Katherine laughed out merrily.

"You will not let me 'forget,'" she said. "But there will be plenty of other 'good times,' and all else is as nothing in the balance, compared with Dorothy's safety." Then, to change the subject, she inquired: "Now, tell me, wasn't that last tableau about as fine as anything could be?"

"It was exquisite beyond description," said Mrs. Seabrook, with animation. "Mr. Seabrook was delighted with it, and so pleased to have Dorrie in it. It was lovely of the juniors to take so much pains for her and make her the central figure. The whole entertainment was a great success; your production was very bright and clever, and our guests from outside had nothing but praise for everything. Oh! by the way, Miss Minturn, my husband sends his kindest regards to you by me. He said it was all he could do until he could see you personally."

After chatting a little longer she arose to go, saying she was expecting company to dine with her.

Then she paused and again gently touched the spotless handkerchief bound around Katherine's hand.

"My dear," she observed, searching her face with curious eyes, "I cannot reconcile your bright and happy appearance with this; to me it is a marvel, and I wish--oh! how I wish--"

She checked herself suddenly, but Katherine read her thought.

"I know," she said, softly, "and my heart has been full of the same yearning for a long time. It will come, dear Mrs. Seabrook, if we keep on wishing and praying."

"If I only knew how to pray as--as you do!" was the wistful response.

"The Lord's Prayer meets every human need, particularly the clause, 'Thy will be done on earth as in heaven;' only we need to know it was never our Father's 'will' that His children should suffer," Katherine returned.

Tears rushed to the elder woman's eyes.

"I wish I could understand," she began, brokenly. Then, bending forward, she left a light kiss on the girl's cheek and abruptly left the room.

There were tears in Katherine's eyes also, but a tender smile on her lips.

"Divine Love is preparing the soil for the seed," she murmured to herself as she went back to her essay.

She kept herself aloof from the other students as much as possible until Monday, when she appeared as usual in her cla.s.ses. She had to run the gantlet of some inquiries regarding the extent of her injuries, hut she made light of them, and her comrades began to think they must have been greatly exaggerated, and so gave the matter no further thought.

Monday afternoon, when the duties of the day were over, she went to see Dorothy, who had sent her several pressing invitations during the last three days.

"I thought you would never come, Miss Minturn," she exclaimed, the moment the door opened to admit her, "and I have so wanted to talk over that lovely--lovely time with you."

"I have been pretty busy, dear, since I saw you," Katherine replied, bending to kiss the eager face.

"I expect you have, getting ready for exams, and everything, and I've tried to be patient," said the child, with a sigh, as she recalled how impatient she had felt. "Everybody says that was such a beautiful tableau!" she went on, with shining eyes, "and we know it was, don't we? I shall never forget it; only, it was too bad to have such a scare afterwards and my pretty chariot spoiled. Wasn't it lucky, though, that Uncle Phillip happened to come just when he did and--" but she was obliged to pause here for breath.

"Indeed, it was most fortunate, and I am sorry that the chariot was spoiled, for it would have been a pleasant reminder of our lily queen's grandeur as long as you cared to preserve it,"

Katherine returned.

"But that was nothing compared with your dress!" was the regretful rejoinder. "Uncle Phil said the skirt was ruined; but papa says you shall have another every bit as nice--"

"Indeed, you shall, Miss Minturn," here interposed Prof. Seabrook, coming from the adjoining room, where he had overheard the above conversation.

He cordially extended his hand as he spoke, while his tone and manner were more affable than they had been since the day of her admission to the school.

"We owe you a great deal," he continued, "both for the pleasure you were instrumental in giving our little girl last Friday night, and for your presence of mind which saved--no one can estimate how much--possibly a dangerous panic, the destruction of property and much suffering."

He had been quietly inspecting the hand he held, while he was speaking, and was greatly surprised to find only a slight discoloration where he had expected to see unsightly sores or scars, and, while he did not wish to undervalue her heroism and self-abnegation, he began to think that his brother-in-law had greatly over-estimated the injuries which she had sustained.

"I am afraid you are giving me far more credit than is my due,"

Katherine replied, releasing her hand and flushing as she read something of what was pa.s.sing in his mind. "I simply did what first came to my thought and--"

"And exactly the right thing it was to do," the man smilingly interposed.

