakd somewhere, something— an old letter,
a photograph— anything, which would reveal his re-
lationship to, and bring him intimately in touch with,
some other human-being living in the ww^d. He foimd
nothing. If ^ere had been vsf3t&ag, at uiy ttme.
which could have been the means of telling a storv,
good or ill, it had been carefully destroyed. With the
exception of a sealed envelope addressed to the firm of
lawyers whose signature had always appeared upon
the face of his mother's monthly checks and a long,
plain, white cafdope placed in the top drawer of her
desk, there was not a scrap of paper to be found any-
where. The long, white envelope contained two sheets
of paper. Upon one was written, fa Ws mother's strong
hand-writfag, the tWiMSt M he forward the letter
addressed to the attorneys ; the other informed him that
he was the owner of the shack and of a few hundred
dollars. The money was deposited in his name in a

The Success of FaUwn

savings bank and had been saved out of her monthly
income, which he knew, for she had told Wm, wooW
cease with her death. ^ ,

A» he looked around the room, after Dorothy left,
he fdt more satisfied with life than he had since his
mother died. He proceeded to open his grip and take
out the contents, which he laid away in the deM, newly-
papered drawer*. While he waa that occupied, there
was little to indicate in Frank's clean shaven face any
cause for Dorothy to question the advisabiUty of admit-
ting him into her "home-living pla ce." A tehougfa
habituallv wearing an expresrfon of anxkmt wieer-
tainty the face ii one of undoubted refinement. Below
the dirk-brown hair covering his head, and which
slightly gray at the temples, is a forehead seamed wi^
d-ep lines, which should not be there. They are not the
lines produced by work, but l»y the coMtast pursuit of
it The honert gray eyes, above which are black eye-
brows, carry a questioa, and ask Uie eternal quesUon.
Why?" The nose is long and inclined to turn under
at the end, and the mouth beneath, though large, it
clean and as sentlthre as a woman's. The chin pro-
trudes a IMc and rounds off somewhat at the sides.

After placing the now empty grip in the wardrobe,
he concluded he would not -ait any longer for ^
trunk to arrive, but would ask, is he ^"*^^«fvT[
pleasant little lady, whom he had wet thrt awming. to

Frank Installed in the "Home-living Placed' 79

see that it was properly located when it came. Open-
ing the door, he stepped into the hall and stood there
for a moment or so trying to detennine in which room
he had scan her. Dorodqr beard hinmBi Mriag iha
cause of hit hesitation cane (pM^jy from her roMi hi
the front, and inquired :

"Do you wish to speak to me, Mr. Thompson?"

"Yes," he replied, and then stopped abruptly for, at
she appraached, k occurred to hha that drfa dllBiiii,
little lady might consider his request impertinent.

Wondering at his hesitation and fearing it might be
due to something not altogether satisfactory in his
room, Dorothy stepped into the doorway and kx)ked
around. As she did so. the Ught from the window
fell iuU upon her face and revealed, to Frank's amaze-
ment, its pale, tranquil beauty. He thought, as she
waited for him to continue, he had never seen so beau-
tiful a face.

Satisfying hertelf tfam emytUng was as it diould

be. Dorothy looked inquiringly up into his face.

"I was going to ask you," he said, "if I might trouble
you to see that my trunk is placed in my room when
it comes."

"It won*t hi trooble. at aU," Ae replied idlh ft

bright smile. "I shall be glad to do it for you."

"Thank you." he said, taking his hat from the bed;
"you are very kind."

Thi Success of Fmlurt

"VIkA at all," and turning she went back to her room.
Mrs. Gordon wm ttandiiig in front of tli« mirror pot-
ting on her hat, and, as the front door opened weA

closed, she exclaimed indignantly :

"I like that man's nerve! What right had he to ask
you to look after his trunk, I'd like to know? Why
didn't he stay and see about it himielf?"

"Why, Margaret," said Dorothy in surprise, "it isn't
any trouble, and I like to do these little things for
people."

"You do?" qtttried Mrs. Gordon angrily. "Like to
n»ke yourself a servant for a lot of tramps? I'd like
to see myself."

"So should I," thought Dorothy.

"Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon severely, turning from
the mirror and pulling on her gloves, "there are timet
when I feel like shaking you, and this is one of them."

"Why don't you, then?" asked Dorothy, smi&if
provokinply. "I'll give you permission."

"It isn't because you don't deserve it," sternly replied
Mrs. Gordon, standing at the table and locking down
into Dorothy's laughing brown eyes with a shade irf
anxiety in her own, "I can tell you that. To have ad-
mitted a man who is as old as yourself as an inmate
into your 'home-living place,' is bad enough, goodness
knows, trat to fraciotttly amde to his reqnttt ikemym
]0€k after hia bftggH«> inttead of teUiiif himXamtikm

Frank Installed in the "Home-living Place" 8l

maid— well— I don't know-hot ft mobs to loe yon
must be lacking in ordinary common sense."

-Ordinary common aense/' repeated Dorothy teas-
Mil^. "Ifcit M ao ted, Market I thought you
were going to say nmnhU i g m to mudi wont.
Don t you know that common leme is always tmocm-
nion and is not supposed to be possessed by ordinary
common people. I don't feel, after all, I am so differ-
ent fnmikt reM of the world."

At Dorothy's last word^ Mib. Gordoo't &ee relaxed
and her hps parted and extended into an amused smile.

"You are, nevertheless, Dorothy, very different," she
said, touching caressingly with her gloved fingers the
crown of Ugfat-brown hair wUch framed the teasing
laughing face ttp-raised to hert; '*mA for ttal rtaaaa
you should possess that exU a o t^Ma i ry m tg « ^< mn«i
thing, common sense."

"Beriiaps I do," laughingly replied Dorothy. "The

troidileiiyoa&ato neogniieit Yonr Tblon must be
at fault."

"That is possible, of coane»" admittid Mn. Gordon,
smiling enigmatically.

"But not probable," returned Dorothy.

"I refuse to aajr." repHed Mn. Gordon aa die pro-
ceeded on her way out. "However, I would togseat,
hereafter, that all reference to baggage and other such
thmgs should be referred to Bertha, if your

Tht Success of FaUure

Kving' people do not wiih to remain and take caw ci

it themsehres."

Dorothy was about to make some laughmg reply
when the telephone bell rang. With a murmured
apology, she hastily brushed past Mrt. Gordon and
ran out into t»». hall and took down Ae recetw.

"Hallo," she said. ^

"Is this you, Dorothy?" asked the voice of Dodor
Ross at the other end of the wire.

"Yes, it is I, Bob," she replied. "How are yon Ab
morning?"

"Don't tell him I am here," whispered Mra. Gordon

frcrni the doorway,

Dorothy turned her head and with a nod smilingly
asseiUed as she listened to his voice telling htr he Mt
very well and would be urmmd in his automobile short-
ly after office hours to take hei for a ride that evening.

"That's awful good of you, Bob. I will be ready and
won't keep you waiting a minute."

"All right, then," he laid, "I win be aronnd about
half-past eight. Goodby."

"Gooc&y " she answered back and hung up the re-
ceiver.

"What did he want, Dorothy?" asked Mrs. Gordon,
leaving the doorway and leaning up againrt the wall

"Oh, he Just called me up to tell me he was eomfaig
around this evening to take me lor a ride."

Frmk Itutatted in the "Home-living Placed' 83

"I wish," said Mrs. Gordon thoughtfully, "Bob
would not call here for you in his automobile."

"Why, Margaret?" innocently inquired Dorothy.

"For by so doing, he places your repotatioa k Uie
mouths of the evil-minded public."

"And so you think the evil-minded public is worthy
of consideration, do you?'* smilingly asked Dorothy.
"I must ny I do not How I live it of more import-
ance to me tiian wbat it ti^dct, iAkA ft layi «r lAaX k
does."

"That may be all very well," replied Mrs. Gordon,
slowly making her way, followed by Dorothy, along
the hall toward the ^lor, "but it has beoi my expe>
rience if one does not consider public opinion, it is
not long before public opinion is considering you and
inquisitively concerning herself with the way in which
you conduct your life. If you refuse to satisfy her
curiosity—determined to accqit no rtandard of living
but your own— braaen effrontery she looks with
prying eyes into your most sacred affairs and then
hastens to reveal, with a lying tongue, what she thinks
she has found there. No matter how pure, simple or
true the life, if die cannot know all aboot it, or if the
outward living of that life differs in many respects
from what is usually considered proper and right, she
believes, and does not hesitate to relate, there must be
some unw<»1hy motive for keeping her in die dark, and

Tht Success of Failure

it is not long before the object of her scrutiny is pay-
ing the penalty/'

"I care nothing lor ptablic opinion," replied Dorothy,
with an emphatic stamp of her tiny foot. "Public
opinion is for cowarda; I have never tubicribed to her
and I never will."

"Very well, Dorothy," said Mn. Gordon, placing her
arm affectionately around the determined, little figure.
"I certainly hope it may be your good fortune to have
her pass you by and that a whiff of her foul breath may
never come near you."

"She may cane or stay away, I care nothti^ fwr
her," tncBfferently replied Dorothy.

"Well, for the sake of those who love you, you dear,
little soul," said Mrs. Gordon, stooping and tenderly
kissing the firm-set lips, "I hope she stoys away."

At Mrs. Gordon finiihed tpeaking, Dorothy's face
lost the kxjk of bdifference and hilo it ^re came one
of concern, and she said :

"Now, don't go and worry about me; I'm all right."

"Indeed you are, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, as
she went downstairs. "It's the world tiut is all wrong.
Goodly. Come over to dinner tomorrow night."

"I will. Goodby." called Dorothy after her.

With a smile and a farewell wave of her hand, Mrs.
Gordon proceeded down the stairs, and Dorcrthy weirt
back into her "home-Uvit^ place."

CHAPTER VI

OOCTOt aOM AMD DMOTBY GO VM nsut RIDS

"IfA-VD me my hat first, Bertha," said Dorothy, hold-
Jn ing out her hand, "and then answer the tele-
pi ijne. If it is the doctor, tell him not to trouble to
come up, for I shall be right down."

"Yes, ma'am, k's the doctor," said Bertha, retunrfag
a few moments later.

•'\'ery well, help me on with my coat," and Dorothy
slipped her arms into its sleeves. Buttoning it up, she
told Bertha she might have the evening off. Then
picking up her gloves, which were lying oa the top of
the bureau, she pulled them on as she hurried out.
Doctor Ross was waiting for her at the foot of the
stairs.

"I trust I <fidn't keep you waiting long. Bob," was
her greeth^.

"You never do, Dorothy," replied Doctor Ross smil-
ing. "In that respect you are an exceptional woman."

"Nonsense," laughed she as they left the building.

They were won comfortably seated, and John, who
had received his hwtnictteaa, Hantd the car. At it

The Success of Failure

turned the corner and ipcd up the broad avenue,

Dorothy asked :
"Where are we going ton^^ Bob?"
"Not any partkular place, tmleia you have aome ipa-

dal one you care to suggest."

"No," replied Dorothy, settling herself back a trifle
wearily in her seat, "I can't think of any special place;
all places are alike to me."

"Wm today an nnutiddly tord day, DoroAy?" ^
doctm asked solicitously.

"Not particularly so. What made you ask that?"

"You appear tired."

"Well," she confeased, "I do fed a little tired. How-
ever, the ride ki Ae cod air and your sympathetic pfti-
ence beside me will soon dissipate that."

"I hope so. How is everything progressing at the
'home-living place?' "

"So far, very satislactorily. I have heard no com-

platf^."

"They will come in time, never l«uf," he mentally
commented. Aloud, he asked :
"Any new applicants?"
"One. He came this morning."
"From the League?"
"Yes."

"What kind of a youngster is the new one ?"

"I am afraid. Bob," replied she hesitatingly, "you

Dottor Rm md Dorothy Go for Tktir Ridt 87

Would hardly call him a youngster. He is older, very
much older, tbaa the odwr Idddiet."
"How tmidh oMerr

A goodiiinQr]reart,l8hoiildsiqr. He ia folly at old

as I am."

"What sort of a looking chap is he?"

A ftatdcd kxrfc {Mttt Ofver tile ftice of Dorodiy. Thca

she laughed and said :

"I really couldn't say, Bob, I paid so little attention
to his appearance. His manners, I remember, were
good, and gave me the impression it would be safe to
admit him into my 'home-Itvtng place.' "

"Wen, never mind about his looks; they are not
neceisary. His age is sufficient to attract Margaret's
wellnneaning but, nevertheless, impertinent interfer-
ence in your directicm." And Doctor Ross leaned back
in hit wu^t and laughed toMy. "I wondo','' continiied
he, "how much sleep she will get when she learns you
have admitted a real live mas tato your 'home-livi^
place.' "

"I d<Mi*t know, I am sure," replied Dorothy laugh-
ing. "I am gokag to dim witii Imr and Doug^ to-
morrow night."

"You are!" exclaimed the doctor incredulously.
"You're surely not going to walk into that hive of ques-
ticms voluntarily?"

"I am, thotti^''

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The Success of Failure

"Then I shall have to arrange to take dinner over
there, too, for my presence may possibly guarantee
your escape with few injuries. Otherwise, it is doubt-
ful if you would not literaOy be battered up and the
reputation of the 'home-ltvii^ j^ace' be severely dam-
aged."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Bob," said
Dorothy with feigned severity.

"Well, I am not. This sdltcstottsness, which is un-
called for and unsought, is becoming intolerable. She,
apparently, is incapable of comprehending for herself
or others any other existence but that subscribed to by
the conventional world. Its mandatory laws, in her
(pinion, must be obeyed; its rulnigs must be followed
and its voice, right or w'r(mg, must always be heard."

"Personally, I feel very sorry for Margaret," said
Dorothy, "for she certainly spends a great deal of her
time worrying needlessly about other people and their
affairs. And I can't help believing, in a way, it is un-
selfish solicitude, too."

"It may be. It is I know unnecessary," replied
Doctor Ross, gazing thoughtfully ahead. "One thing
is evident, however, and that is her utter inability to
a{^M«ciate the right of every<me to adtect liie body of
water upon which his, or her, vessel shall sail. Some
people are perfectly satisfied with the placid waters of
the Lakes of C(Hivention and upon them make their

Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride 89

homes. Contentedly sailing around their peaceful bor-
ders, they never care to venture their craft beyond the
narrow and limited confines of the lakes. Margaret is
one of these. Others, more curious, becone dissatis-
fied with the quiet waters of the Lakes of Gmventimi
and leave them for the more troubled waters of the
constant rushing Rivers of Interrogation. Here,
launchel forth, they set their sails. But alas! as they
sail, the gaze of tiietr UMjuiring eyes becomes covetous,
and tiiey grtK^, <me to tiie other, the space required
to safely navigate their barks. Dorothy, you are one
of these. And the others, many of them, long since
grown weary of the former and unsatisfied with the
latter, turn to tiie watm of the Great Sea of Life.
Scorning its gigantic waves and the fierceness of its
sweeping gales and caring naught for its tossings and
crossings, they thrust forth upon that mighty deep to
learn what it alone can teach them. As they embark
their questioning voices am be plainly heard, but later,
as their vessds cmtinue to ride the waves, they are
hushed and soon are lost in the loud roar of the wind
which sweeps over the Ocean of Experience. Dorothy,
I am one of these."

Dorothy sighed deeply. Bob, to her, at timet, wtt
sudi an inexplicable hKmg.

The sigh dM not esc^M the doctor, rad he asked
tenderly :

The Success of Figure

"What makes you sigh, Dorothy?"
"Because, Bob, you are, at tiines, so hard to under-
stand."

Doctor Ross laughed as he asked: "Do you really

think so?"

"I certainly do," she replied decidedly. "I have great
trouble sometimes in determining just what you mean."

"I am glad it is <Mjly sometimes," said the ^Ktor,
possessing himself of one of her small hands.

"So am I, Bob," replied she, permitting iier hand to
remain quietly in his.

"Never mind," said he assuringly, "a time will
come when you will never fail to understand me."

"I hardly think so," and Dorothy rfiook her head
doubtfully.

"Why?"

"I don't know, unless it is because your life is so
different from mine. You seem to live such a purpose-
ful life."

"And you do not, is that it?" laughingly inquired the
doctor.

"I don't mean that, exactly," irritably replied Dor-
othy, trying to withdraw her hand and failing in the
attempt.

"That's not surprising, is it?" asked the doctw teas-
in^y. "I am a physician and you are a little landlady."

• Doctor Ross attd Dorothy Go for Their Rid* 91

"I can't see that that in any way affects ^tuatkn
—ihey t)oth iavdtrt tenrice."

"That is true," admitted the doctor. "Tlie service,
nevertheless, you must own, is very different."

"That's just it. Yours is a service based upcm
knowledge, while mine is one caused, more or less, by
accident"

"And, consequently," said the doctor, "you conclude
the outcome of your service is not always satisfying."

"Well, I cannot say it is altogether so," she reluc-
tantly admitted.

"Have you soi:^ to find the reason?" symi«thetk-

allv asked he.

"Oh, yes," hopelessly, "but one might ,ast as well try
to find a ray of light in the dark as to seek this hidden
thing which, evidently, is iKst to be found."

"What makn yon think it is not to be fottnd?"

"Because of humanity's wants."

"You're swimming in deep water, Dorothy," said
the doctor wamingly.

"I know I am. Bob, and I'd dearly love to see the
shore and find a knding-place."

"There is one waiting for you now, Dorothy," said
the doctor, his voice unutterably tender, and he pressed
the little hand he held within his own. "It has been
waiting here for you iof a kmg, hxag tia^ and its
owner wot^ only be too pleased to have yon a^

9^ Th§ Success af Pmlw§

yourself of its protecting shelter, its great love tad
boundless peace."
"I should like to, Bob, I really shoald, but I am

afraid to take the risk."
"Tak" what risk, Dorothy ? I don't quite understand

you."

"Myself. I am afraid to ride mysdf, Bob. I am
afraid Ae owner of that landing-place would eventu-
ally control my every thought and deed and I should,
in time, become perfectly satisfied with its cool shade,
its pleasant walks and quiet resting places. I should,
I fear, lose myself and my identity would gradually be
absorbed in ^ greater identity which I ihould find
there."

"I assure you, Dorothy," said the doctor kindly,
"your fears are groundless. What is really ours can
never be lost Only the material tfahigs which we, in
our foolishness call Mine, we eventually lose. But
those are only the borrowed garments in which are
enfolded our lesser selves. As the years go by and we
become wiser, a gfreater sdf udces posaesskm and re-
places that lesser self, and its tattered, worn-out gar-
ments drop away, one by one, and we recognize and
gladly wear those that truly belong to us. The things
of yesterday are forgotten, and it is well that they
should be, for they are but the diadows of die tiiiiq^
of today. Time cuk never be teat, etut nevw be wofa

Doctor Rou attd Dorothy Go for Their Ride 93

out, for Aey arc always abiduig and forever inde-
structible."

Dorothy shook her head helplessly but made no

"If you should become my wife," resumed he, **»
would not mean ^ we should lose our individnal
identity, but it would mean that we would be more
completely identified with each other. That is, it would
simply be the blending of yourself and myself in our-
self ; it would be the union of Yoo and I into We, and
our mutual efforts woald be so dhwrted that the happi-
ness of the You and the I would be assured."

Impatiently withdrawing her hand from his, Dorothy
laid it over the other one lying quietly in her lap. She
knew from experience the futility of trying to argue
with 66b. so she coathitied to remain silent

After they had travelled some distance without
speaking, Doctor Ross, bending his head down until it
reached hers, asked :

"What possible objection can yon have to such a

union?**

Forced to reply, Doroliiy str^ghtened herself up in
her seat, and said :

"I have only one, Bob, but that one is sufficient to
make such a union, at tiie present time, an impossi-
bility. I fear, nay, I know, it would utterly interfere
with tsy wonmst*^

94 The Success of FaUure

"What nonsense ! What ever put such an idea M
that into your head?"
"It would, nevertheless," replied ^he doggedly.
"You are altogether wrong, T Miy. Instead of
interfering with your service it w -i enhance its value
a hundred-fold. Indeed, it is a barren service in which
Love is not admitted."

"I am sorry. Bob, but, just now, I cannot accept
• our view of the situation." ^

"Not now, perhaps," he reluctantly admitted ; ^ it, '
exultingly, "the day is not far distant when you will-
nay, when you must— accept the situation as it is."
"As it is ! What do you mean, Bob ?"
"I mean by the barrenness and unsatisfying results

of vour service ■"

"It is useless to continue the conversation along this
line," she interrupted impatiently. She was now thor-
ou^ly annoyed. "I cannot agree with you. Person-
ally, I do not consider Service and Love 'good mixers.'
Separately they work very well ; but when hitched to-
gether they make an obstinate pair, and one not easily
managed. If one or the other does not bolt when di-
rected, by a gentle pull of the rein, to move ever so
slightlv from their chosen place in the road, they show
their aversion for each other by balking when they are
called upon to draw humanity's wagon up some fteep
hill or over some piece of extraordinarily rou|^ road.

Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride 95

As they reach foot of the hill or the piece of rough
road, they come to a halt. Service concludes here is a
place where they should pull together, and states that
fact to her neighbor on the other side of the tongue.
Love surveys tfie ground over whidi Service would
travel, and shakes his head— He fails to agree. 'They
should,' he says, 'continue along the smooth, if longer,
road, and thus spare the occupants of the wagon the
bumps and jolts which they cannot hope to escape if
they travel the road sdected by Service. He al«o pcmits
out the possibility of someone foiling from tht wagon
and getting hurt and might, in the eagerness of ervice
to reach the top of the hill, be overlooked and left at
the roadside to die.' Service, disgusted with what she
calls 'Love's Jack of backbone/ (ktemaines to draw tiie
wagon up the hill alone, and despite Love's protests
- him at the foot of the hill. Service, on the con-
not so greatly concerned about the occupants
.e vagon ; her chief concern is to reach the desired
destination with as little dday as poniUe. Hor busi-
ness is 'to get Acre,' regardless of cost. 'What,' argues
she, 'does it matter if one or two do drop off ; there are
always plenty only too anxious to fill their seats in the
valley below? And,' concludes she, 'if they caimot
hang on to their seats they deserve to k»e tiiem,
anyway.' "
"Poor Love," said the doctor sighing.

96 The Success of PaUwre

"I cannot see that Love is any worse off than
Service," said Dorothy, who had regained her good
humor. "Indeed, I Aink my »ynip«tWet we often-
times more wiA the latter Hum Aey are with the

former,"

"Poor Service, too, then," he said dolefully.

"It's too bad, Bob, but it's no use; they will not

"Poor Love,*' again said Doctor Ross with a sigh.

"Why do vou so greatly sympathize with Love In-
stead of with Service?" demanded Dorothy. "I am
sure, if anything, he is the more refractory ol Ae two.

"He would not be," mused the doctor, "if he could
prevail upon Service to banish the tongue wWch sep-
arates them."

"But why do you feel so sorry for Love? persisted

Dorothy. ....

"Because he is so often given credit with bemg some-
thing he is not He is supposed to be blind when he
has excellent eye-sight ; he is supposed to be deaf when
his hearing is acute; he is supposed to be dumb when
from his lips flow words of no light meaning. He »
supposed to be old and of misoond mkiA, when his
yooth is everlasting and his wisdom that of the ages
past and of those to come ; he is supposed to be a beg-
gar, when he is a king reigning over an eternal kmg-
dom. '^^ainly he pleads with Service to be its queen.

Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride 97

but she, owing to her maiorial blindness, her worldly
deafoeM, her ceaseless chatter and her boasted
ephemeral knowledge, is totally unable to recognize the
king in her wooer and to appredale kingdom ow

whfch he reigns.** . ,

"Pbor Service," M I>OIO% siitMticaUy, she U

terriblv afflicted."

"She is terribly handicapped," retorted the doctor.

"Then why," asked Dorothy impatiently, "does
stand protesting at foot of Ae hill when his place
should be at the other side of the tongue helping her
to draw the load up the hill ?"

"Because," slowly and emphatically replied the doc-
tor, "the province of Love is to rule and that of Service
to dbty. Indeed, if he shoitfd caamA to travel by her
side up the MH, some great change would take place
and his name would then be Indiiference. The work
of Love, Dorothy, is to make the crooked path and the
steep places straight and to smooth tfie roughened
road."

^'Why doesn't he, then?" sharply asked she.

"He does. Surely he is not to blame if Service per-
sists in selecting her own road, nor for the fact that
she is bound to get stuck hdon she is half-way up
thehiU."

Dorothy's response was an exctamation of ua^
tience.

r** Success of Paiiwr*

Doctor Ross repUed by reaching over and ^^^^
small rebellious hands that refused to keep
held them firmly in his own, and nrnsingly cootiiwied :

-Poor Service, you ftwrted off proudly enough, so
sure were you you could reach the top alone; but you
had hardly left Love behind before you began to notice
the tongue at your side was weighing h^^^y «P^"
and hindering to a great eictent the polKiig of the lowL
The creaking, creaking of the wheel* as they revolve
slowly around is beginning to wear upon your nerves
and causes you to become somewhat irritable and, as
you slacken your pace a little to glance up the hmorou
note with grave apprehenskm it is steeper and lo^
toyotthclieved,andyooarefarfroinAetep. Hu-
manity's wagon, which seemed so easy to draw when
Love was on the other side of the tongue, is now be-
coming harder and harder to puU along-«id wy,

how tired you are! .

"With aching head and muscles so strained they are
Winnmg to assert themselves, you feel keenly what
yott consider is 'Love's base desertion of you. That
you may have deserted him does not for a moraent
occur to you. Incensed that he AouM have left you
to pull the toad alone, you determine to show him that
you are capable of doing it and put forth an extra
effort This causes you to stumble and fall. Slightiy
perturbed, but in no-wise discouraged, you pick your-

Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Thiir RUt 99

self up and, shaking the harness in place, pull long and
hard to start the v/agon ; but, to your dismay, it refuses
to budge. Stuck "ou are, — and not half-way up the
hill. After repeated efforts, yoa hilf-w»y eoochide
there is but one thing left to do, and that is to turn
around and go back. How you hate to do that, so you
pive another long and hard pull; — but to no use.
There is no help for it ; back you must go. And so
you turn around and go btdc. But, strmge to 9%y,
the road does not seem Ibe seme, and you wonder, as
you jog along, how you could have failed to notice the
sickly-looking trees at either side and the brownish-
colored grass, with ne'er a green blade, covering their
roots; also, how tiie many stnuqidy a pp e arin g <A>|ccts
which line the wayside could have escaped your ob-
servation. These, curiously, instead of arousing >
interest fill you with a vague dread, and vith ht lU
averted you hasten on anxiously eager to reach ti»
bottom of the hilL Here you arr met by L ive, when
without a word, takes his place at i..': other side of the
tongue, and humanity's wagon quietly proceeds along
the road selected by Love, the only one by which it
can safely traveL"

As &e doctw fiidsfaed speaking, he released Dofo-
thy's hands and drawing them back, she said :

"I don't want to be rude, Bob^ Imt let us change tiie
conversation.**

100 Thi Success of FaUurt

"Very well. Dorothy," repUed the doctor, itifliiig a

sigh, "what shaU it be?"

"TeU me about your work. Boh. In your pro cs-
•ion eadi day must bring you -ome new and mter-

estiiur leature." , .

"T^y are not so new and interestmg to the phy-
sician as they are to the laity. You see he behol^A^
in all their nakedness; they sUnd before hmi denu^
of all their high-sounding and mamfold name^ wluoi
so befog the mind of the laky, and are recognizee by

him to be what they really are. ^^^^f^^^'T.^''^^
a diagno«8 they are Gripped of everythmg that

would prevent a cure.

"I see "

"No. you don't, Dorothy. I only ^"^^

"WeU, I am trying to," quickly retorted she. That

ought to satisfy you."
•'Neverflidess, it does not."

"Wdl, it diould. Anyway, I think it is time we
tamed around and went back. John." directed she
"when we come to the next block turn the car around

tnd go back." w^w*
John deigned no answer, but passed the next Wocit

and went strug^ <»• .
Thinking he had not heard her, Ae repeated her

Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride loi

order in a knider tone of voice, but this also failed and
the car sped on. She then leaned over and touched
him on the arm, and to this, too, he failed to respond.
As the car continued to go on, she looked enquiringly
at Doctor Ross, and asked :
"What docs Ail meanr

"111 ask him and see. Jdm, did you not hear Miss
Richardson tell yott to torn the car around and go

back a few minutes ago ?"

"I did, sir," replied John, much to Dorothy's aston-
ishment.

"And you refused to do it?"

"I did, sir."

"Why?"

"Because you did not order me to do so, sir."

"And you refuse to take orders from anyone but me,

is that it?"
"I do, sir."

"You are an exceptional servant, John," replied Doc-
tor Ross, a note of wpgnckldoa in his voice.
"Decidedly so,*V assented Dorothy. **However, I

should think you would find that sort of tfattg rather
provoking and embarrassing at times."

"I cannot say that I have," replied the doctor. Then
turning to John, he said :

102

The Success of FaUure

"At the next corner you may turn tiie car around
and we will go bade."
"Very well, sir."

At the corner the car turned around and they were
soon speeding homewards, Dorothy sitting quietiy back
in her seat and the doctor beside her wrapped in
thought.

CHAPTER VII

MSS. ARCHEK KCOGNIZES AN OLD FBIEKD

"TV /l^^ Archer," said Doctor Ross from the door-
iVl way, his hat in one hand and an open telegram
in the other, "I expect an out-of-town patient in this
morning. If she should arrive before I return make
her as comfortable as possible. Kindly file this away,"
and he gave her the telegram.
"Very well, doctor. What time do you expect her?"
"It's all there," he safd, indicating by a movement of
his head the telegram in her hand.

"Oh, all right. Is there anything else you wish me
to attend to while you are away ?"

"I think not," he replied, glancing at his watch, "ex-
cepting, of course, tiie regular correspondence."

Mrs. Archer nodded understandingly and folded up
the telegram and laid it under a paper-weight lying at
one side of her desk.

"Well, I must be off," said the doctor, and he turned
and hurried out.

The (^ce-door had hardly closed upon him before
Mrs. Archer, with light, quick footsteps, walked over

103

I04

The Success of Failure

to the window and, concealed behind the curtain,
watched him as he ran down the steps and took his
seat in the automobile. The car started, and she
turned away with a smile upon her Hps and, gathering
up the neat pile of opened, unanswered letters that was
lying upon the doctor's desk, she exclaimed :

"What a man he is, and what a privilege it b to
woxic for him !"

The more urgent letters, she knew, the doctor always
put on the top. and these she proceeded to answer first.
The contents of the telegram could wait, she concluded,
for there would be plenty of time to acquaint herself
with the patient's name when the bell announced hwr
arrival.

T© read the letters and frame suitable replies took
some time, but at last they were all answered and, push-
ing her chair back from the desk, she got up and
walked over to the doctor's desk and laid them upon
it to await his signature, which he regarded as being
an important part of the letter, and was, therefore,
insistent that all communications purporting to be in-
dorsed by htm, no matter how seemingly unimportant,
must bear his personal signature.

Glancing at the clock on her way back to her desk,
Mrs. Archer saw it was ten minutes to twelve, and
the patient had not arrived. Wondering if she would
have time to smooth her hair, wash her hands and get

Mrs. Archer Recognises an Old Friend 105

readv for lundieon bcfw she put in an appearance,
she leisurely shut the typewriter down in her desk and
slowlv drew the telegram from under the paper-weight
and was about to unfold it when the door of Ac doc-
tor s office opened and rairittg her eyes quickly, she en-
countered the startled and terrified stare of a pair of
blue ones. The recognition was mutual, although it
was not visible in the face nor voice of Mrs. Archer,
who arose hastily and walked quickly over to ti» «de
of the evidently awe-stricken young woman, uMag in
the composed, quiet voice of the nurse :

"You are the out-of-town patient whom Doctor Ross
expects, are you not?"

"Yes, but— who-are— you ** rtammeredtiie pa-
tient, her eyes scanning closely the calm, unnsflOed face
bending over her.
"I am the doctor's nurse. My name is Mrs. Archer.
"Pardon me, but you greatly resemble someone
whom we all have become to believe is dead. My, but
it was a shock!" said tite patient, with a pitiful attend
at a smile.

"I am sorry," said Mrs. Archer, regarding the patient
with professional solicitude. "Won't you sit down in
one of these comfortable chairs," designating by a
slight movement of her hand two large, leather-up-
holstered arm-diairs, "and make yourself as com-
fortable as you possibly can until the doctor returns.

io6

The Success of Failure

which, I am sure, will not be long, now ? Or, perhaps,
you would prefer to lie down here upon the couch ?"

"Thank you, no ; I have arranged to take luncheon
with the doctor's sister and her husband, and as it is
now twelve," looking at a watch set in gold bands and
fastened securely around her wrist, "I will not wait but
go right over, and from there will telephone Doctor
Ross at just what hour he may expect me this after-
noon," replied the patient.

"Is there not something I can do for you ?" anxiously
asked Mrs. Archer as she followed the playmate of her
childhood and the close friend of her school-girl days
to the door.

"Nothfaig," replied the i»tient, turning and removing
her hand from the door-knob, "unless," and she raised
her eyes questioningly to Mrs. Archer's face, "you can
explain away that unmistakable likeness."

"I am sorry I cannot," replied Mrs. Archer regret-
fully.

"You must think me very rude," said the patient,
opening the dx>r and stepping out into the hall fol-
lowed by Mrs. Archer, "when, after all, it is only a
passing likeness," and rfie closely scrutinized the face
of the nurse. "My friend, cone to think of it, would, I
tiiink, by this time, look older than you do."

Mrs. Archer smiled assuringly down into the pale
face with its tired lines, and said, as she opened the

Mrs. Archer Re ygnises an Old Friend 107

street-door: "I will tell the doctor you were here and
communicate your message to him."

"Thank yott, if you wiU be so kiad," responded she
as she went down the steps. Then entering the taxi-
cab, drawn up at the curb, she turned her head and
smilingly bowed farewell to Mrs. Archer standing in
the doorway.

Vainly struggling to maintain her wonted composure,
Mrs. Archer closed the door and went back to her
chair in front of her desk and sat down. The thing
that she had dreaded for the past six years had at last
happened, and there was no longer any safety in Ac
thought that she was actually lost to all of her old asso-
ciations. What guarantee had she now that the same
thing might not occur again and that the identity
which she was beginning to think she was wholly jus-
tified in believing was really dead and buried, might
not, at any time, be resurrected and brought forth for
all who had once known it to know it once more and
learn of its regrettable history, which she, for Ro? aid's
sake had striven so hard to conceal ? She had not any
There was but one thing to do, she concluded after
much thought, and that was to refuse to recognize,
at all times, the resurrected identity. Dead she was
to all who had ever known her, and she determined,
come what might, she would so remain ; and that she
was Mrs. Archer, the nurse, and not tiie test daughter

io8 The Success of Failure

of the rich, country land-owner, she would, fwrcver,

stoutly maintain.

Realizing the grave danger of permitting her
thoughts to travel backwards, she, with exceptional
strength of will, mentally cl<»ed Uie door upm the
things belonging to the years of her childhood and
young womanhood; and with the vision of her little,
blind son before her, she wrapped herself up in the
present, closed her eyes to the past and refused to kxk
into the future.

When the bell, announcing luncheon was ready, rang
out from the foot of the basement stairs, Mrs, Archer
had succeeded in banishing from her mind all disturb-
ing thoughts, and rising from her chair she walked
briskly over to the wa^-bowl and bathed her face and
hands in clean, cool water. She dried them, and then
stepped quickly over to the mirror to assure herself
that her hair w..s in order and, at the same time, scan-
ning her face to see if, by any chance, a trace of her
recent agitation was left there. Satisfied that there
was none and that she appeared as usual, she turned
away and with the habitual half-smile playing about
her lips passed into the hall, down the stairs and took
her seat at the dining-room table, greetiiig with a
cheery smile and nod the four perscms already seated
there.

She had finished eating her luncheon and was about

Mrs. Archer Recognises an Old Friend 109

to follow the last of the four persons up the stairs when
Doctor Ross walked into the dining-room. Glancing
at her with one of his grave smites, he said, surveying
thr -mpty seats, "I am late."

"Not so very," she assured him.

"I was unavoidably delayed," he explained, drawing
out his chair and sitting down to the table. "I was
unfortunate, or rather fortunate, enot^ to bowl some
poor fellow over with my car."

"Oh, my ! Was he badly hurt ?"

"No, more surprised, I should say," he replied, be-
ginning to eat the soup which Maud placed in front
of him. "But not more so Uian I when I got a chance
to lode into his face, for although he failed to recognize
me I knew him at once. When he was a boy, he and
I were play-fellows ; indeed, up to the time of his young
manhood we were the best of friends."

"And you st(q>ped to talk over old times, I suppose?"

"In a way, yes. But what realiy kept me was trying
to make him recollec: who I was, for he appeared to
be totally unable to recall that such a person as I had
ever existed; and thought it strange that I should be
able to recognize hhn when he eoald not bring to his
recollection a thing whidi would idoitify me to him
or that could, in any way, render my face familiar.
Nevertheless, in spite of the lines in his face, I assured
him I would know his honest, gray eyes anywhere.

XIO

The Success of Failure

The mention of his name and tiiat of the school he
attended appeared to puzzle him even more. How-
ever, after much persuasion on my part, he at last con-
sented to a renewal of the acquaintanceship, which I
shall endeavor to have grow and ripen into the dd
friendship of \oag ago."

"In your enthusiasm at meeting an old friend," re-
minded Mrs. Archer smilingly, "you have forgotten to
ask about your out-of-town patient."

"Sure enough!" excUumed he. "Did die arrive? If
so, what has become of her? There was no cme in die
office when I came in a few moments ago,"

"She did, but not finding you here she decided to go
over to Doctor and Mrs. Gordon's, where, she stated,
she had promised to take lundieon. She said, also, she
would telephme you frcm &>«re just at what hour you
might expect her this afternoon."

"That is not surprising, for she and Mrs. Gordon
are great friends."

As he iSnished speaking, the telephone bell rai^, and,
with. "That, in all probability, is she now," Mrs. Archer
hastily left the room, ran up the stairs and into the
office. She took down the receiver from its hook and,
in response to her gentle "Hallo," Mrs. Gordon impera-
tively requested her to ask the doctor to come to Ae
telephone.

"Wait a moment and I will call him," replied Mrs.

Mrs Archer Recognises an Old Friend ill

Archer, placing the receiver upon the stand, and going
to the head of the stairs she called down, "You are
wanted, doctor."

"ni be right there," he answered back, and rising
from the ta'^Ie he hurried up the stairs. "Mr». Leigh,
I suppose ?" he queried when he readied tiie top.

"No, Mrs. Gordon."

He placed the receiver to his ear, and Mrs. Archer
went into her office and closed the door. Shortly after-
wards it was opened by the doctor, who, evidenUy, was
going right out. for he carried his hat in his hand. Mrs.
Archer raised her head from the instrument she was
cleaning and smilingly looking in his direction awaited
instructions.

"Mrs. Archer," said he smiling, "I have, I know, a
pleasant surprise for you."
"You have," ref^ed die laus^iing, "I am glad to

hear it."

"Yes, I have instructed John, after he leaves me at
Doctor Gordon's, to call for you here and take you and
Ronald for a ride through the park, or, if not there,
anywhere else you may wish to go. This win, I trust,
recompense the little feUow for disappointment of a
few weeks ago."

"T'^-it certainly is a pleasant surprise," said ATrs.
Archer, delighted at the prospect. "But," appr^hcn-

112

Tki Success of FaHwrs

sivel> , "are yott fure you will not need me this after-
noon?"

"Yes, I have to see Mrs. Leigh at Doctor Go rdoat
office. If you are back five, Aat will be time enoiigh.
I expect a patient between five and six o'clock."

"You are very kind, doctor, and I know Ronald wiU
enjoy the ride."

"Yes, I am sure he will. Poor little chap, his amuse-
ments are not very many."

"Indeed, they are not," agreed Ae, sighing.

"Wen, be back at five, if you can," said the doctor,

turning about and going out.

The door had hardly closed upon him, before Mrs.
Archer stood in front of the telephone and was caUing
up the number of the apartment house in which hers
was tocated and in response to the almost immediate
"Hallo," was requesting to be connected with apart-
ment twenty-six.

There was a faint click, and then Martha's voice
asked: "Who is it?"

"It is I, Martha. Lift Ronald upon a chair, I want
to talk to him."

Very soon her little son's voice in a shrill, "Hallo,"
came over the wire.

"This is mother, darling, and she has a big surprise
in store for her little man. TeU Martha to get you

Mrs. Arektr RfcogniMU m Old Primd 113

ready at once and bring you over to the doctor's
office."

"Oh— mamma !" d^^iMfy exdftinied the diikl, **i§

it truly big?"

"Yes, indeed, truly big. You just wait and see if it
isn't Now let mother speak to Martha."

"Daft an right, nrn^am," interpolated Martha, "I
heerd iHiat you said."

"You did !" laughed Mrs. Archer. "Thcs yout head
must have been right by Rcmald's."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then let lae aay goodbgr to hha."

"I'm here, nuumna," la^ Ranald.

"Mother must say goodby, now, 6uUagt lor ^ haa
lots to do befere you come over."

"Goodby, mamma, don't lose the s'priie."

"I wooV assured hit mother. "Hurry up, r w,
and don't keep it waiting."

"All wight. Goodby, mamma."

"Goodby, little son," she answered back and, hail-
ing up the receiver, went back to her work.

At half-past two her woric was all done and she vu
sitting down waiting for Martha and Ronald to arrive.
The doctor's automobile, with John sitting in front,
stood at the curb. She smiled as she looked out of the
window and saw the motionless figure, and wondered
as she rose to get her hat and coat if he would come

114

The Success of Failure

in and tell her he was ready to take them for a ride.
He did not. This, evidently, had not been a part of
his instructions, and he would not depart one iota
from them. Indeed, it was not untU five minutes later
when she said, standing on the sidewalk with her boy's
hand in hers, "Here we are, John," that he removed his
eyes from the enchanting distance. Then he got down
and opened the door, saying :

"The doctor's orders are, ma'am, to take you and
your little boy through the park, or, if you do not care
to go there, anywhere else you may wish to go."

"The park will do, John," replied Mrs. Archer as
she lifted Ronald into the automobile and, quickly fol-
lowing, seated him on a seat beside her.

Witfiout another word John closed the door, mounted
his seat and started the car in the direction of the park.

"Oh— mother, this is a 'truly big s'prise !' exclaimed
Ronald excitedly, sitting straight up in his seat, his
sightless, blue eyes wide open and his baby-liands
clasped tightly together in his lap.
"I am glad my boy thinks so."
"Oh, ves, this is 'bootiful'!" tilting his chin slightly.
Mrs. Archer smiled at the word "bootiful." To her
it meant a great deal, for it was only the pleasant inter-
ruptfons in his quiet, baby life that he called "bootiful."
The unpleasant ones seemed, in his child-mind, to take
on an ugly shape, and they were not "bootiful."

Mrs. Archer Recognises an Old Friend 115

As the car turned into the park entrance, Rcmald

said:

"Tell me when we come to the park, mother."
"We are rig^t Aere, now, darling."

"Are there any 'quiwels, mother?"

"I don't see any yet, dear, but mc^er will keep her

eyes open."

"My eyes are open, mother," said Ronald, puzzled,
pttttingr a little hand up to h» eyes. "Why can't I see
the 'quiwels? Do <nily big ladies and trig nKUS see
when their eyes are open ?"

"Not always, little son," suppressing a sigh, "mother
is sorry to say."

"But you do, don't you, modier?"

"Mother tries to, dear."

"If I keep my eyes opoi, mother, will I see when I
grow to be a big man ?"
"Mother hopes so, son."

Ronald was silent for several minutes, then he asked :
"Don't you see any 'quiwels yet, mother ?"
"Mother is looking for them, dear. Yes, she sees
one now. He is sitting up on his little hind legs and
is holding a nut in hb paws. Poor, little chap, he has
to nibble off the sheU to get the nut widch is inside.
And there is another one running down the trunk of
the tree over there. And there is one scampering after
another one on the grass, his long, bushy tail trailing

ii6 The Success of Failurt

behind him. There are loU and lots of squirreU, and
such cunning, little fellows they are, too."

"Do the 'quiwels always Irve in the park, mother?"

"Yes, darling."

"Can the 'quiwds see other 'qu'web, mother?

"Sometimes, son."

"Then I'd like to be a 'quiwel."

"What! and live in the park away from mother?"

"You could be a 'quiwel, too, couldn't you, mother?"

"But mother does not think she would care to be »
squirrel, and is not sure Ae would like her boy to be a
squirrel, either. She loves him just as he is."

"But then I could see you, mother. Wouldn't.you

like that?" ^ ^

This was too much for Mrs. Ardier, and »e bent
over and ten<terly lifted the child upon her lap, saying,
as she wrapped I it arms tightly around him, "Indeed,
mother would, honey-boy. But we won't talk any more
about the squirrels. Just lie quietly here, in naofliw's
arms, and she wiU teU you a story. What shaU I teU
you?"

"About the crying of the trees and the flowers,
mother," said Ronald, settling cown in his mother's
arms. "I like that story."

"Yon mean," said Mrs. Archer, placing dulds
head more comfortably upon her arm, **the one which
tells of how ^e wind and the rain came and made the

Mrs. Archer Recognizes an Old Friend 1 17

trees and flowers cry, and how afterwards the sun

came out and kissed them with his warm, soft rays and
dried their tears and told them to stop their crying
and lift up their heads and sing a song which would
make all the people glad?"

"Yes," said Ronald, hb month o^aakag into a yawn.

"That's— a— nice-ttory You like it, too, don't

you, mother?"

"Yes, I think it is a very nice story, but if mother
does not b^n right away, I am afraid her boy will be
asleep before it is half-told."

"I'm not sleepy, mother," asnired RomM, "I'm jnit
tired. You begin the story."

True to her prediction, however, she had not pro-
ceeded far with, tiie irtory before Ronald, Inlted by tiie
air and tiie n^gki motion of the automolHli^ was soon
fast asleep.

CHAPTER VIII

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCESHIP RENEWBD

**• I UERE is nothing the matter with you, TtKKnpscm,''

1 said Doctor Ross, after a careful examination
of that gentleman's person. "My automobile, colliding
with your physical structure, shook you up a bit, that's
an."

"Thank you, doctor," replied someone with whom we
are already acquainted, Franklin Thompson, for it was
he whom the doctor's automobile had bowled over that
morning.

"Gm't you remember tlie name hy which yoa vmed
to call me wtei you were a boy, Frank?" asked tfie

doctor.

"I am sorry, but I cannot," replied Frank regretfully.
"You will in time."

"I have not the least objection," replied Frank, re-
suming his coat and sitting down in one of Ae doctor's
comfortable chairs, "and regret, unlike you, my inabil-
ity to recall any incident that would establish in my
mind our previous acquaintanceship. Nevertheless, it
^all not preveitt me (rota endotvoring to mexit tiie
frienddi^ n^di you ik>w extend to me so gefmontfy**

An Old Acquaintanceship Renewed 119

"But only on one condition," said the doctOT, "yoa
must grant me yours in return."

"You are very welcome to it," said Frank, looking
into the grave, black eyes of the doctor, "but," smiling
and doubtfully shaking his head, "you will find it, I am
afraid, of little boi^t to you."

"That is something for me to decide," said the doc-
tor, extending his hand to his now admitted friend.

"And for me, also," said Frank, rising and taking
tile doctor's outstretcbed hand.

"In a way, yes," agreed tbe <k>ctor as ^y iIkx^c
hands.

Frank resumed his seat, and the doctor, standing in
front of him, looked searchingly into his face. "The
world," a&A he, "mart have treated you pretty badly
to have made ycm forget your friends."

"It was not any too kind, I can assure you," said
Frank, turning his head to escape the penetrating gaze
of the doctor's eyes, for he was beginning to feel de-
cidedly uncomfortal^ Tl^y adced so many questicms
he could not ansn^ tiiat he felt considerably relieved
when the clock upon the mantel, striking the hour of
six, attracted their owner's attention and, with a hur-
ried "Excuse me," he stepped quickly to the door of
Mrs. Archer's office, and said:

"You may go now, if you wish. Mrs. Archer."

With a "Thank you, doctor," Mrs. Archer ck>sed the

I20

The Success of Failure

typewriter down and rose from her desk. The doctor
then returned and, stretching himself out up<Hi the
couch, gazed with half-closed eyes up at the ceiling.

"So the world has not treated you very well, eh,
Frank?" said he musingly. "How is that?"

"You tell me, and 111 tell you. I don't know.'*

The doctor still continued to keep his eyes on the
ceiling as he asked :

"By whom were you employed ?"

"My employers were varied and many," satirically
replied Framk.

"By that, I should infer, you are not a skilled wori(-
man."

"If to do one's work well constitutes a skilled work-
man, then I have every right to claim to be one,"
proudly asso^ Frank.

"That is true," agreed the doctor. "Are y«w healtit-
ily and helpfully employed now?"

"I regret to state," replied Frank, wondering a little
at the doctor's way of expressing himself, "I am not
employed at all."

The doctor took his eyes from the ceiling and gravdf
smiling he turned his head and regarded Frank quizzi-
cally. "It has never occurred to you, I suppose," said
he, "that what y(m have just said is an unpossib'Hty."

"Lack of enipk^rF*eitt an inqxwsit^Hty?" OEclainied
Frank in surprise. "I dK>nM liltt to bdkve it WM to."

An Old Acquaintanceship Renewed 121

"It is so, just the same," said the doctor, speaking
with slow emi^iasis. "What we call idleness does not
exist ; it is energ)' directed diseaseward. All energy is
healthy or diseased, helpful or destructive. Waste of
energy is when its products are not good but evil. *By
their fruits ye diall know them.' By tiie products shall
the healthiness and helpfulness of a man's employment
be determined; — ^they will be healthy or they will be
diseased, they will be helpful or they will be de-
structive."

Mrs. Archer's mtrance into the room prohibited
Frank's immediate reply. She was dressed for the
street and, as both ol ^e men sprang to their feet,

said:

"I am going, doctor, but don't let me disturb you."

"Before you go, however, Mrs. Ardier," said die
doctor, "permit me to introduce to you my friend, Mr.
Thompson. He is the young man wh(»n my car
knocked over this morning."

"Indeed," replied Mrs. Archer with a smile as she
held out her hand to Frank. "How-do-you-do, Mr.
Thompson ? Y<m led no bad effects^ I trust, from Utt
accident?"

"Forttmately, no,'' said he, as he released her hand.

"It was, I should say, rather a fortunate acckient,"
said she with a tow lat^, "if it nuodiers you among
the doctor's friends."

123

The Success of Failure

"I am beginning to think so," said he. "I presume

you are listed among them ?*'

"I should like to believe so," she said a trifle doubt-
fully. "However, I am not sure that I can boast of
that distinction."

"We will not keep you any longer, Mrs. Archer,"
interposed the doctor, opening the door into the hall,
"I know that little son of yours is anxiously waiting for
his moflier.**

"Yes, he is counting the minutes, poor, little man,"
said she, and with a smile and a nod to each she hur-
ried out. The street door closed upon her, and the
doctor returned and, taking his former position upon
the couch, said :

"Mrs. Archer is my nurse."

"Indeed," replied F;ank indifferently, sitting down
in his chair.

"And an excellent one she is, too."

"Yes," replied Frank with the same indifference.

"Now, to come back to you and to your need of em-
ployment," said the doctor, turning on his side -"d
regarding Frank smilingly. "Have you ever thought
what a vital thing this seeking of employment is in the
life of a man? It is a great thing "

"Indeed, it is a great thing," excitedly interrupted
Frank. "I assure you I agree with yon there. It is
the greatest thing I have so far encountered. It is

An Old Acquaintanceship Renewed 123

marvelottsly great in its ability to rack and rend a
man's soul as no other human device could ever rack
and rend his body. So all-absorbing is this great
thing's power, man is fast losing his identity with the
personal pronoun I, and is rapidly becomtng a miser-
able walking 'it'."

"It is not as bad as all that, surely," said the doctor.

"You've never had to look for work, perhaps."

"Oh, yes, I have. In fact, I am always seeking it"

"New patients, y<wi mean?"

"Yes, new patients."

Frank kxiked over at the doctor and burst out laugh-
ing.

"You may laugh," said the doctor, "but, I can assure
you, there is notfiing funny in the situation."

"I can quite believe it," agreed Frank, still laugh-
ing. "How do you go about it?"

"It would take too long to tell you now. Anyway,
the knowledge of the method is only gained by those
engaged in sedcing tiie work."

"And is, therefore, I suppose, coi^ned to gentleman
in your profession."

"My profession is not confined to any special class
of individuals. It is one for all classes and by right
belongs to the whole world."

"Myself, for instance," said Frank grimly.

"Yes, you. How would you like to enter it?"

m The Success of Failure

"I am too old to think of entering any prolestioii,
now," replied Frank, shaking his head.

"You might begin by seeking new patients for me,"
suggested the doctor.

"Tliat's so," admitted Franlc. "But how in the taoM
of common sense should I begin ?"

"If you agree to enter my employ, you will simply
follow my instructions."

Frank looked over questioningiy at Ae doctor and
wondered what the instructions might be and whether
he would be able to follow them,

"Think it over," said the doctor rising, "while I
telephone down to Mrs. Barstow you are going to take
dinner with me."

Frank was still thinking it over when the doctor,
who had finished telephcming, laid a hand upon his
shoulder, and said:

"Well, my friend, do you agree?"

"Beggars cannot be choosers," said Frank resigned-
ly. "I shall have to."

"That is settled, then," said the doctor. "The terms
of the agreement can wait until we have had our din-
ner," and they proceeded down stairs.

In less than half-an-hoar they were through ^nner
and were mounting the stairs which led to the upper
hall. When they entered the office. Doctor Ross, be-
fore sitting down, walked over to his desk and pulling

An Old AcqmamUmceMp Rtmwid

12$

open a drawer at its side drew from it a sheet of paper,
which he handed to Frank, who had sat down in a
chair nearby.

"Herein," said the doctor, touching the paper with
his finger, "are the conditions under which all must
work who would enter my employ. Read the first five
over carefully, and if you are sure you can, without a
doubt, fulfill them, sign your name at tiie bottom of
the page," and ^ doctor indicated by a wave of bis
hand the pen and ink upon the desk.

"It is hardly necessary for me to read them," said
Frank, "for it is, as T told you, not a matter of choice
but of necessity. 1 m; -t." And he stretdied forth
his hand itxr tiie pen.

"Oh, no, Frank," said the doctor, placing the pen
beyond his reach, "that will never do. If you are not
interested in the conditions, I am for you ; for no man
can do good work unless he fully understands the con-
ditions under which he winks."

"Conditions, or no conditions," said Frank, as he
gave the paper back to the doctor, "I'm not likely to
quarrel with my bread and butter."

"Well see," said the doctor, and he began to read
the following :

First— No discrimination must be made in the seeking

of patients.

Second — No distinction must be made between patients.

ia6 Th4 Sueeeu of PaUmrt

be obiei7ed. <»«>••• humanity must

f uVr^x^v execute all instructions.

'»"5--To be saUsfied to live one day at a tine and <n
be contented with a sufficiency for that day. ^ "

"Is there anything more?" asked Frank when the
<loctor stopped reading.

"Not for the preseitt. I think you will find what I
have read enough to begin on."

n should say so. When am I *o begin?"
"Tomorrow, if you wish," replied the doctor, hand-
»ng the agreement back to Frank to sign. "Be here
not later than lOiie o'cteck tomorrow morning and I
wiJl give you your instructions for the day."

"All right," replied Frank, getting up from his seat
toreachforthepen. "I'Ubehere. Ha c is tlie signed
•gwement,** and he laid it upon the doctor's desk.

Very well," said the doctor; and just at that mo-
ment the office door opened and Doctor Gordon stepped
mto the room.

"ni be with you in a minute, Douglas," sai'i Doctor
Ross, nsing and closing down his desk. Then turning
to Frank, he said:

"I shall have to ask you to excuse me for I have an
appointment at eight."

Frank, who had already risen and taken up his hat,
nodded comprehendingly and turned to leave.

"Before you g-o, however," went on the doctor, "I

Ah Old Aeq u ak tmc iskip Rtnmti

should be glad if you would write your address on the
back of fl^,** and from a netrby table he picked up
one of his cards, which he handed to Frank, who, after

complying with the requeit, UOd it face upward upon
the table. He then made his way toward the door,
and, as he did so, the doctor stooped and picked the
card up. The address he found written caused him to
exclaim, "So you, Frank, are an inmate of Mim
Dorothy Richardson's 'home-living place'."

"Yes," said Frank, turning his hand on the door-
knob, "I have only been there a few days, though."

"Wen, I am glad to know you are so nicely placed.
I know Miss Richardson very well, indeed. Do^faw,"
tiirning to Doctor Gordon, who was regarding Fraidc
with unusual interest, "let me present to you an old
friend of mine, Franklin Thompson. You will, no
doubt, be interested m him, f^v he is a new inmate of
Dorothy's 'home-living place."

"Then he is. indeed, fortunate," said Doctor Gordon,
his face wearing its usual friendly smile as he stepped
over to where Frank stood and shook him warmly by
the hand.

^ "Doctor Gordon," explained Doctor Ross to Frank,

"is my brother-in-law."

"You'll have to hurry, Bob," interposed Doctor Gor-
don in his cheery voice, "if we are going to make that
train."

128

The Success of Failure

"That's so. Well, good-night, Frank," said Doctor
Ross, taking his hat and heavy automobile coat from
the rack.

"Good^iight," replied Frank, opaang and dosmg
the door quietly behind him,

"A new patient?" queried Doctor Gordon as the
front door opened and shut.

"No, on the contrary, quite an old one," replied Doc-
tor Ross, buttoning up his coat.

"You never mentioned him to me?" said Doctor Gor-
don questioningly.

"No, because your remedies would not avail in his
case."

"I see," said Doctor Gordon. "Are you ready?"
"Yes," said Doctor Ross, pulling <m his gloves, and
be led the way to the door.

CHAPTER DC

FRANK KEEPS HIS APFOINTI'.ENT WITH THE SOCTtHt

«• ooD-MORNiNG, Mr. Thompson," said Mrs. Archer,
. Vjl perceiving that gentleman, as she entered, com-
fortably seated in one of the b^, leather chairs in the

doctor's office.

"Good-morning, Mrs. Archer," replied Frank, rising
from his chair. "I am waiting to see tlie doctor."

"Have you been waiting long?"

"No, only about five minutes."

"I'm sorry," said she with a smile as she glanced at
the clock, "but you'll have to wait ten minutes more.
The doctor never gets in before n^ne."

"I do not object."

"Time is not money to you, then," laughed she, and
she walked into her office and took off her .lat and
long coat, which she h ing up on a hook behind the
door.

"No," replied he, resuming his seat, "if it were, I

should be pretty well-off by this time."

"Or, who can say, worse-off, perhs^" mterp(»ed
the doctor from the doorway.

lag

I30

The Success of Failure

"Good-morning, doctor," said Mrs. Archer, "^re
you not a few minutes early this morning?"

"No," he said, "it is nine," and added, turning his
head in the direction of Frank, "You are on time, I
see."

"Yes, I thought it better to be a few minutes too
early than a few minutes too late."

"I agree with you," replied the doctor, opening up
his desk. "And well get r^t down to business as
soon as I have given Mrs. Archer a few instructkms
about the mail."

Mrs. Archer, in the meantime, had adjusted her cap
neatly upon her head, dusted off her desk and laid her
note-bode and pmcils diereupcm. She was now retuly
for work.

The reading of the morning's mail and the dictating
of replies thereto took but a short time, and Doctor
Ross was soon back again seated in front of his de^
Frank, at his request, drew his diair up ck»e to its
ude.

As Frank listened to the strangely magnetic, low
voice of the doctor, with its soothing, gentle tones,
stating the duties of his new employment, tfie menial
atmosphere, in which he had hitherto lived and woriod,

vanished, and his indifference changed to vital interest
as the doctor described the work and the conditions
surrounding it. The employment offered, promised a

Frank's Appointment until the Doctor 131

journey into a delightful country, governed and con-
trolled by a force strange and unknown to him. The
instructions given to him were like a new and untried
gospel, and Uie man wh(^ instructimu he had i^eed
to carry out, seemed to belong to a new and different
humanity. Strange though it all was and decidedly
unlike anything he had ever undertaken before, the
w ork attracted him greatly ; and it was only the fear of
results that caused him to remain silent for a minute
or so after the doctor had fini^ed speakii^. Then he
exclaimed :

"What you propose, is wonderful I But do you think

I can do it ?"

"Certainly. What's to prevent yon?" ref^ed the doc-
tor, smilinjr.

"Well, you know," replied Frank doubtfully, "the
work is altogether new, and I am fearful of results."

"Although all work is productive of result, you are
not asked to make tint a c«ui<teratkm/' aud tilie doc-
tor, rising and laytt^ his hand in a frici^y way t^KMi
Frank's shoulder.

"But supposing I am not able to secure patients?"
anxiously inquired Frank.

"That is not something for yon to ccmsider," replied
the doctor, smiling gravely. "Your work is to seek
patients and not to secure them. You will have, I
promise you, plenty to do."

The Success of Failure

"No doubt of that," replied Frank, with a sad shake
of his head, "for the world is full of sick people."