"And Dr. Stanley did the rest," she persisted, finishing what had been in her mind to say.

"Well, 'all's well that ends well,' and we are very grateful that things are as they are," said the professor, earnestly, adding:

"You must allow me to repair whatever damage has teen done, as far as money can do that. It pains me to know that you were burned, but I am thankful to see that you did not suffer as severely as I was led to infer." He glanced at her hand again as he concluded.

"I suffered more on Dorothy's account, I think, than in any other way," the girl quietly replied.

"Why! were you burned, Miss Minturn?" Dorothy exclaimed, catching her breath sharply.

"You would hardly know it now," she said, showing her hand, for she saw she could no longer conceal the fact from her.

Dorothy took it, looked it over, then touched her lips lovingly to it.

"I'm very sorry," she said, "but it couldn't have been so awful bad to get well so quickly, could it?"

"It is all pa.s.sed now, dearie, and we are glad that no one's good time was spoiled, aren't we?" Katherine observed and hastening to change the subject.

"Indeed, we are. It was such a happy time!" sighed Dorrie, in a tone of supreme content. "I've dreamed and dreamed of it. I wake in the morning thinking of it, and mamma and I talk and talk about it."

"I wish to add, Miss Katherine," her princ.i.p.al here interposed, "that your special contribution to the programme of last Friday evening was exceedingly entertaining; and"--his eyes resting very kindly on her--"having learned the circ.u.mstances that inspired it, I heartily appreciate the spirit with which you met and mastered them. Now, Dorrie, I will not keep you from your talk with her any longer," and, with a genial smile and bow, the gentleman left the room.

Katherine remained an hour with Dorothy and allowed her to expatiate upon her "good time" to her heart's content, after which she went out into the grounds for a little quiet meditation by herself.

She was very happy because of what Prof. Seabrook had said to her and the marked change in his manner towards her. He had addressed her by her first name, too, for the first time, a thing which he never did in speaking to students in public; but there were a favored few whom he sometimes greeted thus when he chanced to meet them informally, and it now seemed as if she were henceforth to be numbered with them.

All the same, she knew that, in his heart, he was not one whit more tolerant of her religious views, and the skeptical gleam in his eyes, while inspecting her hand, had told her that he had no faith whatever that she had made a "demonstration" over a severe burn. But it was evident there had been a radical change in his att.i.tude towards her; he no longer entertained any personal repulsion, and thus, with the little fire of Friday night, all "barriers had been burned away" and a bond of true sympathy re- established between them. So, with a smile on her lips and a song in her heart, she made her way to a favorite spot, beneath a mammoth beech tree, where, drawing forth a pocket edition of "Unity of Good" [Footnote: By Mary Baker G. Eddy.], that tiny book, that multum in parvo which, to every earnest student of Christian Science, becomes a veritable casket of precious jewels, she was soon lost to all things material in the perusal of its pages.

She had been reading fifteen minutes, perhaps, when a m.u.f.fled step on the heavy greensward caused her to glance up, to find Dr.

Stanley almost beside her.

"All inquiries regarding a certain lady's health, I perceive, are quite unnecessary," he observed, as he searched her glowing face.

"Pray pardon me if I have startled you, but I would like to know how that poor hand is getting on, if it is permissible to mention it."

"It is not a 'poor hand'--it is a very good hand, indeed, thank you, Dr. Stanley; at least, for all practical purposes," she demurely returned, but keeping it persistently out of sight, among the folds of her dress, where it had fallen when she arose to greet him.

"Miss Minturn, aren't you going to shake hands with an old friend?" he gravely queried, extending his hand to her, but with a roguish sparkle in his handsome eyes.

Katherine laughed out musically, and reluctantly laid hers within his palm.

The man's face a.s.sumed an inscrutable expression as he turned the small member over and examined it with a critical look, even pushing up her sleeve a trifle to view the arm; but the slender wrist was fair and white and no flaw anywhere, except the slight discoloration previously referred to, where the unsightly blisters had been.

"Miss Minturn, it is less than three days since that accident occurred, and those burns are entirely healed! What did you do for them?" he demanded, in low, repressed tones.