"That is so," agreed the doctor; "but the lamentable
fact is so many of them do not know it. The truth of
this you will learn as you progress in your wor;.."

"But where am I to seek these sick patients?" in-
quired Frank, rising from his chair. "Have you as-
signed to me any particular k>cati<m?"

"No. As you said a few nK»nent8 ago, the world is
full of them."

"I am privileged, then," said Frank, with a light
laugii, "to seek anywhere and everywhere."

"You are," said the doctor smiling. "But it is only
fair, however, to warn you that before you can proceed
in this work with any hope of success you must begin
with yourself first."

"Begin with myself, first !" exclaimed Frank, scan-
ning the doctor's face with anxious-questioning eyes.
"What do you mean? Didn't you tell me, only last
night, that there was nothing the matter with me ?"

"That is so," calmly replied the doctor ; "but then I
was speaking of that which makes you recognizable to
the rest of humanity,— that is, the physical."

"Of what are you speaking, nowr adced Frank,
slightly impatient.

"Of what is really you," answered the doctor, his
black eyes glowing in their somber light and his mouth

Frank's Appointment with the Doctor 133

extending into a tender smile. "The you," his voice
dwelling with gentle emphasis on each word, "without
which the recognizable could not be. The you, my
friend," laying his hands witli an indescribable affection
upon Frank's shoulders, "which is capable of knowing
all things, being all things, and, — is all things."

The doctor stopped and, resuming his seat, looked up
smilingly into the face of Frank, whose only response
was a mystified shake of the head.

"The you of yourself, Frank," continued the doctor,
"about which you know die least. You have been liv-
ing in the shadow, mai, step out into the light."

"I v ould gladly do so," said Frank hopelessly, "if I
could locate the light."

"It is to be found and it waits to be sought," replied
the doctor quietly. "Seek it."

"Where?'' demanded Frank.

"Within thyself."

"I assure you," replied Frank grimly, "there is
naught but darkness within me."

"That is because you will it to be so. It is your ac-
ceptation of the meaning of life that renders the light
within you darkness. And," sadly, "'Great is that
darkness.' "

"Yes, indeed," repeated Frank, wearily sinkif^ into
his chair, "great is tiiat darkness."
"And for that reason, my friend," said the doctor,

'34 The Success of Failure

"you are on the sick list. Sickness is the child ut dark
ness and health is the child of light. Therefore, seek
the light But enough for today. I see it is time "
^ancng at t^e dock, "for me to begin my morning

T"" "''""'t^^eously, the doctor saying as he
took his hat and coat from the rack, "I shaU expect
you to report the progress you make."

"I will," replied Frank from the doorway. "Good-
monung," and he closed the door and went out

CHAPTER X

MBS. GOBDON'S DISCOVBBY

SOME time had passed since Frank became an inmate
of Dorotiiy's 'home-living place.' She had seen
Kttle of him ; he came and went quietly and, with the
exception of the occasional 'good-morning' or 'good-
evening' they exchanged, no conversation had passed
between them. His reticence and evident wish not to
intrude, ratiier pleased her, yet there were momente
when she wished it were possible for her to learn some-
thing of his life, — if he were happy, how he spent his
time and if the conditions in which he lived were, to
him, altogether satisfactory. She doubted the wisdom,
however, of a greater intimacy, recalling the old and
well-worn saying that 'familiarity breeds contempt.'
True, she acknowledged, it might not prove so in this
particular case. Yet she was not sure and, therefore,
was reluctant to say or do that which might bring about
an unwished-for result.

That the saying, like many others, might not be true
and unworthy of acceptance, did not occur to Dorothy
as she sat in her rocking-chair by the window, wonder-

i35

'36 The Success of Failure

ing as she watched his tall form as it went up the street
and disappeared around the corner, if the 'home-living
place, perhaps was not a trifle lonely for one of his
mature years The loud ringing of the door-beU broke
in upon her thoughts, and she heard the voice of Mrs

"^f mT. % ''■^^ to the door.'

It Miss Richards<Mi was in ?"

' She is, ma'am," replied Bertha, standing at one side
to permit her to enter. "You'll find her « the front

room.

th^^u^te^^^^^ ^-^^
"I'm in here. Margaret." called out Dorothy, rising

from her chair and coming to the door.
"So I see." said Mrs. Gordon, leaving a Jight Idss

upon Dorothy's cheek.
"Come and sit down over here," said Dorothy turn-

TrlZt '"t-" "^r-^^ * ^^'-^^-^

from the rocking-chair she had been occupying. "But

early in the day? Anything new ?"

"N<^ to me," replied Mrs. Gordon, taking the pins
out of her hat and laying it on the table, "b«t.%rhaP'
handmg her coat to Dorothy, who crossed £e r^
and laid it upon the couch, "it may be so to you. Did I't
1 tea you there was a questionable reason for M s
Archer's reticence?"

Mrs. Gordon's Discovery

137

"You did," admitted Dorothy, returning and seating
lierself in a chair opposite Mrs, Gordon's. "And you
have come over to tell me, I suppose, you have dis-
covered the reason ? How did you do it V

"Quite accidentally, or, perhaps, I should say provi-
dentially. ■ replied Mrs. Gordon, establishing herself
comfortably in her chair. "An old college chum of

mine, Mrs. Leigh of Dawson, You have heard me

speakof her, Ithink? "

"Oh. yes, I do remember, and, at (H-esoit, she is a
patient of Bob's, is she not ?"

"Yes. Well, when she came into the city to see him
a few days ago, she was amazed to note, upon meeting
Mrs. Archer, tiie remaiicaUe resemUance she bore to
an old schod-friend of hers, who mysteriously disap*
peared from home some years ago. She remarked
upon the fact while taking luncheon with me the same
day and was anxious to learn what I knew about her.
I, of course, tdd her I knew absohi^y notiiii^ and
that Bob had engaged her when I was away last sum-
mer. She asked if I thought Bob could give her
any informatio!. ? I told her he probably could, if he
would, but I doubted very much if he would. This
seemed to depress her greatly ; for, as die said, it rather
increased than allayed her fears. There was a differ-
ence, however, she admitted after a while, for Hannah,
she thought, would look older than Mrs. Archer ap-

»38

Th* Succas of Failure

pears to be. I, tlien, in turn, voiced my suspicions, and
questioned Mrs. Leigh closely ; but she pleaded to be
excused from answering any of my questions,— saying,
that if it were possible to find in Mrs. Archer the long-
lost Hannah Thompson, she would not want to be the
channel through which this news should reach her
parttrts, if, by any chance, there had been, or was now,
a reason suffidenti> great which, without a doubt, there
must be, to keep her from communicating with them.
It was only after a long and extended search through
this country and abroad that they, she said, finally be-
came reconciled to the belief that her existence upon
this earth had ceased. Why then, urged she, disturb
that belief, if the daughter, though she be living in some
untho ' t of corner of the globe, wished them to so
consid.. . her, knowing, perhaps, that a cause existed
which made such a belief best for all concerned ? And
it was only after much persuasion and argument and
after I had promised not to communicate with Han-
nah's pan ts in any way, that I prevailed upon her to
tell me tl' name of the town in which they live."

"And, of course, you will not?" asked Dorothy anx-
iously,

"No." replied Mrs. Gordon with a disagreeable
laugh, "I have found it will not be necessary. Mrs.
Archer admitted to me this morning that she was Han-
nah Thcmipson.

Mrs. Gordons Discovery

"You forced her cmfi^nce?" exclaimed IXModiy us-

credulously.

"I had to. I have a brother to consider, Dorothy,
you forget that."

"And she has a little, Mind son to coosider," said
Dorothy quietly. "Do you forget that?"

"That is her affair and not mine."

"And she has made it wholly hers for the past five
years," said Dorothy, in the same quiet tone. "Do you
forget that?"

"I have nothing to do with that, Dorothy," im-
patiently exclaimed Mrs. Gordcm. "I must consider
my brother."

"Do you think your brother will appreciate such
consi^ratimi?" asked Dorothy, smiling gravely.

"Bob never appreciates anything that is done for his
good," tartly replied Mrs. Gordtm.

"Have you told him?"

"No, Mrs. Archer promised me she would tell him
and, also, die would imnmiiately leave his employ."

"Will he permit her?"

"He will, if he is not altogether a fool," said Mrs.
Gordon angrily.

*'I don^ believe he will," said Dorothy with a doubt-
ful shake of \m head. "Bob is always just"

"It is a strange justice," replied Mrs. Gordon sneer-
ingly, "which would lead him to keep in his em{^oy a

'40 The Success of Faaurt

woman of uncertain character, bringing, liiereby. not
only unmerited censure upon himself, but attracting un-
kind cnticwm to eveiy one connected with him. If he
does, threateningly, "I shall do what I told her this
morning I would do, write to her parents,"

"Margaret," exclaimed Dorothy in amazement,
surely you did not resort to such a threat to compel
her to admit she was Hannah Thompson !"

"I certainly did."

"Then you have broken your promise?"

"I have done nothing of the kind."

"Not in the letter, perhaps, but you have in the
spirit. When Mrs. Leigh exacted that promise from
you, she had in mind the protection of the dau^ter as
well as that of the parents. Can't you see in the be-
trayal of the one you have betrayed slM?"

"I cannot," replied Mrs. Gordon decidedly. "People
can't do wrong and then expect others to cover up their
wrong-doing."

"It isn't always necessary, though," retorted Dor-
othy, "when It is nicely covered up with good works
for someone to come along and uncover it."

"I deemed it wise to do so in this case."

"I can't agree with you," replied Dorothy tliought-
fully. "I have always believed .Mrs. Archer to be not
only a good woman, but a very brave one."

"Good! brave!" exclaimed Mrs. Gordon in disgust.

Mrs, Gorionfi DiMovery

141

"Nonsense! What goodness is there to be found in a
girl who would run away from a good home and in-
dulgent paroits wt^ a man to whan she was not n»r>
ried and live with him in that state until nearly the
time her child was born ? I fail to see it. And what
bravery is there in sneaking into the employ of a repu-
table physician, hiding her identity with a name not
rightly her own?"

"Don't jump at conclusions, Margaret," imfmtiently
said Dorothy. "Appearances, sometimes, are very de-
ceiving. You have no proof that she is other than what
I said, 'bi»;'.e and good.' And, '^fter all, if what you
say is true of her, tiie wrong is 'u r c m as^ in herself
only is its redemption. It is not soiu<;tiiing ioe you to
worry about. Let her do that."

"T am going to, never fear," spiritedly returned Mrs.
Gordon. "It is Bob for whom I am concerned."

"Oh, Bob is perfectly capaUe of takmg care of him-
self, and, ki all probability, will not appreciate \our
interference in his affairs," indifferently replied
Dorothy.

"Probably not. Nevertheless, it was Mcettary.
Dorothy did not inunediatdy reply, but sat gazing
thoughtfully out <rf the window for several moments.

Then she asked:

"When is Mrs. Archer expected to convey this dis-
agreeable intelligence to Bob ?"

142

The Success of Failure

"Tomorrow morning. She is to telephone me the
result of the interview at noon."

''And you will, of course, immediately let me know?"

"Surely. But, by the way, how is the 'home-living
place' progressing?"

"Fairly well. I have arranged for enlargements."

"You consider the venture a success, then ?"

"Well, so far. I have heard no complaints."

"They will come soon enough," thought Mrs. Gor-
don. Aloud, she said :

"And your new inmate?"

"Oh, he is exceptionally good; he gives so little

trouble."

"And you, of course, see as little of him as possible?"
anxiously inquired Mrs. Gordon.

"It is not my fault, I can assure you," said Dorothy,
smilinjr maliciously across at Mrs. Gordon, "if I do not
see more: it is altogether his. for he meets all of my
smiles and kindly greetings with a polite indifference.
Without a doubt, Mr. Franklin Thwnpson is a discreet
young man."

"He needs to be." grimly observed Mrs. Gordon as
she reached for her hat and put it on, "when he has
such a pretty and dainty little person as you are for
his landlady."

"Nonsense," laughed DoroUiy.

"It is nothing of the kind." retorted Mrs. Gordon,

Mrs. Gordon's Discovery

rising and taking her coat from the couch. "And you
lacked discretion when you atbnitted him into your
'home-living place.' "

"Perhaps I did, Margaret," said Don^y, still laugh-
ing. "But what's your hurry?"

"I must get back to the office before Douglas ar-
rives," and Mrs. Gordon turned and began to waUc to-
ward the door.

Dorothy rose and followed her, and when they had
reached the door leading into the public hall and she
was pushing back the latch, she said :

"You failed to obwrve, Margaret, tiiat the sumanw
of my new inmate is the same as that which you be-
lieve rightly belongs to Mrs. Archer. It would be
strange, would it not, if tliey were related?"

"It would, indeed," replied Mrs. Gordon, stooping to
kiss Dorothy, "but I must not stq> to talk any vaoitt
about that. I will telephone you some time tonK»rrow,^
she added, and hastened down the stairs.

Dorothy sighed as she closed tlie door and went back
to her room. Mrs. Archer and her affairs had been a
source of unusual intemt Xohec iat some time past,
and she was not a little concerned about the probaUe
outcome of the interview between Bob and his nurse.
That Margaret's interference was totally unwarranted
and decidedly inexcusable, she knew ; but, at the same
time, die knew, too, the uselessness of tryii^ to con-

i44 The Success of Failure

vince her of the fact. Of its possible consequence to
the woman and her Httle child, she did not care ; her
brother's reputation was he sole consideration. "But
was there not something she could do, sometiiing which
would not offend Margaret?" Dorothy asked of her-
self as she sgf down in the rocking-chair by the win-
dow. "Well, she would wait until tomorrow and sec
what that brought forth, for, until then, she could not
do anything, anyway. If Bob did permit her to go,
which, she did not think at all likdy, she would seek an
interview with Mrs. Arche and try to induce her to
permit the 'home-living place' to look after her im-
mediate future."

CHAPTER XI

MS8. ASCHER KCOUES BANNAH THOMPSON.

DOCTOR Ross sat in his chair at his desk and listened
gravdy to tiie sad sbHry whidi Mrs. Ardto', nt-

ting on a chair close by, was painfully endeavoring to
tell him. Not once did he raise his eyes from the floor
to look into her face until she had finished. Then he
turned them upon her, and in their Jeptiis rfic read,
what die least e]q)ected to read, a wonderful sympathy.
There was someUiing else, too, for which she could not

find a name A something which seemed to say so

comprehendingly, "I know. I understand." Then put-
ting out both hands he readied over and took her cokl,
damp (Mies and held them tightly within his own ai^
in a gentle, inquiring tone of voice, said :

"What you have told me was a part of yesterday,
why burden today with it? It belongs to the past,
leave it there.**

"I firmly bdleved I had dcme so," replied Mrs.
Archer, the tears springing to her eyes, "but I was mis-
taken. And it seems as though it were going to be an
ever-present companirai of the future."

145

146

The Success of Failure

"Not unless you permit it to be so," relied the doc-
tor, gently releasing her hands. "It is our thoughts of
yesterday and of tomorrow which cause us to lose our
precious today, neither of which at the present belong
to us ; for, mourn as we will our regrettable yesterdays,
not one of them is ours in which to re-live, and exist
only in our memories. If we are honest with today, we
shall have no fear of the tomorrow nor regrets to waste
upon yesterday."

At the doctor's last words, Mrs. Archer buried her
face in her hands and sobbed audiUy.

"Come, come, Mrs. Archer," continued the doctor
soothingly, "that's a bad way to take my advice. Dry
your eyes and proceed with your work." ^ -

"Oh, but you do not know," said Mrs. Archer, rais-
ing her tear-stained face and tryuig vainly to control
tfie tears in her voice, "how gladly I would give all of
my yesterdays for the privilege of remaining in your
employ today."

"I'll be satisfied with your todays," said the doctor
gravely, "and I see no reason why you should not con-
tinue in my employ."

"Oh, but I have promised "

"I see, and there is a penalty attached if you do not
keep that promise?" mterrupted the doctor inquiringly.

"Yes," hesitatingly, "Mrs. Gor<km will communicate
with my parents."

Mrs. Archer Becomes Hannah Thompson 147

"No, but you wUl," said the doctor decidedly.

"I! oh no, " stammered Mrs. Archer. "I could

not, You do not understand My mother, she,

I know, would fwgive me, but my father,— he would
curse me and wish me dead a thousand times."

"Wishes, good or bad," said the doctor smiling,
"have neither the power to mend nor to break bones.
However, this is the demand of today and you must
meet it, let the consequence be what it may. Suppos-
ing, in your place, grown to manhood, stood little
Ronald, who had offended society, perhaps not just in
ihe way you have but in some other quite as grievous,
would you wish him to obliviate himself and permit
you to bdieve him <kad when he was living and in Med
of the love and protectimi his mother could give him?
I think not. No matter what the transgression, he
would still be your son, your little man, your baby
Ronald, and you would love him in spite of anything
he would or could do. Cxxat now, be fwr widi your-
self, is it not rather a qu(^ion of pride on your part
than consideration for your parents ?"

"Perhaps it is," reluctantly acknowledged Mrs.
Archer. "But you don't know what I was to tiiem.
They," her voice breaking, "idolifed me/*

"And you don't want them to know their idol has
fallen, is that it? And yet that is the fate of all idols."

"I wish to spare them, if I can, the keen disappoint-

148 The Success of Failure

ment and utter humiliation which the knowledge of my
living would bring to them." ^ . ...

"You are ijot treating them fairly," said the doctor
rising. "You are rendering a verdict without a hear-
ing of both side of the case." .

' If so " said she, nervously clasping and unclasping
her hands, it is because I am so sure of the verdict
You see," despairingly, "the circumstances are such
tiiat I cannot believe any other possible.'

"Why not?" demanded the doctor. "Do you thmk
that love is such a miserable, weak and puny thmg ti«t
it can be hedged in by the world's fence of respectabU-
fty? And arc you the only one, starting on the road
of a mistaken love, who has turned a deaf ear to the
voice of consequence when he has pleaded to be heard
and regarded with blinded eyes the presence of his
twin-brother, caution; and who, today, awakened too
late to the inexorable and unpleasant fact that conse-
quence is no longer to be considered an ally .f caution
be ignored, but an unconquerable and stubborn enemjs
bemoan the deafness and blindness of yesterday? And
are you the only one who has unfortunately committed
what society publicly considers the unpardonable sin,
and which she so loudly denounces ; but which private-
ly, she so often condones and seeks to hide and tries so
hard to forget? Are you?"

No."

Mrs. Archer Becomes Hannah Thompson 149

"Then write to your parents and tell them the truth."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Mrs. Archer, shrinking ptte-
ously down in her chair, "that I cannot do."

• You are willing, then, to go further and let con-
sequence make a coward of you?" queried the doctor.
' You are very foolish, for I can assure you there is no
safety in the obscurity of a lie."

"I cannot help it," replied she despairingly, I am
afraid ! I am afraid !"

•And of what are you afraid?" aiked he scomfuUy,
beginning to pace up and down the room. "The judg-
ment of a sinful man and woman, parents though they
be? It is imperfection passing judgment upon imper-
fection. It is sin calhng to sin in terms of censure or
praise. Can t you see that aU such judgment is limited,
and for that reason cannot in its nature be true, but is
bound to err? That is, all human judgment is never
errorless and should, therefore, never be passed by the
human family upon its individual members,— and that
the rising or falling of man is wholly dependent upon
the judgment he passes upon his individual self, and
with him at»des the consequence of a true or false
verdict.

As the doctor was speaking, Mrs. Archer'i face tost
somewhat its look of patiietk hopdessness, and Aere
came into it one of astontiimient and not a little alarm
as her big eyes in wide open anaiement followed him

»50

The Success of Failure

as he walked toward the window. When he had
finidttd, however, and come back and stood in from
of her, an expression of understanding had taken pos-
session and, smiling sadly, she nodded comprehendingly
up at him and said :

"You are right, doctor, and I am ymmg. I will
write to my parents tonight."

"Good !" exclaimed the doctor, his grave face light-
ening up with a smile she had never before seen it wear.
"Bathe your face and put your cap on," continued he,
taking her hands and nusmg h«- to her feet, "and get
ready for work, for the correspondence," waving his
hand toward a pile of unopened letters and papers lying
upon his desk, "is unusually large."

The doctor sat down at his desk and Mrs. Archer,
her mind ineiquressibly relieved, hurried in to her office
and prepared Iwrielf and desk for work. Never before
in the past years of her life had she felt so light-
hearted, so absolutely free. The words of the doctor
as he retraced his steps from the window remained
with her. What a relief it was to know the mdy cm-
domiation she had really to fear was her own ; that she
alone was her judge, and that her standing or falling
was determined by that judgment. All that others
might say or do could not make one hair black or
white, could not diai^ the real Hannah Thompscm
one iota ; the resprasiUlity was hers and could not be

Mrs. Archer Becomes Hannah Thompson 151

iwiored. and whether she would or no. she would, at
^ time or other, be forced out into the open to
render a verdict for or against herself . ^
While these thoughts were occupying Mrs. Archer s
mind, the doctor was busily engaged in Ae examination
of his mail, marking the mort hnportairt communica-
tions for reply and leaving the others for some time
later in the day. Then he took his hat and coat from
the rack and, throwing the latter over his arm «^
holding the former in his hand, he walked mto Mrs.

Archer's office, and said:
"Before attending to the mail get Aat letter off to

your parents."

"I will," she replied.

"And your name?" he queried.

"Will be Hannah Thompson," she answered.

"I am glad that is your decision," said he wifli aa

approving smile. , a t*

"WeU," putting on his coat, "I must be^ off. It
Thompson comes in, please ask him to wait."
"I will," said she, and the doctor hurried out.
She waited until she heard the street-door close be-
hind him, and then took a sheet of paper fran a drawer
and inserted it into the typewriter and unhesitatingly
began to write Ae letter to her father and mother. It

read:

153

Ths Success of Failure

40 Oiborne Avcaitc, Littlttown.

Dear Father and Mother:

This letter, I know, will come to you as a great surprise
and terrible shock, believing, as you must now do, that I
have long ceased to be numbered among the living in the
world. My disappearance from home and my silence
during the past six years 1 shall not attempt to explain in
this letter; it would take too long and cause you suffering.
Suffice to say I thought it best. Conditions have arisen,
however, which make it impossible for me to wish to keep
you a moment longer in ignorance of my whereabouts,
and write to ask you to come and see me as soon as
possible, when I will tell you the storv of those sad, yet
profitable, years. Lovingly your dattipter,

Hakkah.

When the letter was finished and placed in an en-
velope, sealed and stamped, and addressed to Mrs.

Franklin Thompson, Dawson. N. Y., she arose and
took off her cap and, taking her long, black coat from
a nail at the back of the door, put it on and went out
and dropped tiie letter in the mail-box a few doors from
the house.

CHAPTER XII

FR/iNK'S IHMSFOSITION AND A TELEPHONE CALL FKOX

MRS. GORDON

««||AVE you been wasting long?" inquired the doctor,
H who had returned from maldi^ hii momiiig

calls upon his patients.

"About half-an-hour, I guess," replied Frank from
his chair by the window.

"Oh, that isn't very long," said the doctor, hanging
up his coat and hat.

"No," agreed Frank. "I haven't noticed the time,
for I have been so interested in observing the faces of
the men and women who have passed here. It seems
strange, too, for I never paid mudi attention to peof^e
before, nor noticed closely the faces of those I met."

"Never took the time, I suppose," said the doctor,
stretching himself out upon the couch.

"No, it wasn't that ; it was more a matter of indiffer-
ence, I think," replied Frank, rising and leaving the
window and seating himself 'm a chair nearer tlie
doctor.

"And wh^t .aakes the difference, now?"

153

154 Tk4 Sue(*ss of FaUmn

"I don't know, unJtM it » the work I'm engafed iB."

rqplied Frank smiling.

"I see," =aid tlie doctor laughing, "every face means
a prospective patient. What success have you aad« so
far?"

"Not any. All tiwie I htve tfekm to mukt i^

are perf t tly wrll and have no need of a phvsician."

"But what about yourself, Fmdc?" uk^ the doctor
earnestly.

"Well," said Fratdc, hanging hit head sheepishly,
"my pursuit for patiento has ande mt aanure tliat I am
not altogether well and have quite a few disorders."

"Tndeed!" exclain;' 1 the lector. "What are the
symptoms? How do ihey affect you?"

"Well, I can't say," replkd Fnaak, speaking slowly,
"tiiat tfae synqytoow aa« m> auulKdr latllH^ asqr be ht-
are so prevjUent. Nevertibdess, Aey are
none Ifce less revolutionary."

"You mean," queried me doctor, "they defy all
remedial agents ?"

"I don't know as I should put it that way." repied
Frank. "Perhaps the right remedy has not hem ap>
plied."

"Can you think of any to suggest?*
"No, I don't know as I can."
"And you want me to prescribe a remedy, is that kf"
adced the <k>ctor wilit a qwaiad loak.

Frtmk't Inimiosuum wd a leUphotu Coil 155

"If ym can ^«er&c tlie ri^ one, I rtainly do."

"hi #K S€e«wg oi fXKtieatf, you will fir 1 it ourself.
I ca. presi Ik u ^ oth. r. To know you are ick is a
great .tep tow rd ueconiing well, but to be ignorant of
sickness is jj LOur; (teath."

"Oh, T doB t «^ te Iww the impre^^ion.' said
I'rank. ^hmg. "feat I am v«ry I just feel kind

uf out I . -t?

Oh is Jat - said c doctor, rising in ,*onsc
tc iie'ring fth. ^ -^Well. jttst c -^ue

in vow fwr-^oii f

lalk), id he. m le rea. d the tdephoac and
hd. then er^ lis ear, "who sthis?"

MS ' njhr said the voice ot Mrs. Gordon. "Is

Air& Ai r Aerc?"

"So," reptied ^ doctor, "she left this r )rrmg.
1^ Tt^ompsoa i» here, thoyi^ Wotiki like to
speak her?" ^

T vas no «swer for several stamA »»
d .augh iM»r<fiy at what he imagmet be
h ^'»dfc-«nfitti«. Then,raA«^imdediE she
,ati Y-e-s. I guess so."

iss -^hompson," called the doctor, "Mrs. Gordon
ha. callea up and would like to speak to you."

"Ill be ri^t Acre, doctor," responded Mrs. Ardier,
or hMoak Ihompson, a shall now begin t- call
>er. ^ rt»ng from her desk she came hurriedly to the

The Success of Failure

telephone and took the receiver from the doctor's hand.
And he, instead of going back to the couch, as she ex-
pected he would do, stood quietly beside her to catch
the words of his sister as they came over the wire.

"What does this mean?" asked she imperatively.
"And why did you not telephone me as you agreed?"

"It means," replied Hannah, "that your brother has
shown me the folly of such a course and induced me
to forsake it."

"I see," reified Mrs. Gordcm sarcastically, "and you,
now, of course, have no intention of leaving his em-
ploy. Well, I shall do what I said I would, 'write to
your parents.' "

"That will not be necessary," replied Hannah
triumphantly, "for I have abeady written to them."

"Even so," said Mrs. Gordon angrily, "can't you see
that, although it may mean your salvation, your pres-
ence in my brother's office can only prove ruinous to
his reputation and practice? Surely you cannot desire
either?"

Before Hannah could reply, the receiver was taken
from her hand and the doctor, motioning her to one
side, took up the conversation with his sister, and
Hannah, giad to escape, went bade to ha office.

"This is a question which I must answer, Margaret,"
said the doctor emphatically, "for it is one with which
Miss Thompson has nothing to do, she being in no way

Frank's Indisposition and a TtUfkone Colt 157

responsible for my reputation or practice; I, alone, am
answerable for their indestructibility."

"Indeed." retorted Mrs. Gordon sneeringiy. Then I
should think yon would take some better means of
preserving them than that of retaining a woman of
qaestionable character in your office,— no matter in
what capacity. If you persist in doing so, I warn you
that I shall consider all relationriiip betiveen us at an
end, and yon will cease to be my brother and I your
sister. The cause of the outcast you have made yours ;
therefore, the conditions which govern the Ufe of the
outcast must be yours also,— which is to be pitied but
never loved, to be suffered but never sanctioned, to be
numbered, forever and always, as she is, among the
world's undesirables."

"I can stand it, if you can," replied the doctor, his
face darkening. "However, I am afraid my loss will
hardly be your gain. That you may thrust me out, is
true ; but who can sty what day shall not witness your
departure from the city of comfort and ease for the
valley of k»elin«ss; only, in due time, to be driven
therefrom, by its gray skies, its mournful surroundings
and the low-moaning chant of its inhabitants, to the
plains of despair, whose ever-extending, terrifying dis-
tances compel you, later on, to flee then for the moun-
tain of impossibility, from which, in painful perplexity.

158

The Success of FaSmrt

you turn and arrive at last in the wilderneu of no-wi^-

out."

"StuflF and nonsense r exclaimed Mrs. Gordon im-
patiently. "If you are not very carefnl, yon will to

fulfill your own prediction."

"We shall see," replied the doctor.

"So we shall," returned she sharply. "But surely,
Bob," pleadingly, "there are plenty of nurses of good
diaracter and with blameless pasts whose services yoo
could secure and who would be as capable as Hann-Ji
Thompsen. Why, therefore, do you persist in keefHOff
her?"

"Because I am a physician/' replied the doctor de-
cisively, "and they that are whole need not a

physician.' "

An angry click from the other end of the wire was
the only response the doctor received. Sighing, he
placed the receiver back on teliook and tnmed slowly
from the telephone, saying to himself as he did ao»
"Poor Margaret, I wonder how long it will be before
the truth of the words, the sin of omission oft-times
makes tiie sin of commission possible, penetrates
through that eonventkmal shell of yours." Then step-
ping over to where Frank sat, a silent and amaxed
listener, not dreaming of the relationship that existed
between him and Hannah and which later was to be
revealed, he said :

Frank's IndispositUm tmd a TtUfhone CaU 159

"That would be a good patient for you to seek,
Frank. We will discuss it further," smiling gravely at
the look of dismay that o'erspread Faulk's face, "down-
stairs at the taUe, for yott, of omrse, are goo^ to stay
and take luncheon with me."

"I should be very glad to do the latter," replied
Frank, rising from his chair, "but," throwing his hands
impotently out, "to attenq»t the former is too great an
undertaking iox mtto &ink about."

"We'll decide that later," said the doctor, walktiv
over to the wash-bowl and washing his hands.

CHAPTER XIII

MXSw TBOlf FSON VISITS RBK DAVCatlB

**Tr is I, Martha," said Mrs. Thompson to tlie much
1 surprised and frightened negress who opened the
door in respmise to her ring of the bell, and who now
stood petrified in the doorway. "It's all right. Miss
Hannah expects me," continued she assuringly, gently
pushing the door open and stepping into the hall, "I
received a letter from her this morning. Is she in ?"

"N-o,— ni-a-a-m,— " gaspeh Martha, leaning weakly
and wide-eyed against the wall.

"Will she be in soon?"

"No,— yes,— I— don't— know— " stammered Martha,
not knowing just what her mistress would have her
say.

"WeU, just close the door," said Mrs. Thompson,

smiling understandingly, "and I will go in here and
wait," and she turned toward a door standing partly
open, in which room Ronald lay asleep upon a couch.

"Dat room am oc'i'pied, ma'am, " said Martha, now
wonderfully alert, and brushmg quicldy past she pulled
the 4oof to. Not for worlds, if she could hdp it, ihoiikl

Mrs. Thompson Visits Her Daughter i6i

Mr^. Thompson see her gramlson without his nK^her's
knowledge and consent

"Oh, I see, then show me into Miss Hannah's room.'

"Yes, ma'am," said Martha, stepping back to dose
the front-door and then leading the way to a room at
the end of the short and narrow hall, the door of which
stood wide open. "Dis am Miss Hannah's room."

"Thank you, Martha," said Mrs. Thompson, enter-
ing and seating herself in Ae only comfortaWe chair
the room contained. "Do you tWnk 111 have to wait

very long?" i

"Don' know, ma'am, can't say," replied the non-
committal Martha, her bent form and grizzled head re-
treating down the haB. When she readied Ae door of

the room in which Ronald slept, she stopped, and noise-
lessly pushed it open. Entering, she tiptoed quietly
over to the couch upon which he was lying and gently
picked up a little hand which had strayed from under
the covers and placed it back agam. Then wt& a dole-
ful shake of the head she murmured :

"Its don' come at las'. hone> . as I s'pccted it would,
and der's noddin' to do 'nit to let yo' mammy know.—
but how ? Can't u^e dat tel'phone in mammy's room,
cause rfie hear all I say. Noddin' to do but go down-
stairs," switchmg off her apron and pulling down her
sleeves. "Reckon yo' wake up 'fore I gets back?'|
queried she anxiously as she reached the door. "Don'

l62

The Success of Failure

do dat. honey, nohow, Marta'll be right bMk»" and she
drew the door softly to behind her.

However, Martha had hardly reached the foot of the
stairs before Ronald began to sdr and was soon wide
awake. Stretdiitig his tittle arms, in baby-fashkm, om
his head, he laid quietly so for several moments. Then,
lowering them, he pushed down the covers and sat up
and, turning sideways, rolled over on his stomach and
slipped to the floor, where be stood and began to call,
"Marta, Marta, I awake! I awake, Marta !" Getting
no response, the little fellow, with wondering face, felt
his way with his baby-hands to the door and, finding the
knob, turned it and pulled the door open and went into
the hall, all the time caUmg plaintivdy, ""Marta, Marta,
I awake! I awake. Marta." But there came no answer
from Martha, and the look of wonder on the face of the
child became one of fear, for never before in his short
life had Martha failed to hasten to him or to answer
his first odl. Standii^ there, he vainly listened for
half-a-minttte for a sound wl^ would locate to lis
baby-hearii^ Martha's whereabouts, and then slowly
groped his way through the hall to his mother's room,
crving pitifully all the while, "Marta, Marta, I awake!
I awake, Martar

Whm he reached the doorway, Mrs. Thcmipsnn,
ignorant of the child's lack of vision, with smiling as-
nuance bedcooed him to c<mie to her, to which invita-

Mrs. Thompson Visits Her Dmtgkttr 163

tion, to her surprise, he paid not the least attention, al-
though his eyes appeared fixed upon her. Then she
arose, and the faint socnd of her swaying garments 9s
she walked toward hin», seemed, in a measure, to rea
sure the now thoroughly frightened child, who couiJ
hear but see nothing ; fur he immediately stopped cry-
ing and, putting out his baby-hands in a self-protecting
sort of way, moved slowly toward the directum of the
sound, saying in a reproachful, enquiring t<Mie:

"Why don't you speak to me, Marta?"

"I am not Martha, dear," said Mrs. Thompson sooth-
ingly, not wishing to startle the child whose question
and movemoits now oade his bihidnesa evideflt.
"Martha has gone out, I tiihdc, but she will soon be
back," quickly added she, very gently taking one of tfic
little extended hands and holding it within her own.

"Where's Marta gone?" asked Ronald, again begin-
nii^ to cry and reluctantly pennitth^ Mra. Tbompaoa
to le^hki back to her chair.

"I do not know," replied Mrs. Thompson, sitting
down in her chair and lifting Ronald upon her
"Anyway, you are not going to cry, are you? She has
gone, I ra^er suspect, to tdqthooe."

"Why didn't she tel'phone with mother's td'ltacr
asked Ronald, sitting straight up on her

"And who is mother, little man?"

"My mother is Mrs. Archer."

l64

Th$ Success of Failure

"And where is mother's telephone?**

"In here ; this is mother's room."

"You are mistaken, I think, dear. Martha told me
this was my daughter's room, and her name is Thomp-
son."

"Oh, no!" exclaimed Ronald. "I 'faid you're in the
w'ong 'partment. Only mother, Marta and I live
here."

The arms which held the child relaxed and a troubled
lode came into the eyes that were now closely scanning
the little, blind face. "Was it possible t'aat this, then,
was the explanation?" she anxiously asked herself.
"Was this little, blind boy sitting on her lap Hannah's
child, and his being spoke of something that should
not have been?" She had not even dreamed of this.
Every other misfonune tliat it was possible to imagine
she had thousriit of ; but this. — it was too dreadful

Very gently she put Ronald down upon the floor,
where he stood at her knee, and feeling strangely faint
and ill leaned back in. her chair. "What would her
father say?" She dreaded to think of the effect the
intelligence would have upon him. and the duty of
imparting it sho devoutly wished lay with someone
other than herself. Tru?, this same thing had hap-
pened heretofore and would happen again to other
people's daughters; littt tliat it should have befallen
their Hannah was inconceivable But, f>erhaps,

Mrs. Thompson Visits Her Daughter 165

after all, it was not so and she had been too hasty in
arriving at a conclusion. She would wait.

She had not to wait very long for the confirmation
of her fears ; for Ronald, hearing the opening of the
hall-door accompanied by hurrying footsteps, called
out, as he moved slowly away from her knee toward
the door, "Marta, I'm in here with the stwange lady.
Did you go out to tel'phone mother?"

"What made yo' t'ink I tel'phone, yo' little ra'cal?"
laughed Martha, mdiing to him as he ttood in tiie
doorway.

"Lady said she s'pected so," replied Ronald as
Martha picked him up in her arms and started to carry
him out to the kitchen. "Is motiier's tefphone out of
order?"

"Hush !" whispered Martha.

"Why must I ," but the rest of the question was

lost in the black hand which gently covered his mouth.

An hour of waiting dapsed — an hour of in^scrfta-
ble mental agony for Mrs. Thompson — before Hannah
threw open the hall-door and. leaving it open, rushed
in. At the sound of the hurrying steps, Mrs. Thomp-
.<ion rose unsteadily to her feet. A momentary glance,
that was all, and without a wcM-d utUttd by ta^ber,
mother and daughter were in each other's arms. There
w ere no tears, no cries, no heart-broken sobs ; naught
but an overwhelming silence. At last, the trembling

166

Thi Success of FoUure

of her mother's body recalled Hannah's power of
speech and, tenderly unclasping her mother's arms
from about her and placing her gently back in her
dudr, dienid:

"Poor mother, this UmM has been a terrible diode
to you."

At these words, spoken by the voice of her daughter,
a voice not heard by her for so many years, Mrs.
Humqpson'f tyes ffied wtdi tears aikl, as slu omtmtted
to gan speedilesdy tqxm the laoe ci her duld, rm
tinrq;arded down her cheeks.

Censure, Hannah could have borne ; coldness or un-
kind words she could have met cabnly, but tears — ^that
rain of tears — and the infinite, knre and sorrow ex-
pressed in tiiose tears, were too nwich, and broke dovm
and swept away, as though it had never been there, the
wall of human error which she had permitted to sepa-
rate her from her mother for the past six years. Gone
they were,— with a great sobbing sigh she 1^
down upon her knees at the skle of her mother and
faiid her head in her lap nmdi as had been woitt to
do when a child. Soothingly, the mother's hand passed
over the light-brown hair, and in its touch was mani-
fested that wonderful, but indescribable thing, the one-
ness of mother and child.

At lut tht soothing, stroking motion ceased, and two

Mrs. Thompson Fisits Her Daughter 167

soft hands were placed under lUmtk*» dun and canted

her to slowly raise her head. "

"Why did you not come and make known your
troubles to yomr motfier, my child?" arited Mn.
Thompwm. looktef oompairioiiatefy down Ib^

fill, working ft«e.

"I could not then," chokingly replied Hannah, rising
to her feet and feeling in her coat pocket for her hand-
kerchief, with MA ihe wiped Ibe tears item her iMe.
"My one thought, at that time,** taldng the pins out of
her mother's hat and laying it over on the couch, "was
to hide myself from all those who had known me and
I had known. I believed, then," helping her mother off
with her coat and pla^ng it tmdar the h^ "my di^
was to obliterate n^raelf and thus spare you and father
the humiliating sorrow of kaowii^ the miierabte nrif-
take I had made."

Mrs. Thompson sighed and leaned back in her chair.

"And what of your nmlfaer?*' ihe aAed, ai Haaaah
took off her own hat and coat and hung them up on a
hook in the wardrobe which stood in a comer of the
room. "Did you think it possible that she could so
completely shut you out of her heart? And idiat right
had you to deny me ti» prhrSege <rf iharing and bear-
ing with yon Ae co mey i enc e of your acts?"

Hannah moved a di^ nearer her mother's and tat
down.

i68 J he Success of Failure

"I coulvl not, then, mother, I simfdy cotild not," r«-
pHt'd she. putting her hand up and taking the one her
mother was about to lay upon her shoulder and holding
it firmly between her own in her lap. "That it was
wrong, I now fuUy realise ; and that yoti and fiUher
were not acquainted, long ago, with the &et tlttt Davkl
Haven and myself had determined upon entering into
a trial marriage, I shall always regret. That we were
b<rth young, may, perhaps, be some excuse, I do not
know, for wishing to take an untried and forbidden
road in our quest for happiness. Because what we had
decided upon was the exceptional, we both argued, it
need not, necessarily, result unhappily. But, unfor-
tunately, it did; the way we togk was too broad and
we lost each other. And it was toch a greedy thor-
oughfare, mother ; its demands were so heavy that they
who lingered there were never able to meet its bills.
Your youth, never more to be regained, you left there.
Vour good name it swalk>wed up, and you searched in
v:iin to find it. It wotsM take all that yon posacned,
and then, grinnii^, leave yon standii^ h^deat m&
alone."

"My poor Hannah," said Mrs. Thompson con-
soiingfy.

"In a way, yes," agreed Hannah. *'Btrt it did not
rob me of all ; I started in time to hoBf my difid.
Have you seen him ?"'

Mrs. Thompson Visits Hit Daughttr

"Yes, he found his v/ay in here when he (ailed to

find Martha upon waking up."

"Dear Httle man, it was the first time she ever 1^
him, unless it wa» witii roe. Good, old Martha, but for
h«- 1 do not know what I should have done. From the
night I left home, when she followed me, and in order
to prevent a scene at the depot we were forced to take
her with us, she has served me faithfully and wclL**

"Oh, yes," sraUed Mr*. Thompion, **there never waa
any doaht in my mind that where we ihoidd find yon
V also should find Martha."

Hannah smiled and got up.

"I must go out and announce myself to Ronald," she
said, "or he will be terribly diaappotnted."
"Yes, do, and hriag him in md nitrodtwe htra to hia

grandmother."

' Perhaps you wo ?! "'ce to come with me," sug-
gested Hannah.

"No, I do not waiif i 'n:i>le Martha neecOesily.
She, no (touU, is prepa: .' ; ' • ^oheon."

"Very well, I'll be right back." and Hannah's itep*
quickened as she passed into the hall.

Pretty soon she came back carrying Ronald, and
Mrs. HKmqjMKMt held oa/t h«r amaa for Ae chfid.

"Rcmald," 9aM his mother i am going to present
you to your grandmother, and i want you to love her
as much as you do mother."

Tht Success of FaSitn

"What is sraiicliiiother, mother?" asked Ronald as
Hannah placed him in Mrs. Thompson's arms.
"Your mother's mother, boney-boy."
"Do you yuv her, mother?" asked he, sitting straight

up on his grandmother's lap.

"Why, of course, little man."

"Then I yuv her," said Ronald, getting to his knees
on her lap, and Mrs. Thompson felt the pressure of two
littie arms about her neck and a ctnrly-head pressed
close to her own. For several moments, while his
mother stood silently looking on. his grandmother held
him tightly within her arms. Then Ronald, bent upon
investigation, threw back his head and withdrew his
arms from aroimd her neck and began to pass his hands
slowly over her fmee.

"You're bootiful, too," he said finally, straightening
out his legs and establishing himself more comforti^
upon her lap.

"You think so?" inquired Mrs. Thompson, into
whose eyes the tears were coming; and it was only the
prompt interventkm of Hannah's handinrchiel \Htieh
prevented their overflow. With a downward, warning
of her head in the direction of the child, his
n»other wiped the tears away, saying brightly, at the
same time, to conceal from her boy her own and her
mother's agitatk»,<—

Mrs. Thompson Visits Hsr Dtmghter 171

"Your grandmother, I am fure, thanks you for the
compliment, little aon."

"But I fink you are, too, mother."

"Of course, darling." laughed Hannah, "and mother
is not at all jealous. She is perfectly willing to share
your baby-heart with granAnoAer.**

But Ronald, apparently, waa not of the same mind
and objected, somewhat, to having his affections tlnis
dispensed with; for, squirming around, he tarned his
back upon his grandmother and, stretching his little
arms upwards to where he believed Wa mother alood,
he laid:

"Come and take me."

'In a little while, darling." said Hannah, falling
down upon her knees on the rug by the side of her
mother and taking her boy's hand wftWn her own ; Iwt
mother Ina tomeSiing dae to aay to her little man, first.
You see, dear, grandmother has never had a little boy
to love or to love her, and it is a long, long time since
she had a little girl. "Mother was her little girl, but she
giew up and forgot ahoitt ft. GrtwdmoUier ^ not—
and now, hecanae you bdeag to that Uttle girl, she loves
you and not only gives you the place that that little
girl occupied, but has made a brand-new place in her
heart for you. You and I, babykin, must live to be
worthy of that brand-new place, for in no heart hnt a
RKHNr's are we iWe to find ft. Aad, dnHiVt vm^^

172

The Success of Failure

wants } ou to know when you are loving grandoM^hcr
she win fee! you are doubly loving her."

"Ymi mean." said Ronald sTowly, "if I yuv g'and-
mother, I } uv you two times."

"Yes, little man, that is just what mother means."

Just at that moment Martha came through the hall.

"Ltmch is served, ma'am." she said.

"Very well. Martha." replied Homah. "come and get
Ronald f and piclv'njr up her boy from her mote's
lap she placed him in Martha's arms, and, as At car-
ried him out. Mrs. Thomp.son rose to her feet.

"He is a dear, little fellow," said she, "but how pa-
thetical'v sad it is that he is blind.**

"It is. indeed," replied her daughter ; "but." musing-
ly, "do you know, sometimes I am rather glad that he
is blind for. consequently, much of the evU of the world
hte will escape."

"That is true." agreed her mote; "but, Iflcewise,
how many of its beauties he must forego."

"Tliat is so. of course." said her daughter with a
sigh. •However. 1 try to find consolation in the thought
that what he has not seen he cannot miss."

"Is his bNndness, thes. so permaneMly hopdewr

"Doctor Ross does not think s^i."

"I am glad to h^ar that. Who is Doctor Ross?"

"A wonderful man and an excellent physician. I am
«a^*W''ed by hhn as eorrtqxMident and office-nurse. "

Mrs. Thompson Visits H*r Daughter 173

"That is strange, I have never heard of him."

"1 thought you might have heard something aboot
Hon kom Mrs. George Leigh, for he is her physician."

"TktB you know of Ge<M^e's marriage," said Mrs.
Thompson, a note of sympathy in her voice as she
followed her daughter into the hall. "He married
less than two years ago your old friend and school-
mate, Elizabeth Sand.

"I know it. Indeed, my communicating w ith \ uu
and father was due indirectly to a visit she paid to the
doctor's office one morning. I will tell you all about
it after we have had luncheon."

They entered the dining-room where tliey found
Rranld seated in his high-chair at the table. Martha,
just a few moments before, had placed in front of him
a bowl partly filled with chicken soup, which, hungry
hough he was, he made no attempt to eat, but sat
patiently waiting fw his mother and tfic "rtwange
!ady," as he persisted in caUii^r his grandmother when
e sjjoke of her to Martha, to come in and sit down
at the table. He cla^d his tiny hands as they came
into the room.

'*Y<m may begin now, darling, here is your spoon,"
aid his motl^, pidcing up a spoon which lay itt tiw-
side of his bowl and putting it in his hand. "You may
^it here, mother," continued she, drawing out a chair
irom one side of the table, "and," by a movement of.

174

The Smcceu of Fmhtre

her hand indicating a chair at the (^^site side, "I
win tit over Hurt.'*

In less th«i lalf an hoar ihty hmd §aUmi fitting
their luncheon, and Mrs. Thompson was back aga»
in tile little room at the end of the hall, Hannah hav-
ing stopped outside for a few minutes to superintend
ibt drtwiag of Rondd, iR^eni Mstfia was going to
take out for a short walk, Im roother ftiii^im, ^ wne
to so dispose of him while she talked with h«* mother.

Mrs. Thompson surveyed the little room with its
meagre furnishings, and sadly contrasted it with one
haadsoHiely furnished now tmorai^d at Dawson —
Hannah's room. I ler heart ached for this g^l of hert,
antl she lonj,a-d to see her once more in possession of
her old room with its attendant luxuries; and she
wbhed it were ix)ssible to take Hannah, with Ronald
and MMtiia, home wiA her that night. But the could
not. Her father must firrt be toW the trudi, and tiien
decide. That he would not close the door of his home
against his child, she felt certain ; and that for her it

would always stand open. But the child To him,

die «M afraid, the 6oor woold remain fcHwer shut,
and hit mother, the knew, and was giad to know, wat
too much of a woman to accept for herself that which
her child could not have. "Poor, innocent, little, blind
b^y," thought she. "how cruel it was that he should
l»vc t» adfer die eontequenoet of die acts of

Mrs. Thompson Visits Hit Domghttr 175

others, and Uiat upon his baby-head and frail shoulders
should fall the effects of tiieir wcoaf[-iKXO%^

Hannah's sdvancing footsteps in tfie hall pot a stop
to these gloomy thoughts, and Mrs. Thompaon greeted
the entrance of her daughter with a imile.

"They have gone?" queried she.

"Yes, and if I am to finish my story before they get
back, I must begin right tway," replied Vbmah,
drawing a chair forward «Bd ntting down near her
mother.

"Is it necessary, my child?" asked Mrs. Thompson,
laying her hand affectionately upon her danghter't
shoulder. "Would it not be better to Icsve tbe di»-
tressing happenings of the past six years where they
belong — away back there ? Surely they have no place
in the present and can have none in the future, and
the telling really cannot bemfit ehfaor <A t», now,
serving <xcAy to add to your enAarraaament ai^ pam.
l et us, then, tnmowbiidatspoiitiwmMd leave Hiem
behind."

"I see you agree with Doctor Ross. It is very good
of yon to iSa&Bk lo about it, modber, bttt yAaH abeirt
father?"

"I shall have to tell him what X know, of course,"
replied Mrs. Thompson, a shadow for the moment
passing over her face, "and what the outcome may be
I caniKJt say. Iftnvever, I wffl write you aboirt ^ba^

The Success of Failure

tomorrow and, at the same titiie, enclose a check to
cover your expenses here."
"That is very kind of you."

"Now tell me something of your work, if you are
happy in it and of this Doctor Ross by whom you are
employed." said Mrs. Thompson, looking at her watch.
"You won't have a great deal of time for I must leave
on the three-thirty train."

This, to Hannah, was a particularly asreeahle tadc,
and it was not long before she was relating, with no
little degree of interest expressed in face and voice,
the many pleasing features of her work ; and speaking
m eloquent praise of the man who had made tiiat
work possible — the Great Worker, her employer. So
tndy happy did she appear as she continued to talk,
that her mother, whose heart had ached at the thought
of leaving her and Ronald in what she termed "the
depressing loneliness of a large city," became more and
more reconciled with the situation ; and when, an hour
later, slie bade them goodby at the station, it was
with a mind assured tiiat for the present, at least, all
Mras well with her Hannah.

CHAPTER XIV

A TALK WITH DOROTHY AND THE SELECTION OF ROADS

THE lottd ringing of the tdephone-beU greeted
Hannah when she opened the office-door die

morning after her mother's visit. Stepping quickly
over to the telephone, she took down the receiver and
held it to her ear, and a voice in response to her
gentle, ♦•Hello.'* sdd:

"Good-morning, Mrs. Archer ; this is Miss Richard>
son. Has the doctor arrived ?"

"Oh, good-morning, Miss Richardson," returned
Hannah jdeasantly. "No, the doctor has not come in.
I expect him any moment, though. Can I do anything
for you ?"

"VV'^ell, I don't know," replied Dorothy a trifle slowly
"perhaps you can; my message in a way concerns
you. Last night, while speaking to Mr. Thompson on
his way out, he tcAd me yoa were not in tiie oflke all
of yesterday afternoon; and, although he waited all
tliat time for the doctor to come in. he. too, failed to
put in an appearance, and he had to leave without see-
ing him. Foolishly, I then began to worry and won-
dered if everything was as it shoold be over there.**

177

178

The Smccw of FaUmrt

"Oh, yes," replied Hannah, laugiiing happily, "every-
thing is all right."

"I am glad to hear it," responded Dorothy heartily.
"But if it ever riiould not be, renwmber my 'home-
Uvii^ place' will always be open to you and Ronald."

"You are very kind, 1 shall remember that," said
Hannah, and just at that moment Doctor Ross pushed
the door apa\ and walked into the room, whkh caused
her to add, "Oh, here is the doctor, now, wouldn't
you like to speak to him ?'

"Whv, yes, you might let me say good-morning to
him."

"Doctor," said Hannah, turning her head in his di-
rection and smiling, "Miss Richardson is on tiw tele-
I^one and would like to speak t(i you."

"Is that so?" ffplifd the doctor, much pleased, strid-
ing over to the telephone and taking the receiver out
of her hand.

"Good-morning, Dorothy," said he, and Hamuh

hurried into her office and closed the door.

"Good-nioriung. Bob," came Dorothy's voice from
the other end of the wire. "How is everything over
there? I have been hearing bad news of your office.
Is Mrs, Archer to reimun with you?"
t "Not Mrs. Arciifr." replied the doctor with a low
laugh, "!>ut a young woman by the name of Miss Han-
nah Thompson is."

A Talk wiik Doroiky

"I see," and the tone of her voice conveyed more to
the doctor than Dorothy intended.
"No yon don't, but you will tome day/' repU«| he

leasingly.
"Is that so?" retorted she.

'That is just so," laughed he. "However, don't
despair, for with time all things are accomplished."
"Evoi the perfection of me?"
"Ves, the perfectkm of you."
'Bosh!"

"No bosh about it, I assure you, Dorothy. It it a
certaim and assured fact"
"I am glad you feel so positive about k.**

"And you don't?"
"No, I wish I did."

"Mow is that? Isn't the 'home-liviqg place' pro-
gressing satisfactorily?"

"WeU," rdttctantiy replied Dorothy, «*I am bcKin-
ning to have difficulties."

"I sec " said the doctor sympathetically, "it is not
proving the success you hoped for. That is too bad,
Dorothy. Can I be of any assistance V*

"I dont kaow, periiH* you nn. Stq^iosing you
call in on your way back from die hospital diis after-
noon. There are quite a few Uungs I want to taOc
over with you."

"I caa't this aftermwn, Dorothy," said the doctor

iSo The Succiu of Fcatwn

ffgretfully, "for I have an engagement with T' omp-
son. But I can call in ind see you tomorrow morning,

if that will do."
"Yef, that win tait me very nicely."
«'Very wdl, 1*0 be in loaic tiiiw tetwcoi dmfi aad

twelve."
"Thank you, Bob."

"Not at all, Dorothy. It is always my delight ana
plcMore, as you know, to »erve you."

"It it very good of you, Bob ; and I won't keep you
any k»ger for I know just how busy you always are.
Goodby."

"Goodby, Dorothy," returned the doctor, and the
smite that ptoyed around his lips was infinitely tender
as he hung tip the receiver on its hook and turned
from the instrument.

Before sitting down at his desk to examine his mail,
he walked to the door of Hamiah's oftce and knocked
gently, and in response to her {feasant, "Come m,"
tamed the knob and entered the room.

"Well," said he, smiling in a grave, mischievous
fashion at Hannah, who was seated in front of her
desk, "I see you are still alive. The ordeal of yester-
day afternoon, which yon dreaded to, could not have
proven such a terrible thing, after all."

"Oh. no," said Hannah, her face alight, "it proved
to be no ordeal at all. Do you know, although I have

A Talk with Dorothy

i8i

a child cf my own, I ne^ er before realized how won-
derfully wonderful is the love of a mother for her

child."

"Yes." replied the doctor, sitting down in a diair
opposite Hann^, ''it is woadarii ri lor k» rare tnud-
fishness. And yet," musingly, "in its unselfishness it
is selfish. The love a mother bears for her child is
the love for a reproduced self ; in it she sees the con-
tinuing of that self. And her love, in q^te of its
boasted dq>di and breadtii ai^ inexltttntible Hore, it
limited ; and the child is not very old before he becomes
sadly aware of its limitations. To her only is given
the provision of the physical needs, and just so far and
no farther is she able to travel the journey of life
with him. The way of the spirit, he must travel alone,
picking from its roadside those fruits needed to satisfy
that hunger. To meet every awakened desire of the
soul, means the pushing onward and upward until
their source is found."

"Surdy,** exdaimed Hannah in surprise, "you don't
mean me to conclude that mothers are not anxwos to
have tfidr dtfiAidi (row tip to ba fpood men and
women V*

"Their anxiety goes for naught, if they know not
the road to Good. Many and many are the roads
called by that name "

The Success of Failure

"And teiminate, I suppose you are going to say,"
interrupted Hannah, "in the broad and well-known
thoroughfare of Bad?"

The doctor nodded.

"What assurance, then," anxiously asked Hannah,
''has a mother that she has selected from these many

roads the way to Good, when there are so many con-
flicting opinions of what is good and what is bad ?"

"by their fruits, there is no other way," quietly re-
plied the doctor. "It is not d'iicult," he went on, "to
avoid taking some of ihese roads ; nor is it necessary
for one to traverse them to know the fruits which
grow therein, for their decadent effects are voicelessly
proclaimed by the poor, unfortunate sojourners within
their gates. But about the many others we stop and
question — At the entrance of each we lode long and
interrogatively in; and they appear to us alike fair.
But, try as we may, we are unable to see, for the huge
trees, heavy foliage and beautiful flowers growing at
their mouths, the hills and valleys beyond. After some
serions debating upon the advisability of taking either
of them, we at last decide upon a road. It is, to our
irind, the fairest of them all and, to our imagination,
promises at the end great things. Surely success
awaits us at the end of this road. And so we begin
our journey

"But alas! One-qtarter of the way has not been

A Talk with Dorothy

183

travelled before we become aware, to our utter
dismay, that all that was fair and lovely of the
clKjsen road was the entrance. We bewail our
stupidity and unsparingly censure oursdves iot not
selecting one of the others. As we proceed, how-
ever, we find consolation in the fact that we are not
alone ; for the road, as far as the eye can see, is literally
filled with fellow-travellers; and they like us, are
fighting with eadi other for a place in the middle of
the road. The strong toss the weak thoughtlessly
aside and, indifferent to their fate, march straight on.
This condition of affairs we view with grave concern
and, consequently, strive the harder to retain our
place in the road. We also see Ae weak, as we con-
tinue our journey, trying to edge their way through the
throng and, with hands raised hesitatingly toward the
branches of the trees in their quest for nourishment,
seek to pluck the fruit therefrom. Their efforts are
futile, for they are either ruddy jostled, roughly pushed
back or, unthinkingly, thrown down. Nevertheless,
they are surprisingly courageous and again and again
(^et to their feet and, despite their waning strength, try
to regain a foothold in the road of life. All to no
purpose, and one by one they stagger over to the
wayside and, bending, find their sustenance in the
hlemished fruit lying upon the ground. This is a
situation, indeed, that fiUs us with alarm, and we begin

i84

The Success of Failure

to dread tiie ending of the road. To prevent sttdi a
like condition befalling us, we cram, as we go along,
every available place in our clothing with fruit {Mcked
from the branches.

"But, after all, to what little use! We have not
journeyed very for from this point, before the fodish-
ness of our wisdom is made plain to us. The fruit
we deemed so wise to gather for the satisfying of a
later day, we find, upon examination as that day ap-
proaches, has all decayed and is fit only to be thrown
out 'To what pn^t have we lived?* bitterly ask we,
as it drops from our trembling hands. Woefully dis-
couraged, our gaze becomes fearful as we regard the
road ahead. 'What will be the ending?' we wearily
questi(m as we lode for a place to rest ; but the seats,
dotted here and there alrnig tiie roadside, already are
occupied with weary travellers. There is nothing for
us to do but to continue on ; and so we proceed — but
more slowly now — sadly confident that we shall find
at the end of the road, not the success which we be-
lieved would await us, but the dcdeful, fwm of
failure."

Hannah sighed when the doctor had finished q[>eak-
ing, and said :

"That is a sad road you have pictured, doctor."

"Many do not regard it as such. Those who can
keep in tiie middle of the road believe it to be all rig^t"

A Talk mth Dorothy

i8S

"But what about the oAmT

"Ah ! for them it is all wrong."

"Well," said Hannah, with a mournful shake of her
head, "it is one upon which I hope my Roland's feet
shall never tread."

"Give him to me," said Doctcw Ross earnestly, "and
he shall kiww no otiner road tiian tlie out that leads to
Good."

"Give him to you!" exclaimed Hannah incredulous-
ly. "You don't know what you ask."

"Do you think he will belong any the less to you?"
asked the doctcHr, a beautiful smile lighting up his

grave face.

"J don't know what you mean! Why, I wouldn't
give him to anybody!" exclaimed Hannah, greatly

excited.

"I don't mean to take him frcmi you/' said he gently.
"And I can assure you he will be douUy yours if yoa.
give him to me."

"Oh, now I understand, you mean some sort of
guardianship," said Hannah, her face brightening.
"That would be splendid for him, and I cannot thank
you sufficiently for ccMrtonplatii^ sudi a tiiii^. In-
deed," her face aglow, "there is no one whom I should
so wish to direct the life of my boy than yoondl,
Doctor Ross."

i86

The Success of Failure

"Then it is agreed," said he, smiiing and extending
his hand. -Thank you."

"It is," replied Hannah, laying her hand in his. "But
what about the fruits of the many oUier roads?"

"It would take too long to speak of them all," said
the doctor, gently releasing her hand. "There is one
other, however, whose entrance humanity considers
most inviting. Trees, laden with luscious-appearing
fruit, line the roadside for some distance in, and flowers
of every hue entwine themselves amoi^ their branches.
This roadway has many twists and turns and is open
only to the few, which is regarded as a lamentable fact
by the multitude standing at the entrance, gazing long-
ingly in. Within this road, they believe, lies power.
Here it is possible for man to command and be obeyed ;
be a master and not a slave. 'Ah !' say they, 'if one
could only be a traveller upon this road, with what
pleasure life might be lived. Such a thing as poverty,
with its attributes of hunger and nakedness, does iK^t
exist here. Happiness, that fleeting thing, if to be
found anywhere, must surely lie found here. Why
then,' impatiently the> ask, 'should they be barred, by
the simple circumstauvC of birth or something else
quite as unfortunate, from this altc^fether lovdy and
wholly desirable roadway? Why are they bound by
their necessities while the travellers of this road are
lavish with luxuries ?' And so they go on, questioning

A Talk with Dorothy

187

unwisely and unprofitably, yearning for the lesser
when they might have the greater. Why long to be a
master when one mighl be a brother ? Why pine for
the dignity of being served, when the greater dignity
is in ^ serving? Why wish for the ponesskm of
material riches, when the evident needs of another
make us poor, indeed? Surely, of all things most
foolish, is to seek ;o flee a poverty which is rich for a
wealth that is poor. To seek to pick from the branches
of the trees tiie Montngly hi8«iotB Irait, n^di at
heart is dead, is to exchange happiness for misery;
and to gather the beautifully colored flowers, from
which exude poisonous vapors, is to pass from hope
to despair. Not to perniit oneself a free and whole-
some intercmirse witii the htanan family, partkapating
neither in its joys nor in its sorrows, is to make of
oneself an outcast. Better, by far, take one of the
many roads of the multitude than the select road of
the few."

"And that is a road I wotdd not select for my
Ronald," said Hannah, her eyes swimming in tears.
"Now tell me aoine^ung about the road that leads to

Good."

"It will not be very much, that is certain," said tiie
doctor, throwing bade his head, "for who could tell
V ith any degree of accuracy tiie yitmden of that
kautiful roadl"

i88

The Success of Failure

"Tell mt, anyway " f^ded Haimah.

"I will," acquiesced the doctor, and he began:
"The entrance to the road to Good, which is never
closed but always remains open, is not particularly at-
tractive excepting to the wi?' " said he. "At either
side stand large and stonr ' ^ /it^ trees, and upon
their branches grow the fr . of no-compromise. Be-
tween the trees, holding up their heads in all their
snowy loveliness, are the pure-white lilies of a new
life. It is not by any means a wide thoroughfare ; in
fact, it is ra^O' a narrow road. To its : ^e many
come and look thoughtfully and questioningiv in. Some
regard the fruit growing upon the trees with a doubt-
ful eye, thinking its verdant green betokens an un-
desiralde freshness, and h^tate to avail ^lemsdna of
the |»ivil^ of tasting and trying. Hie flowers within
the gateway lack color, and appear not nearly so lovely
to them as those they have seen growing in other road-
ways. So, shaking their heads doubtfully, they pass
on. Others, more venttiresome, d'M»de tiiey wilt taste
the fruit, so standii^ without they stretch forth an
arm and pick some off. They bite into it, and con-
clude the flavor is not altogether unpleasing, and they
are inclined to enter ; but a glance at the flowers brings
a change of mind, for they have no desire to diange
the old life for the new. So they, too, pass on.
"Then one, wiser than the rert, stops and looks in.

A Talk with Dorothy

189

In his face one can read a purpose, and the cry of
genuine satisfaction that escapes from his lips as he
perceives the stalwart trees, with their fruit-laden
branches, and the pure, white lilies growing between,
states emphatically that his purpose is to enter here.
There is no doubt that this is the road for which he
has been seeking; the desired destination has been
reached. With haste he discards his travel-stained
and much-worn garments, and with real affection
greets the trees and kisses with gentle reverence the
lilies at the gate, who, at his touch, move with a
graceful, sweeping motion to one side ani. permit him
to enter. They then resume their former \ isition and
he, arrayed in new raiment, surveys the road. He
notes— perhaps woiideniigly^~0uit here tiie travelers
do not strive for a good piece of the roadway; each
has his allotted space in which to walk and wishes no
more, their time, evidently, being fully occupied with
keeping of that in order. Greatly int«%sted, he
Htches tlKHi as witii stately tread and even step they
move along, clearing as they go the way before them,
for no destroying object is permitted to grow here.

"With confidence he takes his place in the road and
begins the journey. He marvels, as he proceeds, at
the ccnttinued fre«li greenness of the fruit growing up-
on the branches of the trees ; and it is not long before
he discovers that its all-sustainii^ qualities are bom

190 Thg Success of Failwf

of the seed of Truth and tiiat all alike may partake
of it. Witib tfie head-gardeners, Love and Execution,
he is fast becoming acquainted, imbibing the knowl-
edge they impart with great avidity ; for to this knowl-
edge, he learns, can be imputed the good understand-
ing existing among his fdlow-travdlers, producing
their mutual respect f<a> eadi odier. Here, he realins.
if anywhere, the human family bectmies the divine
family, the old is exchange for the new and the bad
for the good.

"As he is nearing the end. he turns and lodes back
and, standing in the golden-hued autumn of life, con-
cludes that the road to Good was a beautiful one ; the
knov^'ledge it imparted spoke of tiie uifinite, tliat man*
kind, as the Got&iead, is <me, and the understandmg
of that oneness makes the fruit of the road to Good
immortal."

"And my little Ronald is to be a traveller upon that
road!" exclaimed Hannah, her hands tightly clasped
in her lap and her face reflecting, in a great measure,
the wcmderful light which iUununml the doctor's face
as he fini^ed speaking. "I am so glad, so gladl No
oflier road woaM I willingly have chosen for him."

The doctor smiled quizzically down into her eyes
which still remained fascinatingly fixed upon his face.

A Talk with Dorothy

191

"You are a wise mother," he said. "And we will
r ^ eak ef this again. But now I must attend to

mail."
"Can I help you?"

"Yes," replied he, rising to his feet and turning to
leave the room. "I shall be glad if you will do m>"

ami, walking quickly over to his desk, he pttUed out lint
oIia:r which stood in front of it and sat down.

i iannah immediately rose from her seat and followed
him.

"While I am reading this one," said he, tearing open
an envelope and removing its cmitents, "you n»y qpen
the rest of these, and with a gende movement of his
disengaged hand the doctor pudttd a neat pile of
letters to one side of his desk.

"X'ery well," and Hannah drew a chair to that side
of the desk and sat down.

In lesA tiian half-an-faour tiie letters wen opened and
read and marked for reply, and Hannah was walkiny
back to her office carrying them in her hand.

As she disappeared through the door-way, the
doctor arose from his chair and walked to the window.
A glance informed him that his automobile, with John's
motionless figure in the front seat, stood at the curb.
He tapped lightly upon the window-pane, and un-

Thi; Success of Failure

hcfitatingly John's head turned in the direction of the
sound. A nod and smile of recogiiition accompanied
with a look which fell not short of being brotherly
passed between the two mm. Doctor Rom then left
the window and begtn to prefMre for his round of
morning calls, and his servant turned hit hnd ftway
and looked straight ahead.

CHAPTER XV

PlAlf K &^TU8 TUB ROCTITAL OF THB MBIT MBTR

THE office-door opened, and Doctor Ross raised his
eyes enqvfrirjgly.
"Oh, if • yott, FfMik,'* he said, with a smile, as he

rose to his feet.

"Yes," said Frank, ttep^ ia and dodng the door
behind him.

"Ghd to see you, old feUow," said the doctor, ex-
tending hif hand as he crossed the room to meet him.
"How are you?" and he shook the hand Frank placed

in his warmly. "Take a seat, and just as soon as I
have finished reading this," holding up th aper in
his left hand, "IH be right with you."

Frank smiled and nodded in reqjonse, but instead
of sitting down he waflced over to *he window and
looked out.

The doctor went back to his seat and resumed the
reading of the paper. It was soon read and, after
placing it in the hiside pocket of his coat, he got up
and walked over to the window where Frank stood
and laid a hand upcm each of his shoulders.

193 '

194

The Success of FaUure

At theii touch, Frank immediately turned around.

"Well, doctor," said he, with a wan smile, "I've come
over to give up my job."

"What for?" calmly asked the doctor. "Sit down
and let us talk it over."

"There isn't any use, as far as I can see," stud
Frank, wearily sinking down into the nearest chair.

"Perhaps you can't see very well," said the doctor,
seating himself on a cliair op|)osite.

"Perhaps not," replied Frank, with a mournful shake
of his head. "But, for that matter, I have teamed I
am not the only one so afflicted."

"What made yoti conclude to give up your w(^?
Not the inability to secure patients, surely?"

"No, I can't say it was that exactly," said Frank
hesitatingly. "The truth is," he Unrted out, "I am
too sick, myself, to sedc any furtlier,'* and his head
sank into his hands.

"My poor Frank," said the doctor, and the notes of
the paternal and maternal blended in his voice.

From Frank's lips came a dismal moan.

"If I were tiie only one ao affected, I bdieve I could
stand it," said he, raisii^ his head ; "but my quest for
patients has opened my eyes to the fact that the whole
world is infected with this same terrible sickness, and
the worst of it all is it seems to be oUivious of tiw
fact**

Frank Enters the Hospital

195

"Your work, then, has not been without its compen-
sati(Mi ; you have learned sometiiing."

"I can't say, though, that I altogether value the
kuuv\ ledge," replied Frank, with a sickly smile.

'No? Why?"

"Becawse the compensation derived from a painful
knowledge is never pleasant."

"Not if it be true?"

"I can't see that the falsity or truth of a coodttkm
makes the result any the less terrible."

"The trouble with you, Frank," said the doctor,
smiling gravely, "is that the truth terrifies you. Never
before have you beheld her in all of her nakedness, and
lier no-compromising presence fills you with alarm.
In your pursuit of patients, she has permitted you to
lode through her cl«ar lenses, and you are appalled to
find tlie same sickness within yourself that you ex>
pected to find in others. Also, you know conditions to
be what they are and not what they seem, and they
irighten you. And that is not surprising. However,
there is a fear that is productive of health and a com-
placency that breeds disease. Now ten me just how
}ou feel."

"H»w I feel," said Frank languidly ; "words would
fail to tell you how I feel. I am sick," shaking his head
forlornly. "I am woefully and awfully sick, that is
all I can tell you."

196

The Success of Failure

"But how does the sickness affect you?" persisted
the doctor. "Surely, you can describe some of the

symptoms."

"It affects me all over," replied Frank weakly. "I
am like an old machine with all of its parts astray,
and being so badly scattered about among the rubbish
they are not to be found, even though I had the in-
clination to look for them, which I have not."

"By that, you mean to say, I suppose, you have lort
all interest in life?"

"I fail to see anything in it for me."

"I am glad to hear you say that."

"You are," replied Frank, momentarily interested
and then leaning wearily back in his chair. "Iwi't that
a rather Strang statonent for a {Aysidan to make ?"

"Is it?" returned the doctor, with a low musical
laugh. "Then, perhaps, it would be well for me to
explain the meaning of it."

"Very well," indifferently replied Frank.

"To meet the needs of the human body with which
man is endowed," said the doctor, "that body is pro-
vided with a human appetite, the individual satisfying
of which means the continuation of the representation
of existii^ humanity ; that is, each member as it enters
the human family and continues therein is required to
eat the nourishment needed for the sustenance of his
or her individual human-body, no other member being

Frank Enters the Hospital 197

able to perform that office. To iIlustrate,-No mother
no matter how great may be the love she bears for her
child can eat or drink for him the substance required
for the growth of his human-body. If he is to grow
he must swallow the food that is put into his mouth.'
Nor can she take for him the exercise needed for his
physical devetepment. He must stretch out the baby-
arms squirm kick and creep to strengthen the tiny
baby-body, ,f, later on, he is to become a walkuw
perpendicular human-self. So it is with the unfoldir^
of thatinfantile mentality; he must do his own think-
ing. The controlKng force of that body is ever in-
dividualistic and gives its rights to no other.

"As it is with the human-dress of the chfld." he con-
toued. so it is with the child expressed in the dress.
He, too is endowed with an appetite, and his represen-
tation depends upon the nourishment he receives To
g:row, he must eat, and to eat he must be fed; to ex-
pand, he must exercise, and time and wfllingness mnst
be given to that exercise. The unfolding of that won-
derful understanding, means a life lived with its great-
er understanding, if the life is to be active and fulfill
'ts purpose. To neglect ^ese thmgs, deeming them
of non-importance, is to cause his impoverishment
causing a blindness, which, in turn, produces an in-
difference to growth and an unwiUingness to know or
understand."

198 The Success of Failure

"Well, " said Frank, making a feeble attempt to ap-
pear interested, "what has all this got to do with me?"
"Everything, for it is the cause of your sickness."
"The cause of my sickness?" queried Frank, be-
wildered. "Explain further, I don't quite understand."

"No ; and it is going to be difficult to make you un-
derstand," replied the doctor, sadly. "You are suffer-
ing from soul paralysis, caused by the continued in-
action of the life-controlling force."

"What in thunder are you talking about, doctor?"
asked Frank, becoming irritated. "No man living
ever lived any cleaner life than I have. What do you
mean to insinuate ?"

"I am not finding fault with the way in which you
take care of 'yo"'' coat of skin,'* Frank," said the
doctor, sootI.ingly, "for you have taken excellent care
of it; the trouble is, it has outgrown you. It has be-
come your master and you its slave. At its 'come,'
you follow ; at its command of 'no further,' you stand
still. So varied and multitudinous have been its de-
mands that all of your time has been taken up in en-
deavoring to meet them; so busy have you keen you
have hardly been aware that you had an appetite ; so
intently have you listened to its voice you have nearly
lost the use of > our own. In striving to find a suitable
place for its well-being and growth, you have disre-
garded those higher tilings necessary for your own

Gen. iii, ai.

Frank Enters the Ho^pUal

199

growth and well-being. The result is, you are sick
and need treatment."

"Well, what do you prescribe?" asked Frank.

That you enter the Hospital of The New Birth for
treatment.

"You think, then, there is hope?"

"Undoubtedly."

"When do you advise me to apply for admittance?"

"Now, this afternoon. You may come with rae and
I will see you are admitted."

"What time are you going over ?"

"I am due there at two o'clock, but as there is
nothing here to keep me, Jdin might as well take ui
right over," and the doctor rose and put on his hat and
coat.

"What do they charge a day in the ward?" asked
Frank as they were going out

"Don't let that concern you," said the doctor, put-
ting his arm in a friendly way through Frank's arm as
tliey went down the steps. "I am rv^spon.'ible for any
expense you may incur there. You are still in my
employ, yon know."

"It's very good of you doctor." mu^nured Frank,
preceding the doctor into the automobile.

The doctor's response was a heavy sigh as he sat
down beside him.

"What's the meaning of the sigh, doctor?" asked

300

The Success of FaUwre

Frank as the automobile began to make its way down
the street.
The doctor smiled.

"In your present condition, you wouldn't understand
if I should tell you," he said.
"I might try."

"Well, then, it is your inability to recognize me."
"Oh. is that all," replied Frank, laying his hand

affectionately upon the doctor's shoulder. "Don't lot
that worry you ; for. T can tell you, I consider you the
best fellow I ever knew."

"Thank you," replied the doctor gravely.

"What kind of a hospital is the Hospital of The New
Birth ? " asked Frank. "Is it a private or a public in-
stitution ?"

"It is both ; yet not in the sense that you understand
the words to imply," replied the doctor smiling. "That
is, there are no private rocmis to be obtained for any
consideration. All the rooms are alike and are used
as needed and, therefore, wards are not necessary. In
this hospital, no undergraduate nurses are employed;
they must all be graduates and are required to accord
to all patients the same attention. The treatment is
private, no one but the Great Physician and the patient
bein.g present. Admission, too, must be sought private-
ly, the requirement, being the desire and willingness
of the patient to be made anew."

Frank Enters the Hospital

201

"That sounds good," replied Frank, thoughtfully.
"It would just be my luck, though, to get over there
and then be told that for every room there was an
occupant and, therefore, there was no room for me."

"Have no fear of that, Frank," assured the doctor.
"There is never any lack of room in that hospital. Its
doors are always open, and a welcome awa'ts all they
who seek to entw.'*

"There's no overcrowding, then," said Frank, with a
si?:!i of relief ; "that's a blessing. What school is re-
sponsible for its founding and continuance?"

"The School of the New Born. You will be eligible
for membership after you have taken the cottrse of
treatment prescribed by the Doctor at the Hospitri."

"What is the treatment?" asked Frank, betraying a
slight uneasiness.

"If you would appreciate the result," replied the
doctor, smilingr enigmaticaHy, "you musf experience
the treatment."

"To be well, it seems to me," exclaimed FnuOc, "I
would submit to any treatment."

"That's Ae way to talk," retarned the Aoci t. "Here
we are," and the automobile turned into a road that
led up to a large, pure-white stone building. When it
reached the foot of the steps leading to the entrance it
stopped, and the doctor alighted.

"This is the place," said he, "come on, Frank."

ao2 . The Success of Failure

"All rig^t," slowly rq)lied Frank, his mind not en-
tirely free frmn doubt as he rose a trifle rrioctaatly

from his seat and followed the doctor up the short
flight of steps. When they reached the top and stood
upon the threshold, Frank paused and turned and for
the moment hesitated. As he did so, he waa Mtrprtsed
to see the form of a man, decre{Mt and old, wh^se face
strangely resembled his own, standing beside him.
Pitifully pleading were the eyes in the aged face up-
raised to his in their voiceless entreaty that he should
go no further; eager were tfie taking, outstretched
arms in their wordless beseeching that he should not
utterly and entirely forsake and abandon their owner.
Frank's heart sank within him as he stood there sadly
contemplating the feeble, trembling figure, and he
questioned seriously whetiier he ritould, or should iM>t,
leave this old man to the loneliness and infirmities of
old age. But the gentle pressure of the doctor's hand
upon his arm decided the question for him, and he
knew that he must ; there was no other way. So, with
a last I'^g lock, into the dim eyes of tiie grief-rent,
wrinkled face and with a gesture of utter helplessness,
Frank bade it a mute farewell and passed with the
doctor through the open-door, perceiving not, as he
went, that the aged face and form of the self he left
behind was bdng gentiy consumed by tiie golden l^fht
^at dione frmn the pwtals wi;hin.

Prmtk Bnttri the HoipM

ao3

Farther we cannot go. Would we, if we could?
Would we know tiie meuiing of abtdute newneu, tiie
abandcming of the oldness of the old for the newness
of the new, the putting of new wine in new bottles;
the replacing of old institutions with the new; not
the intermingling of old with new, not the putting of
new whie ta dd botties, ''nor tlie mendii^ of dd gar-
ments with tile new" ? If we would, tiicn wilb a little
tiiinking we may. To have a new order, a new society,
we must have a new creature, and not one but all must
experience the treatment of the Hospital of The New
Birth.

CHAPTER XVI

DOCTOK SOSS KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT WITH DOKOTHY

"J THINK that's Doctor Ross, Bertha," said Dorothy
1 as the bell rang. "If it is, tell him to step into
my room and I'll be in in a very few minutes."

"Very well, ma'am," said Bertha, and she stepped
out to open the door.

"Good-morning, Bertha," said Doctor Ross, for, as
Dorothy had predicted, it was he. "Is Miss Ridbard*
son in ?"

"Yis, sah," replied Bertha, with a broad smile. "She's
'spectin' yo', sah, an' told me to ax yo' to step into
her room an' she would be right in."

"Thank you," ' nd his tall form, with its stooped
shoulders, passed on up the hall.

"It's the doctor, ma'am," announced Bertha when
she returned to the kitchen.

"I thought so," said Dorothy, not troubling to turn
her head and keq>ing rig^t (hi witfi what die was do-
ing, counting and sorting soiled clothes for tiie laundry.
"Now," as she placed the last piece in the hamper with

304

Doctor Ross Keeps His Appointment aos

the list on top, "this is all ready for anyone that

comes.'

"I'll attend to it, ma'am," said Berth.., and Dorothy,
with a "thank you," walked out of the kitdMn.

"It's awfully good of you to come over so early.
Bob," were the words with which she greeted Doctor
Ross as she sat down beside him upon the couch.
"And I am very glad for I have so much to tell you."

"About your difficulties?^ queried he, nniling.

"Yes; and to add to iStam I find tiiat Mr. Thomp-
son's bed was not slept in last nig^t. The last time I
saw him was a little before noon yesterday, and then
he looked far from well. I am afraid something r-r-
rible has happened to him."

"Something has happened to him," said the doctor
quietly, "he is sick and in the hospital. But there is
no cause for alarm," added he assturinc^y, "Iot he will
soon be well."

"Why did he go to a hospital?" asked Dorpthy,
much concerned. "I am sure he would have been just
as well-off here. I hate to thmk of any immte of the

'home-living place' being in a hospital."

"And yet it was the only thing for him to do."

"What makes you so sure of that, Bob?"

"Because he needed a treatment entirely different
from any you could give him, Dorothy," replied the

ao6

The Success of Failure

doctor, laying his hand gently over one ol heri lying
in her lap.

"I would have done my best," said Dorothy, per-
mitting her hand to rest quietly under his. "Surely,
you cannot ask any more."

"No; nor do I ask that of you, Dorothy. Thomp-
son's sickness is one which your best could nev.
cure."

"But yours and mine might," suggested Dorothy

gravely.

"United, yes; but separate and apart, never."

Dorothy sighed and leaned back wearily against die
\a.ck of the coudi.

"Do you know, Bob,*' said she, "sometiniet I wish
we were united."

"And at oCier times you are glad we are not, I
suppose."

"Yes; when I am confronted with conditions into
which you would not fit at all, I am g^d. Conditaons,
regrettable perhaps, and yet, nevertiieless, knpoasible

to do without."

"Poor Dorothy," said the doctor sighing, "don'l
you know that any condition which is deemed regret-
taWe should be done without?"

"And if it is, another as bad will spring up."

"Then that, too, should be done without."

Dorothy did not reply and the doctor ccmtintted:

Doctor Ross Keeps his Appointment

Aii that 'offends or makes weak' should be up-
looted and cast out. The attitude that tolerates one
evil for fear a worse may come is a dangerous one, for
in its pitiful if[iionnce it fosters the parent of many
succeeding evils."

That's all very well," replied Dorothy impatiendx.
•But who is able to do this? I am not"
"I am."

•You, Bob! then why don't you do it r

"Because my time has not come. When it does, no

evil can behold my face and live."
"ilow long must we wait?"

"Until the human family awakens to the realization
of its great need of me. But now tell me something
of your difficulties/' said he, pattii^ her hand en-
couragingly.

"It's too bad to bother you with my troubles, Bob,"
replied Dorothy, raising a pair of tired e}es hesita-
tingly to his face.

' I understand, Dorothy," said the doctor sympathet-
icaliy. "I know you would not do so if there were
any possible way of overcoming them without my
assistance."

That's just it. Bob," replied Dorothy with a weary
»y^..\. "But my difficulties have grown until tiicy are
pusitiyely alarming. They are becoming more numer-
f us every day, and I really don't know where they

208

The Success of Failure

begin and am afraid to think wnere they may end.
Sometimes I question the advisability of going on, and
then, again, i am doubtful of the consequence if I
should go back."

"Poor Dorothy, but what do you think is your
greatest difficulty?"

"I don't know, Bob, but I think it is the dissatis-
faction that stalks with me at every step," replied
Dorothy. "No one is satisfied; all think they »re de-
serving of more than they receive, and not any but
long for more and more of this world's goods."

"I see, their lives are one continual wish."

"Yes, and try as I may, I am unable to meet all of
their demands."

"And you wonder why, I suppose?"

"Yes, I do."

"And you would like me to tell you, is that it?"
"Yes, if you can."

"Because you can only fill part of the requirements

of a condition, is one of the reasons, Dorothy. Some-
one else is needed to fill the other part. Without this
someone's aid, the work is only partly done and pro-
duces an incomplete Service."

"I must confess, Bob," said Dorothy sadly, "my
work, in many respects, is woefully disappointing."

"It is bound to be so. Dorot'iy," said the doctor,
rising from the couch and I c.-^inninT to walk leisurely

Doctor Ross Keeps His Appointment 209

up and down the room, "when you prohibit some<Mie,
whose right it is, to do his part of the work."

"Then to do away with all of this dissatisfaction,"
queried she, "I must marry you."

"Yes, Dorothy"; it is the only way,"

Dorothy did not reply immediately but sat thought-
fully silent for several minutes, then she said :

"I wish I could feel as sure in my mind as you do.
Bob, that the only tiling needed to perfect my servi^ is
this union with you. But, candidly, I must say, I have
grave doubts."

"They will all disappear after we are married," said
the doctor, and he stopped in his walk and smiled con-
fidently down upon her. "And the wonder of it all
will be that you ever had any."

"I wish I could believe so," said Dorothy, with a
doubtful shake of her head.

"I know so," emphatically said the doctor.

"What, then, will become of my limne-ltvii^
place'?"

"You never succeeded in establishing such a place,
Dorothy," replied the doctor, sitting down beside her.
"You hoped to do so, but in reality all you have been
able to do is to build a more or less charitable institu-
tion and, under present conditions, it can never be
aught else, for, to establish a 'home-living place' with-
out ine is an impossibility."

2IO

The Success of Failure

"Why an impossibility?" imperatively demanded
Dorothy.

"Because we are so constituted we cannot perform
any perfect work independently; we art absolutely
necessary to each oth« r and "

"It is utterly impossible to render a service complete
without you," interrupted Dorothy sharply.

"That is true," said the doctor quietly. "Why, then,
do you hesitate, Dorothy ? Don't you want to render
a service perfect and complete?"

"Indeed I do, Bob," she replied, very earnestly.
"But," throwing out her hands helplessly, "how can
I?"

"By permitting me to pull half of the load."
"Yes, but I should have to abandon my road for
yours," complained she.
"You would."

"However," thoughtfully said she, "I don't believe I
should obje .t to that, if I were sure as much could be
accomplished along that way."

"Ah, Dorothy," exclaimed the doctor, "how piti-
fully ignorant you are of my road! After you have
travelled it," laying his hand affectionately upon her
shoulder, "you'll ne'er forsake 't for another. Results
unheard of and undreameJ of by you are achieved
there ; life in all its richness and beauty is lived there,
and is disemed by aH an enjoyaUe and an ever eadurn^

Doctor Ross Keeps His Appointment 211

fact. Humanity, with all of its unpurchasable rights,
is found there, and human waste is unknown. Believe
nie, my dear, if I did not know it to be in every way
superior to the one you are travelling, I would not ask
you to make the change."

"How is it, Bob," asked Dorothy, wrinkling her
forehead into a puzzled frown, "that you are so
cognizant of all the defects of my road while I am un-
:ible to appreciate the advanti^ of yours?"

"It is because you have so pernstently lodced in the
one direction. For that reason you are unable to see
or appreciate any other and, naturally, conclude there
is no other."

"And what will render the seeing of the other pos-
sible?"

"Our marriage."

"Is there no other way?"

"There is no other way, Dorothy."

Then, resignedly, "I suppose I shali ;.ave to

submit."

"Rut there is a condition."
"What is it?"

"You must grant me tm{^cit obedtenee."

"Well, that is something to consider," Mid DcMOthjr,
thouc^htfully raising her eyes to his face.
"This obedience will not be grievous, I assure you,

212

The Success of Failure

Dorothy, and in the course of time will be to you a
crown of enduring glory."

"What will be the outcome if I continue my present
course?"

"Disquietude, unrest, unhappiness— and then utter
destruction."

"And that is my destiny if I persist in taking my
own road?" queried Dorothy, her head bent and her
eyes fixed intently upon the rug at her feet.

"It is."

"And what after Aat?"

"Out of the chaos will come a greater wisdom than
yours, Dorothy — a wisdom born from the knowledge
gained from the many years spent in the school of
Service. She will not scorn nor question the taking of
my road, for she will recognize it as being the only
way, knowing that all other roadways can lead but to
one place — the city of desolation and despair. But,
surely, this need not be, for I love you, Dorothy. The
love with which I would surround you, I know is far
beyond your ken or understanding. It is great in its
depth, wonderful in its power and unmeasurable in its
contents. All that is necessary to make all things pos-
sible unto you, is to accept it. Why, then, do you
hesitate?"

"I wouldn't, Bob," wailed she, "If I could only be-

Doctor Ross Keeps His Appointment 213

lieve it, but I cannot ; and that, to me, is the most hope-
less thing about it all."

"Your unbelief?"

"Yes."

"Have your difficulties taught you lU^ing, then?"

Dorothy did not reply, and the doctor continued :
"True belief is based upon a knowledge of facts;

therefore, I do not ask you to believe but 'to taste

and try.' "

"Yes, but this is a case of buying before 'tastii^^ and

trying,' " replied Dcm^y, fretfully.

"Which makes you rather doubt the advisability of
deserting a known condition, although it has proven
entirely unsatisfying, for one unknown, even though
it promises to prove, in every Mray, satisfying?"

"That's it. Bob, it promises to, but I am not sure
that it w ill. Frove to me that it will, and I will marry
you without further delay."

"I cannot, Dorothy," replied the doctor, sadly shak-
ing his head. "The proof of it is dependent upon our
union."

"Then, I suppose." said she, reluctantly, "I must
consent to it," and, rising to her feet, she walked wiUi
faltering step over to the window and looked out.

"If you would be happy, you must," replied the
doctor, standing up. "Bat, I can assure you, you will

The Success of Failure

never regret it," and he stepped quickly over to where
she stood.

"Let us hope so," said she, looking up at him with a
vi an smile.

"What a doubtful Dorothy," said the doctor, smiling
gravely down upon her. "Never mind, this life of
hoping and doubting will soon be at an end tor you,"
and he stooped over and tenderly kissed her quivering
Ups.

"I can't help it, Bob, I've lived so long in a sea of
doubt. But, I want to tell you this, if I must marry,
I am rather glad it is you, for I know Margaret will
be pleased."

"I am afraid not," said tlie doctor, gently placing his
ams around her.

"Because you persist in retaining Hannah Thomp-
son in your employ?"

"Yes."

"Well, I can't see how that can be remedied. I con-
sider Margaret's attitude in that particular instance
decidedly unreasonaWe and tmfair."

"Yes, indeed," agreed the doctor. "However,
Ik>rothy, when you are my wife, you will understand
and appreciate very much better than you do now why
it is impossible for anything like fairness to exist
within her."

Doctor R9SS Kttps His Appomtment 315

"Oh, I don't know, Bob," said she, "I can hardly
t)elieve she is at bad as all that"

"No? WeU, perhaps, after you have imparted your
news to her, her attitude toward you may cause you
to alter your opinion."

"Why, I don't understand you, Bob!" exclaimed
Dorothy, surprisedly, "for our marriage is the very
thing she has been trying so long to bring about"

"Ah! but that was before she decided to cart me
out," said the doctor, smiling enigmatically.

"I see, and if I marry you she will cast me out ?"

"Yes ; but don't permit that to cause you any anxiety,
for it will end, unfortunately for her, in the oWitcra-
tion of hersdf ."

"PoOT Margaret," said Dorothy, sorrowfully, "I am
not willing to believe that such an unh^py fate awaits
her."

"But it does," said the doctor decisively, "and, like-
wise, to all they who cast me out"

"Anyway," said Dorothy, sadly, "I shall go over
and bid her goodby tomorrow morning."

"Yes, I should do that," advised the doctor. "But
now I must be off. Can you be ready by four o'clock
tomorrow afternoon, Dorothy?"

"You mean to be married thenr

"Yes."

ai6 The Success of Faihtre

"I suppose if it has to be, it might as weU be then
as any other time. Yes, I'll be ready."

"All right, I'll be here about fifteen minutes before
four," said the doctor, and he picked up his coat from
the back of a chair and thrust his hands into its
sleeves. "It is useless, now, to tell you how happy I
shall make you," said he, as he took his hat from the
table, "but you will see," and bending over he toudied
Dorothy's forehead lightly wiA his lips.

"It will not be because you do not try, I know that,"
said she, as she turned and followed him to the door.

"I shall not only try, but I shall succeed," said he,
opening the door and stepping into the hall. "Gooby,
Dorothy."

"Goodby, Bob," said she, and he hurried through
the hall and down the stairs, and Dorothy, suddenly
feeling weak and old, closed the door and went back
to her ro(»n to think.

CHAPTER XVII

DOROTHY BIDS DOCT(» AND MSS. OOBDON FAIBWKLL

THE next morning, in the middle of the forenoon,
found Dorothy ascending the brown-stone steps
leading to the handsome dweUing belonging to Doctor
and Mrs. Gordcm. In reqxmse to her ring of the bell,
the door was opened by a neatly attired maid.

"Good-momiiq^, Sarah," said Dorothy, "is Mrs.
' on in?"

. is, ma'am," replied Sarah, her pleasant face
lighting up witii a smile as she stepped to one
of the doorway to permit Dorothy to enter. Thai
closing the door, she led the way to a room on one
side of the hall, where, at a desk, sat Mrs. Gordon
busily eng,.ged in answering the morning's mail.
"Miss Richardscm, ma'am,** annotmced Sarah.
"Well, of all things, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon,
quickly raising her head, "what brings you over this
morning?" Then she called after the maid, whose
receding steps could be heard in the hall, "Sarah, Miss
Richardson will be here itxt hrndteon.**
"Very well, ma'am,** answered bade Sarah.

9VJ

3l8

The Success of Failure

"Sit over there, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, motion-
ing with her hand to a rocking-chair a short distance
from where she sat, "and III soon be throagh. Ill
just finish this letter," tapping with her finger a sheet
of paper !> ing in front of her ; "'the others can wait."

"Yes. don't let me disturb you," said Dorothy, sit-
ting down. "I can wait till you arc through," and she
proceeded to remove her hat and coat, laying thein on
a chair close by.

"You don't appear to be in as good spirits as usual.
Dorothy," remarked Mrs. Gordon as she resumed her

writing. .
"No?" replied Dorothy, leaning back m her chair

and jT^zing meditatively at the wall.

"Well, now," said Mrs. Gordon, after a silence of
three or four minutes, "this is finished and I am
through for the present," and laying down her pen
she blotted the newly written tetter. "The others ni
attend to this afternoon," added she, smiling over at
Dorothy as she folded up the letter and inserted it in
its addressed envelope and tossed it to the rear of her
desk, where it lav quiverinfif among several others.

"It's nothing serious, is it. Dorothy, that has brought
you over?" asked she, rising from her chair and walk-
ing leisurely over to where Dorothy sat.

"That ali depends upon what you would consider
serious. Margaret," replied Dorothy, lifting her face

D&rothy Bids Fttnwta

to receive Mrs. Gordon's kiss. "Bob does not think
so, but you may. He and I are to be married this after-
noon at four o*6oik.**

"What !" almost screamed Mrs. Gordon incredulous-
ly, stepping back and her face darkening. "That is
not possible?"

"But it is, Margaret, quite possible," replied Dor-
othy, smfling feebly. **Sit down, and I wiU teU you all
about it. But, first, tell me why it is impossible? Is
not this the very thii^ y<M» have been urging me to
do?"

"It is," said Mrs. Gordon, frowning perplexedly,
"but that was before the Hannah Thompson affair,"
and sl» stooped down and removed Dorothy's hat
and coat from the cha" to the foot of the couch.
"Since then, I have considt ed such a union totally
out of the question," and, pulling the chair fcH^rd
a little, she sat down. "What induced you to consent
to it ? Your work, I understood, (Hrohibited all thought
of such a thing."

"Until very recently I believed so, too, Margaret;
but now I utt reluctantly compdkd to ccmchute iSaaX
perhaps its well-being and continuance is solely de-
pendent upon it."

"What caused you to arrive at such a conclusion ?"

"My many difficulties," answered Dorothy wearily.
"Instead of diminishing, as J beUcved they would, they

The Success of failure

have steadily increaied. Imked," helplessly, "tiiey
have grown to such proportions, they are, at Ae pres-
ent time, beyond niy control."

"And you are foolish enough to believe that this
union wUl enable you to control tiiem,*' said Mrs.
Gordon, surpr'sedly.

"I cannot say positively it will, I can only hope so."

"Something more sub?tatitial than hope is neces-
sary, Dorothy, for the happy constunmation of such

* H

a nuumai^.

"Perhaps so," replied Dorothy dolefully; "yet it is
better to begin with that than nothing."

"Why begin at all ?" asked Mrs. Gordon with a grim
nnile.

"Because diere does not appear to be any dhor

way."

"In other words, it is your last chance."

"You may put it that way, if yoi' like," replied
Dorothy, smiling weakly, "but that is jtist it."

"Even so," said Mrs. Gordon, imfntioitly, "I can t
see that that is any reason for your marrying. You
are not the only one who has lived to see the end of
theiv day without the aid of matrimony."

"But diat's just it," said Dorothy, aroused Iran
her apathy, "I don't want to see the end of my day.
I am entering into matrimony ior the preservation
of it."

Dorothy Bids Farewell

"For the preservation of it," repeated Mrs. Gordon,
puzzled. "Do you expect tc live always?"

"I do not know that I expect to," replied Dorothy
slowly ; "but I do know there is nothing I so mnch de-
sire as to live always."

' And this contemplated union, you believe, makes
that possible?"

"It offers the prospect and, just now, I ask no
more."

"It will prove too great an assimilation, I am afraid
you will find, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, dubiously
shaking her head, "and you will have little voice in
the many ^ii^s which govern your life. For your
own good, I atoof^y advise you to recmuiiter your
decision."

"I have, Margaret. I have considered and recon-
sidered until I am heart-sick and weary, but I can
see no other way. A vdce, which will not be stilled,
keeps saying in answer to my many questicms : 'This
is the way, walk ye in it.' "

"Nonsense," crossly replied Mrs. Gordon. "You
are simply weak, that is all, and cannot withstand the
greater infitience."

"D<m't be cross, Margaret," pleaded Dorothy. "I
am sure you would not if you understood the situation
better."

"Perhaps not, but it ^)esn't make me fed any too

222

The Success of Failure

^ood-natured to know I am going to lose you," re-
plied Mrs. Gordon irritably.

"Surely, that is not necessary."

"You forget at four o'clock this aftemowi you and
Bob are to becwne <me," reminded Mrs. Gordon.

"What difference does that make?" asked Dorothy,
her eyes opening wide.

"All the difference in the world," replied Mrs.
Gordon, sadly. "After that, your foes will be his
and his yours. It no longer will be I, but we; not
mine, but ours."

"What of that ? Surely a reconciliation between you
and Bob is not impossible. Why not let this union
be the means of bringing it about?"

"I wish it might, but there is only one conditioB
which could make that possible."

"The discharging of Hannah Thompson?"

"Yes."

"But, Margaret, think how cn^l and unfair that
would be. Bob would not be true to htmsdf if he could

do such a thing."

"Perhaps not, but he would be true to me."

"And false to himself," replied Dorothy with a faint
smile. "I cant imagine Bob ever beuig tliat*'

"Which will make him very uncomfortable to Uv«
with, I am of the opinion. Dorothy."

"Poor Margaret." said Dorothy, bending forward

Dorothy Bids Farewell

223

and laying her hr ad upon one of Mrs. Gordon's, "you
do not understan .."

"Don't I? Welj \\ell see. Anyway, I advise you
to keep your sympathy for >ourself ; you will need it,
Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, witii a smile whidi, Dor-
othy thought, made her handsome face for the mo-
ment positively ugly. "I will endeavor to live without
either of you."

"Am I to conclude, then, that in the casting out of
Bob, you also cast me cmt?" adced Dorothy, her lips
trembling.

"You will soon be one, will you not, Dorothy r

"Yes."

"That, then, answers your question," replied Mrs.
Gordon, rising and pushing back her chair. "How-
ever. I should be glad, Dorothy, if you would stay
and take luncheon with me; it will be, I am sorry to
say, for the last time. Here is Douglas. He will, I
know, be interested in your news."

"Well, well, Dorothy, how-do-you-do?" said Doctor
Gordon, smilii^, as he came into the room, "' /hat
fortunate circumstance is responsible for your pres-
ence here this morning?" and he crossed the room
quickly and took the hand she extended. "Feeling
pretty well?" asked he, as he rdeased her hand.

224

The Success of Failure

"Nothing to boast of, Douglas," refiied she, suiil-
ingly lodcing up at him as she leaned back in her chair.

"Sit down, Douglas," commanded Mrs. Gordon.
"Dorothy has some interesting news for you."

"Have you, Dorothy?" inquired the doctor, seating
himself in the chair Mrs. Gordon had just vacated.
"Something good, I suppose ?"

A &int cdor came into Dorothy's cheeks and ^read
over her face, and she b^n to feel decidedly unctmi-
fortable tmder the scrutiny of the doctor's kindly
blue eyes.

"Tell him. Dorothy," said Afrs. Gordon, moving
slowly toward the door, "and let him decide," her keen
eyes noting with no little inward degree of satisfaction
Dorothy's increasing discomfiture. "I'll have to ask
you to excuse me, however," added she, "while I make
a trip to the dining-room to see how far luncheon has
progressed in its preparation."

"What is it, Eterothy?" asked the doctor as Mrs.
Gordon stepped tiirough the doorway and descoided
a long flight of stairs.

"Something of which I think you will approve,"
replied she. "Bob and I are to be married at four
o'clock this afternoon."

"To be married at four o'clock this afternoon !" re-

Dorothy Bids ForewtU

335

peated Docto Gordon, very much surprised. "Why,
Dorothy, I thought your work prohibited you from
even contemplating such a thing. How did tiiis change
of mind comt about ? Sturdy, you did not p«init your-
self to be over-persuaded?"

"No, I can't say that I did," refuted die, regarding
Doctor Gordon with a pair of very grave eyes. "To
my mind it is the culmination of many disquieting
facts."

"What do you mean by that. Dorothy?" asked Hit
doctor, kMldi^ puzzled.
"This," rqdied Don^y, her voice tremUing: "to

my sorrow and regret, I have failed to fulfill the pur-
pose and boast of my life ; that is, to establish a 'hOTie-
living j'ace' for the children of men."

"How is that, Dorothy?" queried the doctor. "I
understood you were making it more or less of a
success."

"Your understanding is at fault, I am afraid, Doug^
las," said Dorothy, with a sad shake of her head, "for
it is less of a success, by far, than I hoped it would be."

"Indeed ! Well, well, I am sorry to hear that, Dor-
othy," replied the doctor sympatiietically. "But don't
you tiiink you are a trifle pessimistic, prol^bly owing
to your poor state of health? What yoa need is a

226

The Success of Failure

tonic. Get your physician to p.\;scribe one for you.
I would gladly do so, as you know; but then, you
have never been my patient."

"I understand, Douglas," said Dorothy, I t face
pathetic in its seriousness. "However, I don't believe
I can attribute the state of affairs to my poor health ;
in fact, I am of the opinion that my ill-health is owing
to the prevailing miserable conditicms. And it is use-
less for me to ask my physician to prescribe a tonic,
for he has done so, and the one he prescribes is him-
self."

"And what do you think about it, Dorothy ?"

"I am trying not to think, Douglas, for what is the
use when I have resolved to do, trustii^ that the
rer..edy prescribed will eventually dissipate and oMit-
erate all the elements now at war ?"

"I see," said Doctor Gordon, laughing, and his blue
eyes twinkling; "you have made up your mind to be a
good patient and take your medicine, no matter how
nasty the taste."

"I intend to be an obedient patient, Douglas," said
Dorothy, trying to smile ; "and I shall not mind the
taste of the medicine if it only effects a cure."

"Which is problematical, of course," scid Doctor
Gordon. "But," hopefully, "it may be possible, after
all."

Dorothy Bids Farewell aay

"It promises to be, and I must content myself with
that for the present," said Dorothy, sighing.

"Luncheon is ready, Dorothy and Douglas," called
Mrs. Gordon from the foot of the stairs. "Come right
down."

"We'U be right down, Margaret," they called back
snnultaneously, and risii^, the doctor preceding, they

went downstairs.

"You may sit in your old place, Dorothv." said Mrs
Hordon when they entered the dining-room. Then as
she sat down at one end of the table and the doctor
took his place at the other, she tamed to the maid and

said :

-You may be excused for the present. Stay in the
kitchen and I will ring if I need you."

"Very well, ma'am," replied Sarah.

"What do you think of Dorothy's news ?" Mrs Gor-
don asked her husband when the maid had gone and
tlie door closed behind her.

"Under the circumstances, it is quite surprising."

"Is that all?" asked Mrs. Gordon, her eyes opening
H uie m amazement. "It is much more, I can aaiare
you. than that to me."

"Rather s regrettable surprise, I suppose?" inquired
thf doctor, removing with t fork a hunb chop from

238

^ The Success of Fcalme

the platter, which he phiced upon a plate and passed
to Dorodiy.

"Words are inadequate to express just how I feel
about it," replied Mrs. Gordon sharply, as she ar-
ranpred the cups and proceeded to pour out the tea.

"Oh," said the doctor soothingly, putting a chop
upon another plate and passing it, with the assistance
of Dorothy, to his wife, "it may not prove sudi a
terriUe Aing for Doro%, after all. You are far too
prone, Margaret, to take the gray view of life. You
should be more hopeful."

"Like you?" queried Mrs. Gordon sneeringly.
"Sometimes. Douglas, do you know, I believe that
optimistic view of life which you are so fond of taking
and which you so readily recommend to your wife,
of you. Everything, no matter how serious it nmy
appear, to your mind is all right, or, at any rate, will
eventually be so, if people would only train their minds
to believe it. It is. no dotibt. very pleasant to mentalk
your friends and patients, will, some day, be the death
close the eyes to the unpleasantnesses of the real and
existit^, and open them to view the delightful phan-
tasies of the unreal and non-existent. But it is not
safe. It is not possible to glide through life in any
such easy-going fashion without, sooner or later, meet-

Dorothy Bids Farewell

ing the consequences. This marital arrangement of
Dorothy's I consider positively disastrous to her, to
you and to rae."

"That sounds rather bad, doesn't it, Dorothy?" said
Doctor Gordon, smiling over at her. "But the sound,
I feel sure, will prove worse than the cause."
Dorothy forced a smile as she said :
"Should this union result unfortunately for me, 1
hope, with all my heart, its consequences may not touch
either of you. I must admit I am not entering it as
willingly as I wish I were ; it is because I must,— I can
see no other way. You, Margaret. I know, would
have me continue my struggle with the ever-accumu-
lating and insurmountable obstacles rather than risk"
a change which might prove, as you say. 'disastrous' in
its results. Douglas, you are more hopeful.— and you
must forgive me for saying what I am going to say,—
but it is because you are less interested. Your dream-
ing faith satisfies you, and you are skw to be aroused.
To yen everything is all right when reaUy It is all
wrong. Delightful companion to many upon the road
of life though you are, you are not a safe one to
follow. The crier who cries out. All is well,' knowing
not himself that all is iU, is not the one to heed. When
1 consented, at last, to Bob's earnest and persistent

230 Tfu Success of Failure

(deadii^ that I should marry him, I firmly bdteved
that it would bring about a recmidliaticm between you,

Margaret, and him; and you, Douglas, could enjoy
again the companionship of your old friend. In this, I
am pained to learn, I was mistaken. That I love you
both, I think you know, and to break a friendship of
so many, many years, I feel you cannot fail to appreci-
ate, is c(Mting me dear."

As Dorothy finished speaking, her voice broke and
she felt in her bag for her handkerchief, and, pushii^
back her plate from which she had made a pretense
at eating, she leaned back in her chair and wiped the
tears from her streaming eyes.

"Don't cry, Dorothy," said the doctor ; "everything,
no doubt, will come out much better than we an-
ticipate."

"Let her alone, Douglas," commanded Mrs. Gordon.
**A good cry will do her good," and the doct<M-

subsided.

In a few minutes Dorothy's sobs ceased, and she
wiped ^ last trace of her tears away.
"I didn't mean to do this," she said, making a pitiful

attempt to smile.

"Don't apologize, Dorothy ; I feel very ir ich the
same way, myself," said Mrs. Gordon huskily. "How-

Dorothy Bids Farnvell

ever, what must be, must be, I suppose, and we ntii^

make up our minds to bear it."

"Is a reconciliation between you and Bob so im-
possible, then ?" wistfully asked Dorothy.

"Undct present condttioiis, Dorothy, I regret to say
it is quite impossible," decidedly replied Mrs. Gordon.

"Why under the present conditions, Margaret?"
asked her husband, mystified.

"Because a reconciliation under the present condi-
tions would mean the ultimate doom of my supremacy ;
it would mean the acknowledgment of a greater force
than mine and a willingness to submit to its domina-
tion." expbined Mrs. Gordon.

"And this you cannot do because you recognize no
such force?" queried her husband.

"That is just it, exactly," replied his wife, pushing
her cup and saucer back and rising from the table.

"Bob, I am sure, would not insist upon that," said
Dorothy, as she, too, rose from the table.

"Not in words, perhaps,'* said Mrs. Gordon, ringintr
the bell for the maid and tfien leading tfie way upstairs,
"but in deeds, yes."

"I think you are mistaken, Margaret," said her hus-
band from the rear. "Indeed, I am sure you are : for
my experience with Bob has proven to me that he is

The Success of Pedlure

a mighty fine fellow. I don't claim to understand him,

altogether, but "

"No, nor no one. else," tartly interrupted Mrs. Gor-
don. "There might be some living with him if one

could."

"Come now, you are rather hard upon the poor
fellow." said her husband, laughing.

"Not a Wt more so tfian he is on me," said Mrs.
Gordon as she reached the top step and led tiie way
to the room where they had been previously sittin]?.
"How many times has he intimated that it would he
agreeable to him if I would mind my own business;
that my interference was not desired, and he would
be grateful to me if I wotdd wait tuitil it was so-
lid "'

' i-oor Bob," mused Dorothy, taking up her hat and
putting it on ; "I am beginning to believe our failure
to appreciate him is due to our lade of understanding."

"He will not he slow to improve yours, Dorotiiy,
never ' r," replied Mrs. Gordon sarcastically, as her
husbai. J picked up Dorothy's coat from the couch and
held it open for her to put her arms into its sleeves.
"You may rest assured he will see to it that you have
every opportunity to duly appreciate him. I must say
I do not envy you the experience."

"Come now, Margaret." interposed the doctor, shak-
ily his head rebuking^y at her, "the experience may

Dorothy Bids FartwiU

233

not prove so altogether unpleasant as you think. We'll
hope not, anyway," add^ J he encouragingly.

"Humk yott, Douglas," said Dorodiy, buttoxitng up
her coat.

"I suppose you think I am very hard, Dorothy," said
Mrs. Gordon, placing a hand upon each of Dorothy's
shoulders and looking down into her face with swim-
ming eyes. "If I ai^)ear so, it is only because I feel I
must; for in this union about to take place I recog-
nize, in a way you and Douglas cannot, its awful signifi-
cance. It is not easy, believe me, my dear, to bid good-
by to an old friend and stand quietly by and watch
her pass out of your life, knowing that her identity
will soon be submerged into that of another, whose
only desire and purpose is to make her unrecognizable
even to herself. Conditions, I know, must indeed
have been alarming to have nrnde you contemplate
such a stq>; but do you Aink it pomble that a mar-
riage brought about by the pressure of circumstances
can result happily ? Would it not be wiser to struggle
and fight with known conditions than to permit them
to force you into a life of which you know nothing,
and into which you admit you are about to enter un-
willingly? Is it wise to exchange a known present
for a strange and untried future? You have some
little time between now and four o'clock, and in that
time I strongly advise you to stc^ and thiide »id

Tht Succe^ii of Failure

kmg before definitely deciding to take this terriUy im-
portant and non-retreating step."

"It is useless to tell me to think, Margaret." said
Dorothy, with a hoarse laugh, "for, if thinking alone
were necesnry, I should not be here now about to bid
you goodby. I have thought and thought until my
brain reels with thought, but without a satisfactory
result. Now, come what n»y," emphatically, "I am
going to act."

"Very well, Dorothy," replied Mrs. Gordon, remov-
ing her hands and stepping bade a little; "I shall not
attempt to dissuade you further."

"Then I shall bid you goodby, Margaret," said Dor-
othy, holding out her hand and lifting her face to be
kissed; "and, in spite of what you have said, I shall
look forward to a nwetiiqf and a greetii^ between us,
some day."

"Goodby, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, stooping
down and kissing her ; "you little guess how lonely I
am going to be widK)ut you," and a tmx dropped upon
Dorothy's forehead.

"Goodby, Douglas," said Dorothy, turning to place
her hand in the doctor's outstretched palm ; "bright and
happy friend that you are, I shall miss you sadly."

"I don't tfamk you will, Dorothy,** said Doctor Gor-
don, doubtfully. "Although I am regarded by many as
being the greater physician, I know I am not. I am

Dorothy Bid* Fartwli

335

but the shadow of ^ tniini^ greater phyriciaa, aiMl

he it is with whom )our life is to be united today,
(ioodbv, Dorothy, it has been pleasant to know you,
but you will soon cease to think or speak of me. for
vou will have found in your husband one greater
than I."

And thus Dorodiy bade fmnwt^ to Coami^&on and
to Oi^unwn.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE MARSIAGE

"I don't believe you were ever late in keeping an
1 appointment, were you, Bob ?" asked Dorothy as
Doctor Ross hdped her into the automobile and At
sat down in a seat to the right of the open door.

"No; I have always taken particular care to keep
my engagements promptly," replied the doctor, step-
ping in behind her, "and," sitting down and pulling
the door shut, "it would indeed be surprising, would
it not, if I failed to put in an appearance at ^ ^
pointed time upon my wedding-day ?"

Dorothy smiled and nodded in response.

"You may proceed, John," said Doctor Ross to the
motionless figure sitting in front.

"Very well, sir," replied John, and the car b^;an to
make its way slowly up ^ stre^

"Well, Dorothy," queried the doctor, taking posses-
sion of her mrnll hands and holding them tightly,
"does our prospective marriage still frighten you?"

"I can't say that it does; but to tell you the truth,

936

The Marriage

237

Bob, my condition is such that I have neither the power
to dread nor fear anything. All my faculties are be-
numbed and I feel as though I were partly asleep."

"Poor little girl." tenderly said the doctor, releasing
her hands and putting his arm gently around her and
drawing her close to hi* tide, "you have had a pretty
hard time."

"Yes, indeed I have; and even you, Bob, I don't
believe know how very hard it all has been."

"Don't you believe that, Dorothy, for, I assure you, I
fully appreciated your position. Bat bid it goodby and
leave it with the many odier things of yesterday, for
today you «iter into a new kingdom, a kingdom in-
corruptible and without decay."

"I have often planned and dreamed of such a kintr-
dom," replied Dorothy sadly, "but try as I would I
was never able to realize it."

"You could not without me, dearest," replied Doctor
Ross, pressing her to him.

"It seems not," replied Dorothy, making a feeble ef-
fort to withdraw from his embrace. "But tell me
something of this kingdom into which I am about to
enter."

"It is a kingdom, Dorothy," replied Doctor Ross,
with one of his rare smiles which lit up his usually grave

The Success of Failure

face and made it for the mmnent astonishingly beauti-
ful, "where, as in the world you are leaving, men rtap
what they sow; — the only difference being, however,
that in the one to which we are travelling no tares are
sown and, therefore, the reaping is a pleasant task;
and, although his labors are nany, the voice of man is
neve.' heard raised, pleading weariness, hunger, cold
or nakedness, for here man finds his rest, his suste-
nance, his warmth and raiment in his work. Here man,
without the thought of what evil his brother-man may
do unto htm, enters into tiie morning of life. Fearitss
he runs, uncbiunted by the fear of a possible foilure
coming to him on the morrow : for, for him, no such
word exists. Failures Jo not grow here; man fulfills
the purpose of his creation and succeeds. Here "

"What a womferful khigd(»n it must be !" intermpted
Dorotfiy mturii^l^. "I wiA I ime iMt so skeptkal."

"Until you arc torn up root and branch, you will
continue to be so, Dorothy," replied the doctor, ten-
derly smiling down into her tired and care-worn face.
"However, don't despair, for your tree is soon to be
planted in a decidedly different soil, the elements of
which are so sadly needed for its perfect growtii."

DcHToAy s^ihed, diode her Imul and sadfy smiled.

"I trust it will not suffer from the tnuuplaatiiMr.''
she said.

The Marriage

"Don't let that cause you any uneasiness, Dorothy-
there IS no fear of that. So beautiful will it become,'
you wdl be unable to recognize in it the gnarled and
scarred tnink, with its stooped, over-burdened and
yellow-leafed laden branches, of your old tree. Proud-
ly erect will it stand, flaunting its stout branches de-
fiantly to every wind that blows, be they ever so
destructive-seeking in their tempestuousness. And
how you will love this tree. Dorothv. f.., it will rehect
your strei^ as the one now reflects your weakness
It will proclaim to aH the world in the song of the
leaves, as they sway back and forth upon theti tranches
man s conquest of sdf. as the <»» now fmxdaims him
her devotee. Its growth wiU mean the perfection of
man, rendering all his worlcs acceptable and worthy of
their creation."

"You are foretelling a strange future, Bob," said
Dorothy, gadng dreamily ahead, "and one so amaz-
m-ly different from aH that I hare ever known, that
I ran liardly believe its existence possftle. Neverthe-
less. I hope it comes true. Anyway," resignedly, "it
'■^ too late, if it were of any use. to look back."

"That is true. But in a very little while I shall have
taken your future and made it mine, and I shall then
be responsible fw its ftdfiUment. Trust me. Dorothy."

240

Thg Success of Feature

he pleaded, "for the joys of the morrow and for the
replacing of your yesterday with a greater today."

"There is nothing left for me to do, now, but tQ trurt
you, is there. Bob?' aaked Dorotfiy plaintively.

"There has never been anything else you could
safely do but to trust me, Dorothy. The fact that you
did not do so long ago, showed a lack of wisdom which
you proudly boasted you possessed."

"Well, I boast of m^iti^, now," replied Dorothy
Hstlessly. "But don't talk about that any more; tell
me something more of this wonderful kingdimn which
is yours and is soon to be mine."

"There is so much to tell and so little you are able
to understand, now, Dorothy. I might tell you many
things, birt what wouki be tiie use? You wouM fail
utterly to appreciate their beatrty or significance. They
are the things of tomorrow, while you, you must re-
member, are still a part of today."

Dorothy moved restlessly in her seat.

"Have we much farther to go before we arrive at
our destination?" asked she.

"Not so very far ; we are very nearly there. Anxioitt
to have it over with ?" the doctor asked teasingly.

"Well, I shall not be sorry when it is," replied Dor-
othy, vainly endeavoring to control the trembling of
her lifM.

The Marriage

341

"Nor shall I," replied he. "However, it isn't going
to be half as bad as you think," and he patted her hand
reassuringly.

At tint instant the car stopped at At eirtniice of a
very narrow road. It was snffidoitly wide to permit
the tread of the human foot, but forbade all other con-
veyances. Here JcAm got down from Ins seat and
opened the door.

"We get out here, Dorothy," said the doctor, rising
to his feet and tHep^ng to tfw ^lewalk.

•Do we?" queried die, gettu^ to her feet and kxdi'
ing curiously around. "But I don't see any churches,"
added she as she placed her hand in the doctor's and
stepped out, and she glanced anxfonsly up and down
on both sides of the avenue.

"They are not necessary to our union," said the
doctor, taking her arm a^ directing her steps toward
the narroT? entr an ce. "We will ind our tenqrfe at tfie
end of diis road."

As they stood and viewed the road from the en-
trance, it seemed to Dorothy that it extended in a
straight line a great, great distance, but in reality
it proved to be a very, very short road. At the end
of it, entirely covering the ground and concealing all
that lay beyond, Mood a huge temple. Indescr^ialdy

The Success of FaUure

beautiful was this monument of unsurpassca archi-
tecture, defying in its structure and being all imita-
tion ; nor was it possiUe for any alien sehod to admit
of its rqnt)dttction. Through its large doOTs passed in
and out a great multitude of men, women and children.
With appalling indifference to the marvelous beauty
of this magnificent edifice they came and went. Some,
in their hurry, gave it barely a glance as they stepped
in and stepped out. Others, moving more leisurdy,
pattsed lor a momaat or so to gaze upm it witfi matt
or less idle curiosity, while others, lazfly loitering
about, amused themselves with a show of seeming in-
terest : but they, too, finally,. wearied of what to them
were its many bewildering intricacies, passed on.

Awed by its gigantic proportions, Dorothy withdrew
her arm from the doctor's and, stopping abruptly in
the road, stirveyed it wi^ evident tmeaskiess. Its
form was fomiliar and, in a vague way, it seemed to
her to rtrangely raemUe tiie rqireseirti^ioo <^ exerting
humanity.

"What an extraordinary building, Bob!" she ex-
claimed, stepping to one side a little and regarding it
somewhat fearfully.

"Do you think so, Dorothy V

"Indeed I dot Don't you?"

The Marriage

243

I can't say that I do," replied the doctor, smiling.
' But then, that may be because it has always been my
place of worship. You see, I know no other temple
but this."

"And yet you have never brooglit me here before?"
"It was not my fatilt; you know I could not prevail

upon you to come, Dorothy."
"You never asked me."
' Oh, yes, I have."
"I don't remember."

"But I have. Not only have I asked you, but I have
pleaded with you to worship with me in my temple.
You preferred your own, ytnat temples of brick and
stone, and yott found that these, too, had their Hmi-

tations."

"And has not this, also, its limitations ?"

"When united to me, no," replied the doctor, his face
shining. "As it is impossible to render a perfect
service witiiout me, so also it is impossible to truly
worship in this temple without ne. To worship with
me, here, Dorothy, we must be united ; old diii^ must
pass away and all things become new. But come, they
are waiting." and the doctor once more placed his arm
witfiin Dorothy's.

*Who are waiting?" asked Dorothy, reluctantly per-

The Success of Failure

mitdng htm to lead her toward tiie tsAxtsax of fine
temple.

"The forces which are to make us one," replied the
doctor, releasing her arm and pushing open &e doon
to permit tiiem to enter.

Side hy side, up the long aisle they went until they
reached the chancel-rail, where they stopped and stood
perfectly still, listening to the murmuring of the many
riotous voices that filled the air about them. Then a
voice which silenced all the others fflled Ae mighty
temple. It was like the roar of the raging sea and of
the driving wind. Loudly it thundered forth its com-
mands, and Dorothy listened and trembled; with au-
thority it made its mandates known, and, as peal alter
pea! rang oat, her courage and strength desorted Iwr.
Tmming, she put out two unsteady hands and clung,
weak and drooping, to Doctor Ross and hid her face
upon his breast. Thus she stood, repeating feebly,
after that awful voice, tiie words whidi were to nake
them one.

At last it was all over and silence once more reigned
within the temple. With a sigh of relief. Dorothy
made a weak attempt to lift her head ; but in vain, for
with a dittddering groan, which shodc her from head
to foot, ^e shipped a lifden heap to the floor.

Although dead to all that was without, Dorothy was
keenly alive to the growing disturbances that were

7A# Morriagg

within. A war, over which she had no control, was
being waged; the members of her body were arrayed
against each otiier. It was a strife between tlie new
and the old, between youth and dd age. And what a
strife ! How they struggled for supronacy ! The oid,
in their determination not to make way for the new,
battled fiercely with their adversaries. Not willingly
would they surrender her to their opponents. In fact,
they stubbornly decreed titere should be no surrender ;
they would retain what th^ had or die in tlM losing.
The new, no less unyielding, fought their fon valiant-
ly, holding determinedly every bit of ground gained.
On and on they pressed, forcing back, step by step,
the old, who, in spite of age and worn-out and much-
used weapons, fought bravely. They were, however,
no matdh lor tiie new, and their boasted strength was
a weak thhig when directed agasast that of the enemy ;
and their imfdements of war were as die toys of chil-
dren when used in combat with the up-to-date ones
of the new. Bravely they tried to hold their ground,
but in vain. Back and back they are pressed until
there is no longer any standing room. Vanquished
at last are they, and prisoners of war must they be-
come. The new are now m possessicm of die fidd and,
after due deliberation, sentence the old to confinemem

246

Thf Success of Failure

in the historical structures of the past, their liberation
being wholly dependent upon the inttruction they may
afford to coming humanity.

That her life was dependent tipoa tiie change
throngfa which she was going, Dorothy was vaguely
conscious ; and when she opened her eyes it was with
the realization that she had been born anew, and her
spirit rejoiced at the newness and fitness of things.
And the face that was bending over her in tender
sdtcitttde was no longer the face of a stranger, for
idle realized it as belonging to that of an old but
untried friend. It was the face of the Great Father
of Service. As she gazed into that all-inspiring face,
fully alive at last to its wonderful beauty, she knew—
and the knowledge filled her with unutterable gladness
—that the veil that had obscured it from her vision
for ages was rent in twain forever. Her whole being
rang with the song that had been shut up in her heart
for untold years — Stich a joyous song it was, dtvtndy
composed, so sweet and tender, and yet withal so
stToag.

"Come, my child," said the melodious voice of the
Father of Service, smiling and extending his hand to
assist her to arise, "for your husband stands widiout,
patiently awaiting the coming of his bride."

Without a word, Dorothy laid her hand in Us and

The Mvrmgt

247

ubc'dicntly arose and accompanied him to the door of
the temple. At the threshold stood her husband, who,
at their approadi, smiled and extended his hands.

"Lov«/' said the Father of Service, addres^ Doc-
tor Ross, "I give into your keeping my child, Service."
and taking the hands of Dorothy he placed them in
the outstretched hands of her husband. "She will be
to you a faithful, true and obedient wife, will you not,
my daughter?"

**I wifl,** earnestly replied Dorothy.

"And you. Love,** eoottinied the Father of Service,
enfok&v them bodi in lus gigantic arms, "will be unto
her a husband indeed. To no other could I so safely,
so utterly and so happily confide her, for in you only is
her abiding place. No longer will she be storm-tossed
and tempest-driven, for you will be to her a pilot of
ways, a leader of the paths wherein to dwell. As a
wedding-gift, I present yon with my mantte," and, re-
movfa^ hk arms, ht tack from his dbot^ors a mantie
of azure Uoe, trimmed with a soft, transparent ma-
terial of pure white. This he placed about them.

"This mantle is indestructible and w'li !ast to the end
of time," he said. "Now go forth into the world and
give unto it the fruit of your perfect union, that n»n-
kind may eat and 'iv i."

The Success of Fcdhtre

Thm Love and Service, wiA arms entwined, passed
on and out into the world to fulfill their great mission.
There will be no more stumbling for Service, for Love
will ever be a light unto her feet. No foago' wItt Ae
proh^tt Love from taldBir Ws place » Ae affairs of
men, for now she recognizes her great need of him.
There will !K) more shadowy daylight, but a perfect
day ; no more hcpuig to end in idle dreaming, lo seem-
ing without d, mt aaing, but a fcwe id filt tad a pet fact

mMnm xix

■AllKAH LEiBHf* Oi TM DOCT r's MAUIAGE

fBSM Bi^a>b arrived >t the office the morning

YY fdlow g tf^i" j^m^ Dorothy and Doctor
Ros- ( we sha.i cc»f to al them) became oi

she four J the doctor , 4y ^, bu? ly engaged i-
the per^ oi *e aiafr

<^ oHered.

"G*-*" lOfp' docto 1, " replied she, hurriedly n-
iutto !^ acr T as she, with quickened step, cross d
the ro<»n mi ^ngtiscd Ae dowr leadii^ into her dRfe.
In a iMrwoiMali ilM came Ottt rcti^ for work.

'It iIb flssi oMMHi^^ tme Ait mornkig, doE^ ^
si ask-^d.

"No exp it w ill be from now on," he

plied, " 4 uo a d bringing to view a face whoi

anshj. at 4. Wifc her eyes fixed upon it, HanniA
^ cd w$ ^ wo^ering awe and mute amazement. In
& ^bie ^ fiiet was tania, tad yct> bi wroe tsa-
eiqpMaliie wisr, it was totally different in other re-

250 The Success of Failure

spects. There was the same nohility of expression,
but the eyes had lost their look of sorrowful rebuke,
and in their depths there glowed an unfathomabte and
tmspeakable Joy. The hitlierto drawn and troubled
brow was smooth and serene, and the smile that played
about the lips was no longer sweetly grave and patheti-
cally sad, but was tenderly happy and wonderfully
glad. The skin, too, had changed and becwne healthy-
hued. Truly, it was the face of a bride-groom rejoic-
ing in the possession of his bride.

"Well, are you satisfied?" asked he, as Hannah con-
tinued to look speechlessly into his face. "Are you
pleased with the improvenie'.t?"

"I can't say, yet," replied title, without removing
her eyes. "You see, I was not. in any way, prepared
for the change. May I ask what produced it?"

"Certainly. I was married yesterday."

"Married !" exclaimed Hannah incredulously. "You
are joking. I can't believe it."

"Am I so imposst1)le as aU that?"

"Nb, it is not that. I do not believe there is a woman
worthy of you."

"And yet no wcmian is truly worthy without me,"
said he, smiling.

"No?" queried she. wrinkling her forehead per-
plexedly. "I am afraid I don't quite understand you."

Hannah Learns of tlu Doctor's Marriage 251

"That is because, in spite of our pleasant acquaint-
anceship, you have made no real effort to know me."

"I can't think that that is my fault,'* she replied
thoughtfully. "Your aluj«fethcr loveliness of char-
acter I cannot fail to admire, but," sadly shaktng her
head, "I despair of ever understanding it."

"And yet my admirable qualities are not something
which you may not possess. They really belong to
you and are the rightful inheriti»ee of every memb^
of the huimii fasaSHy**

"I dont know about that," replied Hannah, doubt-
fully diaking her head ; "for, if that is so, why is hu-
manity so slo\ in claiming its inheritance?"

"Because of its self-satisfied ignorance, and it suf-
fers therefor a painful consequence."

"It apparently is not cognizant of its cause," replied
Hannah, sitting down upon a duur titax die d^

"And for that reason suffers the safltering."

"And is it not tiirough striving and suffering that
man hopes to attafal periectioa?" asked Hannah woo-
(Icringfly.

"It is ; but that is only because his blindness prohibits
him from seeing any other way."

"Then, surely, he is not to blame if h« is ttaahle to
see any other way," protested HaamA.

252 The Success of Failure

"He would not be, if his UindnMs were not of his

own seeking."

"You mean he could see if he would, but he won't ?"

"That is just it. He obstinately shuts his eyes, and
it is only the way of the suffering that will make him
open them. It is only by travelmg this way tfiat ht
can be induced to lode for am>dier and better way."

"Then it is the obstinacy of man which has made the
way of suffering possible?"

"Yes ; he prefers to travel the way of the blind, and
will not. willingly, see any other. Questioningly, faltcr-
ingly and widi uncertain tttp he travds ak»^, un-
mindful of the light flooding the roadway close by
him. On, and on, with hands outstretched feeling his
way, he goes, stumbling oft and receiving many a need-
less bruise and fall. To avoid die many pros^te
forms lying in his path, his steps are necessarily in-
creased and he makes but little headway. Indeed,"
said the doctor, mournfully shaking his head, "his
progress is a slow and painful one."

"Indeed it is," assented Hannah, sighing. "Why, oh
why, is it necosary tor nmn to kara only &nN^
painful experiences?" quesdooed she, tMag, "and
^ete. even, do not always av-il."

"That is true; they do not. For, in spite of mis-
takes and unfortunate happenings, he, stubbornly dis-

HoHnah Leams of the Doctor's Marriage aS3

regarding the cause, continues to blindly struggle on
along the old pathway, tmwilling to open his eyes to
the l^it of day wbkii shines over him, in htm and
around him; and, at last, unable to stagger longer
under the burdens of life which he has piled, bit by
bit, upon his shoulders, he becomes one more prostrate
form to fin the roadway, and, muttering m^ntetligible
somethings about a Divine Providence, he lies there,
not knowing that he is a victim of his own blindness."

"You are awfully hard upon poor man, doctor,"
said Hannah, smiling sadly and shaking her head
dolefully.

"No. indeed," denkd the doctor. "I am aimpty
sUting a fa^**

"Is there no way to relieve man of this terrible
blindness you have described?" asked Hannah.

"There is but one."

"And what is that?"

"Low.**

"Lover exdaimed Hannah, 'n^, tec it nothing

in the world so blind as Love P'

"Such an understanding of Love is but a proof of
mans blindness," said the doctor, rising from his
chair and beginning to walk up and down tke room.
"There it naaght to great a itrtnger to nnn tlitn
Love.**

254

The Success of Pailnre

"What is this, then, that humanity calls Love?"

"An exalted self or one of tlie emotions of the in-
stinctive animal. In other words, it is a very pow
counterfeit of what Love retUy is."

"It is not always reliable, that is tme," agreed H«»-
nah. "It passes so often away witii yottth» and kaves
to loneliness the remaining years."

"Ah, no ! not Love," said the doctor, throwing out his
hands protestingly. "Love is enduring, fattiifttl woA
unchanging. No fidde or ephemeral iStaog is he, here
today and gone tomorrow, bitt his prescnee is ever as-
sured and certain, and is as necessary to man's exist-
ence as the light from the sun or the air he breathes."

"If this be true," asked Hannah, perplexed, "how
is it possible that man remains so ignorant of his
presence?^

''Does the kwmledge that the son shinat k the
heavfns render tiie pa&way of the blind any clearer?"

"Na"

"What benefit, then, is the slumbering fact that Love
is ready and willing to lead humanity in the way of
all-understanding, if it shuts its eyes and will not see?"

"But what of the consequences ? Surely, if man can-
not see, he must lose his way."

"That is true; he loses the way and beooraet a wan-

Htmnah Leams of the Doctor^ s Marriagi 255

derer «pon the earth ; an alien not only to his brethren,
hoi ftkw to hniudf.**

"An alien to WbsmUT* repeated Hamah, pcoded.
"What do you mean by tiiatr

"Because he knows not binuell and, thorefore, can-
not know anoiher."

"Am I, then, a stranger to my child?"

"You are, if you know not yourself. No matter how
ciote Utt hamm rdMkmship, witiwot iSat imdimmtng
light oi ton, ttere can be no real kaxnAedgt oi one's
self or ano^r. Tht tyt» mmt be opened."

"Whether my eyes are opened or not, I do not know ;
but I do know I k)ve my child/' dedmd Hannah
stoutly.

"Why do you love him?"

"Beeanae he is mine."

"And for no odier reason?"

"Is there any other greater reason that I can give
you ? He is all I have, my baby, my little, blind boy !"

"Not any that you are capable of understanding at
present, at any rate. However, there is a greater
rouon, wfaich yon will learn at tiie years go by."

1 an very wtSi talMed wWi ^ one I have givea
you."

"That is became your tyt» ut not opemd."

256 Th0 Succtsi of Faihtn

"And I don't know as I want ^^/'^'^^
opening is to bring a knowledge which wfll mate Of
my mother-love a UtUe thing."

-Birt it win not do that. Instead, you will com-
prehend and appreciate in its fulness what a wonder-
fuUy great thing it is. this mother-love.

"I can't see how that can possibly be, for just now
it is great and big enough to wann and brighten every
cold and dark comer of my Ufe." ^ u • u.^

"Ah! but then, it will not only warm and bngbten
^ dark cornera of life, it will banish them."
"You're a dreamer," replied Hannah, smiling.
"And my dreams will come true." and the words
rang clear and true, defying contradiction.
"What makes you think so'"
"Because I know."
•*How do yott know?"

"Yott would not understand if I should teU you;
therefore, I can only say, I do."

"And how is all this to come about?"

"Through my marriage."

"Through your marriage!" reP«*«*J^~* ^
credulously. «What h« Aal got to *> wWi »r

"Everytfiing.*'

"Idoii'ttmdentaad. Won't yoo explain?"

Hannah Learns of the Doctor's Marriage 257

The doctor stopped in his walk and again took his
seat at his desk. He regarded Hannah with a quizzi-
cal smile for several seconds, and then he said :

"The union, which took pl?M« between the Uwty and
myself yesterday, will bring about a happy change in
Ae affairs of mm. Unforttma^y, op to this time,
they have been rmre or less utdiappy and disappoint-
ing, owii^ to their many complications and to the fact
that their direction was the sole and uninterrupted
concern of my wife, who, although willing, was totally
unable to cope with their growii^ intricacies. Foe a
long, long time she was slow to realise her limitatioiis
and belicwd unqnestioningly in her ability to bring
everything out right and all things would eventually
adjust themselves to the needs of man. This erroneous
understanding and false view of the situation at last
slowly dawned upon her, and she perceived, to her
dismay and astonishment, her nanltiplying ^kttlties.
Even so, she proudly disdained all proffers of assist-
ance, ^terflaaiBg to overcome them alone ; but, in
spite of her perseverance and hard work, she found,
instead of diminishing, they increased, and the 'home-
living place' which she hopes to establish was not a

success. It "

"Oh. I wonder why I did not think of her!" ex-

The Success of Pmktrt

claimed Hannah excitedly. "So it is Miss Dorothy
Richardson whom you have choten for your wifcr

"Yes," replied the doctor, with one of his attogether
beatttifttl stnilci; "Miss Dorothy Richardson and I

are one."

"Well, you are to be congratulated. She is such an
excellent woman, and you— well, I can't tell you wlM
I think of yon."

"Yon win not object, then, to remain in our servicer

"No, hideed, I shall be very glad to do so."

"Then that is arranged," said he, rising. "You may
begin your correqx>ndaice ; the letters are all marked
for reply."

"Very well, doctor." replied Hannah, standing up;
and, picking up the neat pile of lettm, she walked
back to her oAce. The dick of the latch and the
ckMing of the door leading into the hall told her the
doctor had gone ; and, standing by her desk, she tried
to compose her mind for the work that was before her.
But this she found very difficult, for the marriage
of the doctor, although deddecBy fortnnale, was so
surprising. She hmd, in some way, believed l» would
never naury. She was glad, however, for one things
it wotdd mean no chMge in ht-r life. She waa to re-
main.

Hmnak Ltanu of th* Doctor's Maniagg 359

Before sitting down to her work, she to<^ from a
pocket of her coat a letter that she had received that
momii^ frrni her hlAim mid nnodier. She opened it

and for the second time read it carefully, and then
slowly folded it and put it back in her pocket. Very
thoughtfully she sat down upon her chair in frcmt of
her desk.

"Poor little Ronald," lud she, softly talking to her-
sdf, whik a trader smite played alioirt her lipt, '^do
they think, no mattO' horn great Hit iaifaoemeftt of-
fered, 7 would part with you? Is there aught, rather,
I would not give up for you, and find my joy and de-
light in the giving? What would father, mother, or
home be to me without you, my little, blind, baby-boy ?
They qwak of the disgrace your presence would iMrii^
to tfiem in iSuk dd 1^ and adc me to ^ue ym kk
other hands than mine, and then go home to them.
How am tbey mtggait such a thing, when to do so
would mean your cver>' essential deprivation? They
do not hesitate to recommend that I place upon your
tiny head, lioney-l>->v. the consequente of my wrong-
doing, making you pay the price of what they deem
my disgrace and sh«ne. Never mind, Iktie man,
mother c ount s fte < hawie and ^K^iffrace at nat^[tft
the pteasnre of hnvii^ yon. What cares die for iH^*

Thi Success of FaSmfi

grace as long as it never touches you? and it never
will, if she can help it. Sometimes, molher i» giad
you are blind, son; she can hold you the longer and
tighter. Nevertheless, dear, innocent little chap,
mother will never go home alone ; when she goes, you
will go with her. Nay, nay, little son, our four-room
apartment will be all the home mother win ever want,
if to get it she hat to part with you— But Aere, Ae
tears are falling, and that will never do ; for there are
a lot of letters in front of mother which she must
answer and see that they are mailed. So, baby-mine,
mother must stop thinking about vou for a little while
and get to work." And, wiping her eyes with her
handkerchief, Hannah opoied her dedc

At twelve o'doek ^ letters were alt answered and
she placed them upon the doctor's desk. Then she
adjusted her cap and smoothed her hair and was about
to wash her hands when the door opened and Dorothy,
accompanied by her husband, came into the room.

"Good-morning, Miss Thompson," said DoroAy,
walking leisurely over to where Hannah smOini^
stood, and extended Iwr luuid.

"Good-morning, M— ** replied Hannah hesitatingly,
her hand resting for an instant in Dorodiy's. "How
are you this morning?"

HMmh Ltarns 0/ thg Doctor s Morriagt j6l

"Very wen. Aadyour

"I can't conf^tain."

"Well," after an embarrassing lilence of several see-

unfls. "why don't you wish me happiness?" asked Dor-
uth,. , lucking into Hannah's face with smiling scrutiny,
"for your face expresses only too surely that you al-
ready have been told of my paasti^ from sh^e-
blessedness into matrimonial bliss."

"Does it ?" asked Hannah, laughing. "I didn't know
it was such a telltale. I must exercise greater caution,
or it will be betraying me when I least wish it to. In
this instance, however, I cannot plead ignorance, for
Doctor Ross told me about the happy evoit diortly
after I canw in tilts nxmii^."

"Oh, you awful man," said Dorothy, with a smile
aiul a rebuking shake of her head at her husband, "to
deprive me ot the pleasure of proclaiming to one and
a'l the greatest event of my existence."

"You will have plenty of time to do that, Dorotiiy,"
said the dkKfecM', r^nmt^ her ta^ "But come, let
me help yoe off witii your coat,** 1^ rtq^i^ig to ha
side he removed from her shoulders her new wedding-
coat; and. when she had ft placed the pins in her hat,
he took it from her and h both up upon the rack.
"Now," after he had hung up his own, "I will look

a6si Tht Sueeeu of FaUurt

over my letters and then wc will make trraagemeiM

to leave here this afternoon."

"And 1 will improve the opportunity to become bet-
ter acquainted with Miss Thompson," said Dorotliy,
estidUishiug herself coadottaHy in one of ^ doctor's
big. lettlier ftrmchairt. ''How is little Ronald?" asfeed
A«, addresnng Hannah.

"He is as well as usual," replied Hannah. mo»''n a
little to one side to permit the doctor to reach his
desk.

"And I tmst that it as well at it it pottible for him

to be. But why not sit down?" and Dorodijr motioned
with her hand to the chair opposite.

Hannah smiled and sat down.

"Now let us talk about your little boy," said Dor-
othy, leaning back in her chair. "I am afraid you
•may think I have not giwm him much attetrtkxi, bat
I am asnire you it reUly was ikA my fault Yon
see, my time was completely taken up with so mau\
other thingfs I deemed of fjreater importance that the
children were totally neglected. However." with a
bright smile, "1 liope now to become better acquainted
with them, and they and I will begin to learn of each
odier. It it strai^ im't k/* mused ^ "diat we
giown-tq) peof^ <&adain tiie knowle^ to be gaimd

Ifmmak Lmnu &f Ike D9et9i^$ Marriage fl^

by associating with the chtlil, and give it no serious
thought, but receive it with more or less indulgent
amusement?"

'*Ym,** agreed Hannah, "we art not apt to consider
it of nnich importance, and prefer to regard the say-
ings and doings of ildren as little better than the
murmuringa and antics of other delightful little ani-
mals."

"Well, I want to learn all th^t yoor little ion can
teach flse, for in tlw ways of children I am woeftilly
%aorant and I am very desirous that he and I, at
the days go by, shall become the best of friends."

"Thank you," murmured Hannah, strivii^j to over-
coim a growing nenrouaness, her^fore whdly un-
known to her. "I mm tore he will appreciate your
fricndahipk You will not expf^-t too much of him,
wil' YOU? for you know, poo Mttle chap, be is blind."

" \ es, I know," and Dorothy . hM.

**T%ey are aB raidy now i^r mg" remariced
the doctor, risuig from his 6uk.

**Very w^, I will attend to them at once," replied
Hannah ; and, getting up from her chair, she took the
letters from the desk and disappeared with them into
her office, closing the door gently behind her.

"And so yoa were ta&xag abotu Hamah*s b^,"
said ^ doctor to his wife.

The Success of Faiiitr§

"Yes, isn't it too bad he is blind?"
"Yes, but he will not continue to be so."
"No?" qtwried Dorothy, surprised. "It is possible,
then, that some he may see ?"

"Quite."

"Oh, I am so glad! Does his mother knoir? Have

you told her?"

"All that she is capable of understanding at
{M'cscnt."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her under <»rtain coodttioiu he would re-
ceive his sight."

"And what are they ?"

"Those which shall come from our union, Dorothy.
Not only will they remove little Ronald's blindness,
but will make impossible the bltadnett <rf every diOd

bom into the world."

"Will it. indeed, do that?"

"It will, indeed," replied the doctor, seating himself
in the chair that Hannah had vacated.

Just then the bell announcing tiw midday flMd rm^
clear and loud from the foot of the tynwimfnt steps.
The doctor and his wife made no movement to indi-
cate that they intended to respond to its summons.
Instead, they sat quietly talking; and Hannah, whi :
she cpened die door of her cMet a lew «»faw|t ft hi^

Hannah Learm of tht Doctor's Maniagg

was surprised to find them aittiiig there. Whm the
bell rang, she thought, of GOtme, they woldd go ri^

down to luncheon.

"I didn't expect to find you here," she said, going
to Ae bowl to waA her hands. "I thought you would
be downstairs.'^

"No ; we are waiting for you," replied the 4oetor.
smilingly raising his head. "As I have ceased to be
a lodger and ain now a part of the 'home-living place.'
it will be necessary for you to take your meals there,
also. So whUt we are getting ready to go over, put
on your hat and coat. Leave everything as it is, here,
for I have instructed John to take charge."

Haanah hastened to do his bidding, and in a very
few minutes they were on their way to the "home-
Ihriiviiiiee.''

CHAPTER XX

MBS. THOMMON GR8 A GLIMPSE OF TBI **mOMMi4JBmm

place"

"\Y/kat's gotng on here?" ased Mrs. ThomfMon,

W very much surprised, of MartiiB, who ad-
mitted her into the little flat. "Looks very much as
though my daughter intended to move," gravely re-
garding tlie pieces of furniture and boxes which occu-
pkd umsfy the entife spKc ci fiat manm htU.
"Yes, ma'am," ref^ied Marda, closing Ac door.
"Is Miss Hannah in?"

"Yes, ma'am, she's inside," and Martha indicated by
a nod of her head the room at the end of the hall.

"Very well, I'll find her," and Mrs. Thompson
b^n slowly to hmIk her way down the crowded
passi^feway.

"All right, ma'am," and Mar^ weirt bade to hwr
packing in the kitihen.

When Mrs. Thompson reached the entrance of the
room, she stopped and glanced uneasily at the bare
floor and walls and the furniture, pushed to one side

Mrs. TIm m pto m C«U a GHm^ ^ ike "Phut" auf

of the room, an ready for the moviiig^van. Hannah't
back was to her; she was kaeeSiv upon the floor im

front of a trunk in which she was packing Ronald's
dCihes, which lay piled up on a chair beside her. Her
mother's step upon the bare boards, however, caused
har to turn Ikr head, and with an exclamation of de-
^ Vnmg to htr feet and rwM to meet her.
■tying:

"Why, metlMr, wlHt faod wM btm^ yoo hut

today?"

"I'm not sure whether it was a good or a bad wind."
replied her mother, bending her head to receive Han-
nah's kfaa. **IH tell you better about that after you
have toM me the meaning of this,!' and she indicated
witfi a wave of her hand tiie rftatuNiwtffd room.

"We are going to move, mother, afl," replied
her daughter, stepping back and gathering up hi her
arms the clothing lying on the chair and placing it
over the open top of the trunk. "Come, sit here. "
wiping with her apron the dust from the chair, "and
m ieS jmii an about It I won't ask you to take off
your hat, for there is no place to put it where it will
be safer than upon ycmr head."

"Why, I thought you were very well satisfied here,"
said hcrmother as she sat down. "Whert it loaaldr

268

The Success of Failure

"He is over with Doctnr and Mrs. Ross," replied
Hannah. kneelinjEf down upon the floor and resuming
her packing. "You remember, I tdd you of his mar-
riagte in my hst tetter.'*

'^es; and has it tmticd oat as happily aa »•

pected ?*'

"So far it has fulfilled every eiqKctation."

"That's encouraging. And, apparently, they do not
object to the unforttmate circumstances coanttted with
Ronald's birth."

"Not at all. For them, they do not exist, and he is
only tao hapfiy wfa» pei - mUtad to he intfa them."

"I wish I migfat have him," said Mrs. Thompson,
sighing regretfully ; "but it is no tise thinking of such
a thing, for your father will not consent."

"It's just as well, perhaps," replied Hannah thought-
fully.

"Perhaps so. But you have not told me anything
<rf yonr propoaed new tocatfon. It it, of course, more
^xakaS^ Ham iriM you have or ^ you wovkl
not mnw moveu.

"Tt is. iaiMd.''

"And ymt i a|wniM i t hey will be greater, I sup-
pose

"I can't say that they will. You see, I have decided

Mrs. Thompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Place ' 269

to move to the 'home-living place,' ett«bHih«d by Doe>
tor and Mrs. Ross, and they are to be rttpoanMt

any expense I may incur."

"Do you think that altogether wise ?"

"I do. In fact it is tlie only wise thing I have ever
done in my life. Oh, mother," said Hannah, laying a
hand 1900 ber raollwr'a knee and looking 1^ eamestiy
into her fMe, "if you only knew the beautiful condi-
tions prevailing in their 'home-living place/ the tht^
that would astonish you the most would be that any-
one could hesitate to become a part of it ! No greater
foundation can be found than that upon which it is
fatdlt, tiie imperishal^ and everlarting foundation of
Love and S»vice."

"And do yon think you win be happy thete?" adced
her mother, with a tender smile, as she laid her hand
affectionately upon her daughter's head.

"I have no doubt of it; for, if happiness is to be
found anywhere, it must be found there."

"I idiottld want to be very sure of it, my child," said
Mrs. Thompson, smilii^ gravdy, "few the fmxmsa
which lead us into the punmit of happmcw are very
slow of fulfillment."

"That is true, mother," agreed Hannah, "but T have
learned, by painful experience, it is because we follow

The Success of Fmlure

the formulating of our own selfish promises in the false
pttrsoit of happmest. Happiness, I have found, is no
dtiahre thing, now here, then there, and then else-
where. She does not seek to deceive nor to betimy, a
thing of yesterday aod not of today. Something that
steals away when tomorrow's here, leaving all stricken,
stark and drear. No, no, happiness is ever faithful and
true, and it is we who are faithless, it is we who are
ttntme to ourselves and to her."

"Perhaps you are r%ht, I don't know," said Mrs.
Thompson sighing. "But what of Martha?^

"She will go with me.' Indeed, she belongs there,
for has she not, these many years, lived daily the life
of the 'home-living place' ? The conditions which exist
there will cause her no wonderment nor be to her at
all strange. She wUl be perfectly at home with sur-
roniulings which to me are as equally indescribable as
they are incomprehensible. While I can admire and
marwi. I am unable to fully understand or appreciate
the working of the lorctt employed. And yet. Doctor

Ross says thef art so simple they are understood by the

child."

"Your lack of understanding is not surprising, then,
for is it not the simple things of life which confound
us?" queried Mrs. Thompson. go on with your
packing."

Mrs. Thompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Place" 271

"Before I do," said Hannah, rising, "111 tell Martha
to make us a cup of tea. It must be nearly lunch-
time. Is it?" as Mrs. Thompson looked at her watch.

"Joft twelve.'^

"I tfaougfit »/' and Hannah hurried out.

Almost inuMd^y abe was back, and, as the
chatted with her mother, finished packing the trunk,
and when Martha came in with the tea, it stood dosed

and Kicked and ready for strapping.

"When we have finished our tea. I'll put on mv hat
and coat and well go over and see Ronald." said Han-
nah as she took the tray from Martha and set it upon
the top of the tna*. Thirt i, .11. Martlia." turning
'.v.th a srrnle to the waitlay bept >m may go,^
and, w,th a nod of her grixded head, Martlia timd
and walked out of the room.

•'Are you not afraid the doctor and his wife may
^^^rdjt a. rather an intrusion r questioned Mrs

^^TZTC'''''' -P«- Hannah

"No indeed, they wlB both be glad to see voi, anH
f ''ni very anxious that you sho^mL 1^- ^

tn»k r%ht near you. so vou may help yourself. I

xj% The Success of FaSurc

know the service is novel and not at all what you are
accttttomed to, bat yon will pardon it in tfiis imtiiice.'*
"Dont moitkm it, my diild; I'm oiriy too glad to ha

with you," and Mrs. Thompson took between her fore-
finger and thumb a Itonp of siipar and dropped it into
her tea, and then poured sufficient cream from the
pitcher to color it.

"Then you won't object to eating: your sandwich
from the trunk, also." and Hannah placed a small plate
upon wMch was laid two thinly sliced pieces of bread
and Imtter encktainipr crisp lettuce leaves.

"Vo. it*s all right. Don't bother about me. TH help
tnyself Now. to qret back to Ronald, if you think it
wise T should dearly love to po over and see him."

"And are vou not anxiou*:. after all T have told you,
to see the doctor and his wife?'' asked Hannah dis-
appointedly.

"Not io tmkMis to see them as I am to learn some>
thing of ^ 1iome4ivingr piace* iAney have established.
But Aat Is only becatise vou are about to make it your
home : otheru'ise, T should not be at all interested."

"After you have learned somethine about it you may
wish to make it vour home." said Hannah, laughing.
"And what would father nv about that?"

"He would never permit it.**

Mn. Thompson Gets a Glimpu of the "Ploce" 373

"He might not be able to prmn H," s«id HuuMh
as she hfted the teapot from the tray. "Havt another

cup of tea and another sandwich ?"

"No, no, nothing more. If I am to see much of
RooiW, we must go over to the doctor's as soon as
l»«a>le, for I have to kave for home shortly after
three."

" We will go right my," M Hannah, riaing and
takmg from the wardrobe her coat and hat. which she

quickly put on. "If I had known you were coming, I
wouldn't have had these things put in the hall," said
the, as she opened the door of the apartment and pre-
ceded her modier out

"If you can put up with the inconvenience, I am
sure I should not object," replied Mra. Thompion, fol-
lowing her daughter down the staira.

Hannah laughed happily, and her mother's heart
gladdened at the sound. Ah! if it rested with her,
Hannah and her baby should seek no other "home-
living place ' but hers. She would close the door upon
tiie world and live only for them. What cared she
for money or position? They were notl^ in com-
parison with the companionship, of which they de-
prived her, oi her daughter and her child. Gladly
would the dispense with the former, if she could but

274

The Success of hauurc

have the latter. And as she thought of her husband,
her heart hardened toward him. He had asked 'i r
that morning before leaving home to try and prevail
upon Hannah to give up her ch id. "Surely," he liad
Slid, "diere are plenty of places in a large city where
a diild would be weU ctrcd for, for pty." How stub-
bornly he htd refttsed to listen to Her picadiags that
they pem^ Hannah to bring her baby home, tfittnder-
ingoutather: ' No! no! Isay.no! Doo't speak of
that again to me !" Well, she would never ask Hannah
to give up her child, never, never ! If her father was
so blind that he could not see that they were responsible
fw ^r child and what yn» hers, she could and would.
And when they climbed the steps leading into the
"home-living place," she did so with no feeling of
shrinking from a disagreeable task. This was to be Iicr
daughter's home and the home of her child ; and. fur
that reason, she would try to understand and ap{)reci-
ate the forces at work here. When they reached the
top step, the door opened, and Doctor Roes, witii hand
extended, stood in the doorway.

"I am very glad to see you, Mrs. Thompson," he
said, looking smilingly froni Hannah to her mother.
"Come right in," and he took Mrs. Thompson's hand
and gently <faw her through tlie entrance, along the

Mn. Thompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Place - 275
Wl and into the large room of the "home-living place "

seat notf^ Ifom the door. "My wife will bring Ron-
ald^ whom « Ip.^ to ..e. I know, pr«^

"ft is very good of you and your wife to take so
Rreat an interest in n.y little grandson," replied Mrs,
rile sat down. "I assure you I fully ap-

"Thank >-oo.'' wpTHKi he. Then turning to where
HMttiah rtood, he directed her wi^ a motkm of his
hand to an open door on the right, to wWch rile

hastened her steps. 'T think, though." re««ning the
convcr.sat.on with Mrs. Thompson as he stepped to a
few feet from her and sat down, "it would be

i^rJT*^ ''^ interested in the

m^^fejlow. for we love him ^ he is growing to

"That is fortunate." replied Mr.. Thomp«», her
eyes scanning the doctor's face closely, "for, I believe,
he and his mother expect to make their home here "
res I am glad to say. their home is to be here "

-™-tn»«I by W, mother and Dorothy, came out

276 The Success of Failure

and directed their steps to where they were sitting. As
they approached within a short distance of him, tte
doctor arose and. stepping forward, stooped and picked
UP the chad and hdd him in his arms. This, apparent-
ly was no strange place for Ronald to be, nor was he
averse to being held there ; for he unhesitatingh placed
his haby-artns around the doctor's neck and laid his
head confidingly against his shoulders.

"Were you talKing to g'andmother, doctor r asked
he. putting up a tiny hand to pat Ae doctor's cheek.

"Yes. and I am going to carry you over and place
you upon her lap. so you, too, may talk to her" ; and,
idsnng the child's sunny hair, the doctor walked over
and gave him into his grandmother's outstretched arms.

"And how is Ronald?" asked Mrs. Thompson, her
arms closing around the little form. "And is my little

man glad to see me?"

"I am quite weU and vewy glad to see you, g'and-
mother. Are you well and glad to see me?" asked he,
gravdy hoMhig up his little blind face to be kissed.

"Grandmoaier Is well, darling, and is ever and ever
.o glad to see vou." replied Mrs. Thompson, her arms
tightening around the child as she drew him closer
to her.

"Mother," interposed Hannah from where she stood

Mrs. Thompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Placed* 377

between the doctor and his wife in the middle of the
room, watching with shining eyes and trembling, smil-
ing lips the meeting between her mother and baby-son,
"you have not met Mrs. Ross."

"That is true," replied Mrs, Thompson, and she
raised her eyes from the face of the child and looked
over, with an apologetic smile, to where Dorothy stood.

"I am very glad to see you," said Dorothy, stepping
quickly over to Mrs. Thompson's side, "Mid I want to
bid you welcome to the 'home-living j^ace.' "

"Thank you," replied Mrs. Thompson, taking the
hand Dorothy extended, "I am beginning to feel very
much at home."

"It gives me great jdeasure to hear you say so," re-
plwd Dorothy, vXfkag down on a nearby stooi, "and I
hope, some day, you may decide to become a part of
this wonderfully beautiful thing we have established."

"I hardly think so," replied Mrs. Thompson, with a
(kmbtful shake of hnit head. "Not as toag as my
husband lives, anyway, for he, I kK>w, would never
sanction it."

"No?" queried Dorothy. "What would be his ob-
jection ?"

"Well, it would necessitate the abandonment of hit
I»ride of pcMritkm, of his. wealtii, of a hundred and one
tilings he holds and priaei deariy."

The Sucass of FaUun

"Oh. you never can tell," said Dorothy encouragii«-
Iv "he may be made to sec M I have been, the f oUy
of wdi pride, and be wil&ig, a. I now am, to let Love

have his way." . .

"I see you are quite ignorant of how greatly pride

influences people in my station of life."

"Yes I think I do," replied Dorodiy dowly. But
I am learning, Httie by Httle, what a small thing it is
and how crudly indifferent it U to the best interests

Mrs! Thompson's response was a wrinkled forehead,
a puzzled sn^ and a mystified ^ake oi the head, and
^e placed Ronald more comfortably upon her lap
and laid his head gently against her breast.

At this, Dorothy's eyes traveled in wistful mquiry
over to where her husband stood in tiie nriddle of Ae
room. He, wife Hannah, had been a siknt listener to
their conversation. As his eyes met hers, he read
aright the message they conveyed, and m his smile and
nod there was not only acquiescence, but comprehen-
sion as well. She needed him, and he only c«dd re*
spond to that need. So saying a few words m a low
tone to Hannah, which caused her to immediately
leave him and take up a position behind her mother^s
chair he quickly crossed the room and drew up a chair
to the other side of Mrs. T hompso n and. sat down.
The conversaticm tiien became general.

Mrs. Thompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Place" 279

The hour thus spent conversing wiA Oie doctor and
his wife was not only a particularly agreeable one to
Mrs. Thompson, but she found it also highly mstruc-
tive ; for, in that short time, she acquired a knowledge
hitherto unpossessed by her. and one she deemed of
no nH»n iralue. Just what its valuation might be, she
was not quite able to determine, nor to interpret cor-
rectly its intrinsic worth ; but, measured by a mother s
love, it was to her incalculable, for it en^ed h» to
conclude that Hannah and her boy could not l^ve
faUcn into better hands than into those of the founders
of the "home-living place." And it was with a mind re-
lieved and a heart lightened that she kissed them and
bade them goodby and started on her journey home-
ward.

CHAPTER XXI

FRANK, RESTORED TO HEALTH, LEAVES THE HOSWTAL Of
THE HEW MRTH

IT was shortly after the marriage of Dorothy and
Doctor Ross, that Frank-wholly cured and re-
stored to perfect health and strength-accompanied by
the doctor, passed out throi^h the doors of the Hos-
pital of The New Birth.

As he walked down the steps and entered the doc-
tor's automobile, it would oe difficult for anyone who
had been familiar with Frank's face and form before
his admisMon into the hovpHal to recognize them now ;
for, in place of the bent, stooping shoulders, the re-
luctant and faltering step and the hesitation of an evi-
dently discouiaged and dejected manhood, there was
the erect carriage, the firm, quick step a»d the ex-
pressed and unquestioned assttrance in face and man-
ner of man's right to be and do YonA at its best
was his ; and. as one bdidd him in afl the newness of
life, it wa» to conclude that for him to live was indeed
p^worA while; for he was good to lode upon. The

Prank Liwfs the Hospital of the New Birth 281

tenet his vmx, as he ocmversed with the doctor,
the l%ht of his eyes and tfie smooth, unwrinkled brow,
all proclaimed a regenerated manhood — that man, at
last, had come into his ow — into a kingdom whose
every breath was fragrant with the joy of being,
wh<Me sig^t was of an tniinite seeing and in all of its
dKogji &ere was a wonderful meanii^.

On their way homeward. Doctor Ross spoke of his
marriage to Dorothy and dwelt largely upon the
changes it wouid make in the "home-living place," all of
which interested Frank immensely, and he remarked
when the doctor had finished speaking :
"Ah, now it win be a 'home-living place,* indeed !"
**Bnt we toast conskler you," said tiie doctor, laying
a Innd affectionately upon Frank's shoulder. "Now
tiiat you are well and strong, what work shall I assign
you to in the home-living place?' "

"The seeking of patients," promptly replied Frank
with a smile, "for, I can assure you, there is no other
work I should so greatly enjoy."

"There is none other so important," returned the
doctor, "excepting the finding, and that ii aswmd if
one seeks aright."

"And I, now being in my right mind, shall seek
aright," replied Frank, the light of his eyes being ex-

^ Tki Swau of faUwrg

ccedingly tender as he looked thooghtftiBy into the
distuKe*

"Ye^ there is no doubt, now, but that you will,"
replied the doctor, bestowing upon Frank one of his
beautiful smiles. "However, here we are," and the
car drew up at the curb. "The *home-li- ^ place' is
just where you left it, you see," and <. -Odor rote
and stepped out upon the stdewaic

"Yes, but I have no doubt I shaQ find it quite a
differeilt place," replied Frank, getting o«t

ing tfie doctcv up the steps.

"Somewhat, yes," said the doctor as he pushed th»
door open and held it so for Frank to enter. "Never-
theless, if it is to steadily and unquestionably improve,
your co-operative assistance is an absolute necessity.
Isn't that so, my dcarT said he to his wile, who ww
landing at the dow to grert them.

"It certaiiriy is," replied she, holding up her face
to receive her husband's kiss. Then turning to Frank
with a friendly smUe, she held out her hand to him and
said:

"How-do-you-do, Mr. Thompson, or Frank, as BoO
has told me to call you. I am very glad to welcome yott
back to Ac 'hmne-living place.' "

*Thank you,** he replied, taking her hand and press-

Ffmk Uaves the Hospital 0/ the New Birth 263

tng it gaifly, "H is good to get back." and releasing
her hand he closed the door and followed them up the
hall Upon coming to the door of his room, he laid
his hand upon the knob and was about to turo it. wh«»
Dorothy, turning her head quickly, interposed with,
"Not yet, tiiere is someone else in there who would
like to see you," and with a pretty movement of her
head she indicated a room, at the entrance of which
the hall ended.
"Indeed," said he ; and, removing hit hand feom the

kcob, he cofflt iBn e d on.

«*And we, Dorothy," said the doctor, placing his arm
about her, "will go in here," and he opened f e door
of the room on the right.

When Frank entered the room, Hannah was seated
on a chair talking to her boy who was standing by her
knee. Sie arose as he addressed her and came forward.

"So, at last, you arc back," said she, and they shook
' .«!s 'warmly. "It seems such a long:, long time since
t away. But my," stepping back and regard-
.ni wonderingly and with not a littie curioHty,
"you have improved. So nw** so, I Aould not have
known yon had I met yon dsewhere. What great
miracle caused so great a change in you?"

"The passing away of the old man and the coming
of the new."

384

Thi Succtit of Fmhm

"And do you think it possible so great a change
could be brought about in me?"
"Indeed, I do."

"Ah, bat then I ihould have to leave Ronald," and

she put out her hand and took one of the little hands
held out in self-protecting fashion as the child felt his
way to his mother.

Frank smiled tenderly down upon the little chap.

"Yes," said he; "but the treatment accorded you
would be, to hnn, a priceless inheritance."

"But what is the treatment?"

"To know that, you must experience it"

"Well, would you recommend it?"

"I certainly would, for it is the only remedy that
produces a cure."

"I would like to try it." said she tiumghtfully, and
die sat down upcm a chau- and took her boy upon her
lap; "and the only thing that makes me hesitate is this
little man of mine," and bending her head she kissed
the soft curls.

"I will stay with Mart'a, mother," said the child,
raising his baby-face with its large, sightless, bine eyes;
and, putting a little hand up, he patted her cheek
gently.

"And she would take good care of yon, I know,

Frank Ltaves the Hospital of the New Birth a&s

little son. But mother, somehow, ctmiot bear to
kftve her boy, even for a Httk whik," and ifae pressed
the cfafld closely to her.

*'But mother must leave him, some day," said Frank
gently, sitting down upon a chair a few feet away,
"and when she goes, she surely wants to leave him
something infinitely greater and of more importance
than the remembrance of her presence. She wants. I
am sure, to leave htm with a right restored tiiat he
may tread tiie roadway of Hfe fearlessly, with no
tbougfat of stumbling or falling; and that, as he ap*
]Hroaches manhood, his questioning, faltering step
may be firm and assured, and his changing weaknesses
become an unalterable strength."

"Ah, if that could be possible!" sighed Hannah.

"It is possible."

"Howr

'There is but one way," replied Frank earnestly,
"and that h your entrance into the Hospital of The
New Birth. Old things must pass away, if yon would
have all things become new. Inherited social weak-
nesses must be replaced by inherited social strength,
if the children are to see and knoiY wherem
they Aodd walk. There wffl, Aen, be no more seek-
hig for the many pathways whidi are now bdieved to

386 Th€ Success of PaOtm

lead to life, for all will know there is but tiie one, and
to it the children's steps will be directed."

• And who will be a mother to my boy while I am
gone? " asked Hannah with a trembling mSk M
placed the child's sunny head against her bfeast

"Mart'a wttt take care of me, mother,'* said RonaM
sleefuly. hb baby-mouth opening wide into a yawn.

"But Martha isn't mother, darling. But. never
mind," as his head began to slowly drop backwards
from her breast to her arm, "go to sleep," replied Han-
nah, accompanying her words with a rocking, sooth-
ing motion of her knees. Then putting a finger upon
her lips, she hxjked ow smi&igty at Frwik aad then
down at her sleepy boy. Frank smiled and nodded un-
derstandingly, and they sat quietly and sitently wait-
ing for the little fellow to go to sleep.

They had not long to wait, for in a very little while
Ronald was sound asleep; and Hannah straightened
out his clothes, with that tender lingering toodi
mothers have, and was aboot to rise, when Frarie
hastily sprang to his feet and held ont his arms for
the sleepily child,

"No, no," said she softly, "he might wake," and.
rising, she carried him over to a couch on one side
of the room and laid him down. Then, after placing

a light covering over him, sIm ksuied tovingly over and
tonchcd her Itpa to hU hair. ''Now we may resume
our conversation," whispered she, as she straightened
tq> and walked back to her chair and sat down.

"And so it ;s the leaving of your child that makes
you hesitate to a\ail yourself of the many benefits to
be derived frmn a trratmait at tiie Hoq;^ of The
New Birth?" asked Frank in a low tone.

"Yes. He is all I have, yon know. He is my world.
A pretty small and .inimportant one to others, no
doubt, but, to me. he is all of the worlds rolled into
one."

"I see," replied Frank slowly, his eyes fixed thought-
fully upon the floor. "But have you taken into coo-
sideratim that your deprivation is hb aiao; and that
yon cannot in^rt unto him a knowledge grreater than

"That is very true, and I am ^ifraid T hav on-
stdered little else than the fact that he is mir. all
mine! and belongs to no one else," replied T^mnah. a
sweet smile playing about her "f>s. emphati-
cally. "I am selfishlv glad to kno./ rhat this is true."

'Snt is it truer adced Fraidc. raishig his eyes and
reeanHng Haimah qnestionbgly. "That mothers
thoushtiessly boast of it, I know, fftHInf to realize, in

288

The Success of Failure

their vain human joy and pride, how really fr.iil is
their hold upon their vatmted posi^sion. So scrupu-
lously careful are they of the material casket, seeing
that it is kept clean, properly dressed and fed, that
they forget that within is a hidden chamber, the door
of which is closed and locked, and to gain an entrance
one must have the key. But alas ! where is the key ?"

"What key?" asked Hannah wonderingly.

"The key tiiat will unlock the ^r of the hidden
chamber of tiiat beautiful piece of pink and white
flesh ttiat you boast you own. Do you possess it ? And
if so, have you unlocked the door and swept from
within all that will prevent a life from being well
lived?"

"What do you mean ?" asked Hannah in amazement.

"I mean Ais : to fulfill your maternal obligations you
must have tfiis key."

"Key, or no key," replied Hannah impatiently, "I
shall do my best for him."

"But if you know not what is best, how can you?"

"Then T shall do what seems best."

"And which really may be wrong."

"Then what am I to do ?" asked Hannah helplessly.

**Flnd the key."

"What makes yon so sure that I haven't it?"

Frank Leaves the HospUal of th^NtwBwth 289
"Your all too eWdent uncertamty," rqM Frank,
nsmg and walking over to the conch where Ronald

slept. 'That IS. like all mothers, you are not altogether
sure what is best for your child." and the tender love-
linew of his face as he looked down upon her boy
have been a revelation to Hannah, could she
ont have seen it.

"That is. I am «MTy to say." admitted Hannah.

only too true. But what are we mothers to do to be
wholly sure that what we do is best for our children?
Find the key, you say, but where are we to look?"

"You must seek it where it is only to be found in
the Hospital of The New Birth." replied Frank, turn-
rag arooad and feeing her.

*TTitB I wonld be committing a great wrong to mv
boy, should I delay," said Hannah, her eves

leavmg him and, with a wonderftd alFectioii expressed
in their blue-gray depths, they rested t^on her child.

"You would be depriving him of his rightful hiheri-
tance," said Frank, approaching her slowly.

7! f *° ^^""^ though I know he

could be m no better hands than in those who have
made the 'home-living place' possible." said Hannah
with a heavy sigh.

'•But. if he is to enter into the joy of Ae Iwine-

ago The Success of Failure

living place; your leaving Wm i. «i al»ol«te necessity.
If he is to see its beauties «hI understand its wonder-
ful workings, the knowledge you impart to him must
be greater than you now possess," said Frank with
great earnestness. "Why. then, do you hesitate ?*

"I shall not," replied Hannah, rising determinedly to
her feet. "I shall ask the doctor to see that I am
admitted at their earliest convenience."

"Which is whenever you are ready, said the doctor
fron the doorway. He had been standing Aere un-
observed listening to their conversatkm.
"Then I shall arrange to go tomorrow.
"\^ery well." replied the doctor coming toward them.
•I shall take vou over and see that you are admitted.
Then laving a hand in a true brotherly faahidi upon
Frank's arm. he said to him : "Yoa tort no time. I see.
in seeking and securing a patient."

"Nor will she when she returns," replied Frank,
smiling knowingly at the doctor.

CHAPTER XXn

FRANK AGAIN VISITS THE SHACK

WITH the coming of the morrow, Frank's heart
burned to again visit the shade This time he
was going with a decidedly different purpose, for now
no thought of self-destruction possessed him. Indeed,
such a thought was not now possible, for within him
dwdt the realizi^CHi of a noa-d(»troyaMe life. Nordkl
he wait undl ^ evensi^, hut went in the taomag
liHit of a perfect day. Once more his feet trod the
road leading to the little pathway that led to the door
of the shack. Reverently and stepping very softly he
turned in at the gate and walked up the path. Thai,
taking the key from fan podcet, he wdocM ^ dcmr
and gently pushed k open. Steading thoughtl^y
within, he lodced around the room, surveyor; eadi
object with unaccustomed interest. He then removed
his hat and coat and hung them up on the same rack
that had held his rain-soaked hat and coat some time
before. Without closing ^e door, he seated himsdf
where he could get a good -view of ^ road «Mi waked.

Tht Success of Failure

Thftt she wonM GOine» he knew, for had she not tdd
him that he would tee her agahi, and he should then

decide her name.

As he sat there waiting, there came from the dis-
tance the triumphant strains of a far-away music. At
first it seemed like the gentle whisperings of the leaves
as they swayed lazily back and forth upon their
branches. Then it came nearer, and nearer, and he
recognized in it the innumerable sounds of the many
instruments at work in the world.

"Ah ! but this was a different music from that which
hitherto had fallen upon his ears. In it there was no
discordant note, nor the jumbling of non-precottceiired
sounds, mumntriiq; or loudly proclai ming m Aeir irri-
taticm a confliction of tr .«8. Ah, nol ftis was mu^.
What tden^g of tones! How strong and yet so
tender! How forceful and yet so kind! What sub-
limity of utterance! What height, what depth, what
breadth! What vastness and fullness! and, yet, in
all not a quivering note. It seemed as though every
tree, leaf and flower, every tiny green Wade of gra«i,
every littie root and shrub, responded to this matdiless

vohime of sound.

Frank closed his eyes and gave himself wholly up
to the pleasure of listening to this wonderful and all-

Frank Again Visits the Shack 293

inspiring music. Indeed, io enrapl wr- he by tlie tale
that it told, that he was unmindful of a g ;ntle step
outside and of the tall, slender form that later st: od in
the doorway ; nor did he hear a voice that said : "Hear
am I, my friend." And it was nut until the music
passed on and was gradually lost in At distance that
he opened his e3res and t aw that his expected guest
had arrived.

With a smothered exclamation, he quiddy arose and

came forward.

"Pardon," he said, "my seeming indifference to your
presence. Have you beoi here long?"

"No apology is necessary,** she replied, smiting
sweetly and giving him her hand. "That music you
have been listening to," sitting down in the chair he
placed for her, "is enough to absorb the whole atten-
tion of man. And now sit down, my friend," urged
die, "and tell me how you are."

"Surely, that is not necessary," he replied, throwing
back his head wto a happy laugh, "when my whole
being speaks for me.**

"That is true. You are, I see, in perfect health."

"And you?" asked Frank solicitously, drawing his
chair nearer to hers and sitting down.

"My health can never be better nor worse than that

a94 1'^ Success of Failure

of mtniciiKi V r^ied the, regard him ioM&y with
her fatfge, brown eyet, "and their joyf and Mrrm
mxM be tSSkt mine."

"Ah ! if I had but known and understood that " re-
plied Frank with a mournful shake of his head, "all
your days would have been healthful and joyous ones."

"So would they be, if all understood, but they do
not And, if you would have all my days heaMifid
and Inppy ones, yon mealt tadK tiwm tnderstand.^

"I win."

"And you will teach them my name?"

"Indeed, I will, for do I not know it?"

"Then it will be well with you."

"It is well with me now."

"And will be forevennore."

Tes,** and Frank's voice lingered tenderly upon
eacb word, "for bow can it be otherwise, when Love,
Service and Snccess awaH me in the liome-Uving
place.' "

"That is true," replied she quietly. "No greater
honor can be bestowed upon man than that of being
a co-worker with then. And to live with them is
wen worth while. Do you not beBeve sor and a
tender light filled her face.

"Indeed, I do— in fact, I know so."

Frank Again Visits ihi Shack ^

"Then you no longer consider yourself a failure?"

"No," replied Frank decidedly, "I am what I was
created to be, a success."

"I am glad to know," said she smiling broadly, "tl»t
my enforced companionship did not prevent you from
finding the toaA to meceis.'*

"Oh no, it taught me that sttccen or lailore was
sot to be detenmned by accident nor the possession or
non-poesciwicm of earthly properties, but rather in the
losing of man's self and the finding of himself and in
his obedience to the ruling of that finding."

"You have, then, cMne into your kii^dom," saki she,
"and need lear no man."

"And w> man, I am glad to say,** added he, "need
fear me."

"No, because you know the true relationship exist-
ing between you and your brother-man."

"Yes, and would that all knew it as I do," Siid he
ferventty.

"They will, in tiiiie» never fear," r«^ she eo-
<»uragiiii^y.

"Yes, but how many must suffer through the loqg
years of waiting," replied Frank sadly.

"That is so," agreed she; "but the union which has
taken place between Love and Service will greatly

296

The Success of Failure

lessen the time. True, there are many hard and bittef
lessons for Service to learn; but, fortunately for the
children of men, she has in her husband a teacher who
is invincible and never makes a mistake."

"Indeed, he does not," heartily acquiesced Frank;
"but it took a treatment at the Hospital of The New
Birtii to teadi me that"

"And not to teach yoa, only," replied she gasii^
wistfully through the open door and <^ into tiie
wooded distance, "but all mankind,"

"If one would succeed, yes," agreed Frank.

"To possess such knowledge, you are wonderfully
blessed," said At, withdrawmg her eyes and taming
them upcm him widi a sorions smile. "But I must
not tarry," and she rwe frwn her chair.

"Shall I not see you again?" anxiotisfy inquired
Frank, getting quickly to his feet.

"Indeed, you shall," replied she. a beautiful smile
lightening up her grave face, "for now you will not
shtm my society eaD me by a name Aat is not
mine; md wdl win you kmrw ^at tiie way man calls
the way of failure is oft-times ^ way of micc«m, and
that the way he calls by my name is not mine at all,
but is the way of lies, wherein the seed of deception is
sown. And of all ways this is the most disappointing.

Frank Again Visits the Shack

The tower tows the seed, and then eagerly awaits
tiie appearance of the first tiny green leaf. Then with
tender solicitude he watches carefully the continuance
of its growth, anticipating its every demand and be-
stowing upon it every attention that it may grow
qinddy, and he spumi no tagfestkn tiuit wffl enlMtttce
ite iietnty and hasten hs grow^ Indeed, not a ^SbSbd^
is left undone that will prodnee a fruitful tree. In doe
season, the fruit appears, and the proud possessor calls
in his neighbors to witness the result of his efforts.
They outwardly rejoice with him, even though they
may inwardly envy what they call 'his good luck.'
Btttr in truth, it b not good lock diat has produced tcan
tree ; its growtii has been watdwd widi vmuBKdmg care
and nourished at g^reat cost. For its luscious and most
to be desired appearing fruit, man has paid a big
price ; and although he may proudly point to it as the
proof of his success, at its heart, crumpled up and
lying useless, are the forms of men — failures all, but
failures doe to die growHi of ihb tree."

Fnmk sighed deeply ami walked toward the door.

"Don't sigh, my fHend," said she, a hand pro-
tntiiq^ upon his arm as she joined him in the do(H>
way, "for nnto you is given the work of planting a
different tree; and this will be a tree, indeed, the fruit

298 Tht Success of Failurt

whereof one might well be prood. Although it will
hoast of no particular owner, its growth will be fos-
tered by infinite care and tender reverence, and of its
fruits all may partake — yea, even down to old age.
But now I must leave you," and removing her hand
Irani ins ■fm hk mpp c o oown 10 mW tuxtc psui siki,
flowed sflentfjr P!nnk, wsBrad to iStt ipite. Then
die stopped and, taming around, hdd oat ber hand.

"Goodby, my friend, until I shall see you again," said
she. "Take back with you to my friends, Love and
Service, my fondest greetings and tell them you have
seen and talked with me and that my name is — " and
•he stopped and her dark-brown eyes net Fraok't in-
^tdring[}y<

"Soeoest," he onhetitatingly repBed.

•Xlood!" exclaimed she, her eyes shining. "Now
farewell," and passing through the gate she walked
with fimi and assured step to the «'oad, when she turned
and with her hand waved a mute farewell to the silent
figure standing «t tiie gate.

Fraidc slipped wHt ittto 1S» roodwqr; and, as he
watdied Urn tafi, toder, erect form m it moved atoi^
wi& certain step, he saw, what he had hitfwrto failed
to see, wondrously colored rays of light that enveloped
her in a gloriou" mist. At last she passed ovA of

Prank Again Visits the Shack

299

and Frank with thoughtful face returned to the
shack. Then he immediately put on his hat and coat
and came out and lodeed the door, and with a soog
on hit I^, not yet wag by the he h^;an hit
journey btdc to tiie 1ioroe*lhrfaif plaee," to Lovt and to
Service.