THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK . BOSTON CHICAGO 
 DALLAS SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED 
 
 LONDON BOMBAY - CALCUTTA 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. 
 
 TORONTO
 
 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 BY 
 RACHEL CAPEN SCHAUFFLER 
 
 |0rft 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 1912 
 
 Att rights reserved
 
 COPYRIGHT, igia, 
 BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1913. Reprinted 
 June, twice, August, 1912. 
 
 J. 8. Gushing Co. Berwick & Smith Co. 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. 
 
 
 
 II. 
 
 THE BROWN-PAPER MISSIVE 
 
 7 
 
 III. 
 
 DELIVERANCE ON A BLACK HORSE . 
 
 12 
 
 IV. 
 
 A COWARD AND HIS MONEY 
 
 . 17 
 
 V. 
 
 THE LAWRENCE HOUSE . 
 
 . 23 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE INTRODUCTION .... 
 
 . 3 
 
 VII. 
 
 THANKSGIVING DINNER . . 
 
 
 VIII. 
 
 EXPLANATIONS GIVEN 
 
 . 51 
 
 IX. 
 
 A Box OF PERFECTOS 
 
 . 59 
 
 X. 
 
 
 6? 
 
 XI. 
 
 
 76 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE STATION MEETING 
 
 . . . 84 
 
 XIII. 
 
 WHILE THEY WERE YET SPEAKING . 
 
 93 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THEIR IDEA OF FUN .... 
 
 . 100 
 
 XV. 
 
 
 . 108 
 
 XVI. 
 
 THORLEY'S DIGGINGS . . . 
 
 . 114 
 
 XVII. 
 
 THE BEST PLACE IN ALL PERSIA . 
 
 . 123 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A DINNER WITHOUT DESSERT . 
 
 . 129 
 
 XIX. 
 
 DIPLOMACY . . . 
 
 . 140 
 
 XX. 
 
 WAY FOR THE BLACK SAIB 
 
 . 147 
 
 XXI. 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 153 
 
 XXII. 
 
 AND STRIFE THEREWITH . 
 
 . 1 60 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Miss ODDFELLOW'S INSPIRATION 
 
 . 168 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 MAKING MELODY .... 
 
 174 
 
 XXV. 
 
 AN EXTRAORDINARY EVENING . 
 
 . 181 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ANOTHER LETTER HOME . 
 
 . 188 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 THORLEY SURPRISES HIS FATHER 
 
 . 194 
 
 
 vii 

 
 Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXVIII. POLITENESS DEFERRED . 
 
 XXIX. Miss STUART DISPOSES . 
 
 XXX. AMONG THE PROPHETS . 
 
 XXXI. EXPLANATIONS ASKED . 
 
 XXXII. THE HILL OF DIFFICULTY . 
 
 XXXIII. BLOW ON BLOW .... 
 
 XXXIV. THAT BITTER DAY 
 
 XXXV. AFTERWARD 
 
 XXXVI. OUR WORK AGAIN 
 
 XXXVII. REVELATIONS 
 
 XXXVIII. THE LETTER AND MRS. PRESCOTT 
 
 XXXIX. THE CASTING VOTE 
 
 XL. JEAN STUART JOINS THE FUN 
 
 XLI. WOMAN TO WOMAN 
 
 XLII. ALL THE DIFFERENCE . 
 
 XLIII. JEAN is READY .... 
 
 PAGE 
 203 
 
 2O9 
 215 
 22 3 
 232 
 241 
 249 
 
 253 
 2 5 8 
 265 
 272 
 283 
 296 
 303
 
 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP
 
 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ONE AGAINST PERSIA 
 
 JEAN STUART, of New York and Bar Harbor, stood in the 
 doorway of the guest-house at Kazu, talking to her Moslem 
 courier. It was before the dawn of a November day ; and 
 the early morning in northwestern Persia is neither lighter 
 nor warmer than in New York City. Besides, it was snow- 
 ing. 
 
 Jean Stuart was eager to be off. There was only a short 
 day's journey between her and Muramna. She was tired 
 of being alone in Persia, with but one person to whom she 
 could speak, and he a Persian with an oily voice and disgust- 
 ing hair which was hidden only in part by an unpleasant 
 green turban. This Hadji Husain, however, was a man of 
 such cleverness that Jean had never really hated him until 
 this moment. Now he was refusing to allow her caravan to 
 start on the journey to Muramna. The reason he gave 
 was the snow. Jean had told him that it made no difference 
 to her. He said they were likely to get lost. She replied : 
 
 " That's nonsense. All you have to do is get a horse 
 or a mule whose home is in Muramna." Then she laughed 
 at him in a way she had already found efficacious. " The 
 trouble is you're afraid to get wet." 
 
 She was not answered as usual by his oily smile. He 
 shrugged his shoulders, with the palms of his large hands 
 spread toward her ; and his eyes were half shut as he an- 
 swered sneeringly, " Mashallah ! " 
 
 A crowd had gathered around the door of the guest-house,
 
 2 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 such a crowd as at any hour of the day or night springs up 
 from the ground when a foreigner shows his pale face and 
 strange clothes in an Oriental country. There were old 
 men with streaming blind eyes, women with veils that 
 could not hide the consuming curiosity of their vacant 
 faces, little children from whose condition the gaze of any 
 motherly person instinctively turned aside, only, of course, 
 to return with a pity that cried aloud for something to be 
 done. Jean Stuart, who thought herself more or less a 
 lover of humanity, would have given half her fortune for 
 the power to send that crowd away. They pressed up close 
 around her ; they felt of her clothes ; they peered into her 
 face ; one dirty talon of a finger almost fastened itself into 
 her strangely bright hair. 
 
 "Ugh," cried Jean, shrinking back into the doorway and 
 speaking with an appeal in her voice that she had never 
 before used to the Hadji. " Can't you send them away?" 
 
 The Hadji turned his back and beckoned to the landlord 
 of the guest-house. Then the two men deliberately walked 
 away for a parley. 
 
 The crowd pressed closer around Jean Stuart. Jean, al- 
 most frightened, felt for her revolver, and remembering 
 that she had left it under her pillow, went hastily back into 
 the room. The curtain that had formed two walls of her 
 sleeping-chamber was still in its place; behind it on the 
 mud platform raised about six inches from the mud floor, 
 still lay her mattress and her fur-lined sleeping-bag. She 
 lost no time in feeling under the pillow ; and it was with a 
 gasp of relief that she picked up the little revolver, appar- 
 ently untampered with. She was going to make a more 
 thorough examination when behind her she heard a voice 
 saying, in the rich tones of a calm old man, 
 
 "Salaam aleikum, Khanum." 
 
 She looked up; and there was a patriarch whom she 
 had noticed in the crowd because of his superior cleanliness.
 
 ONE AGAINST PERSIA 3 
 
 "What do you want ?" she asked. 
 
 "I go Muramna." 
 
 The words brought back the color to the cheeks of Jean 
 Stuart. 
 
 "Oh !" she cried, "you know English?" 
 
 " Fwbet," answered the old man, with a placid smile that 
 lit up the kindliness of his eyes. 
 
 "Oh," cried the aristocratic Miss Stuart; and she took 
 his wrinkled hand and wrung it before she would let it go. 
 
 "Better make hurry," insisted the patriarch. "I take 
 letter ; no time for talk." 
 
 "You are right," answered Jean, already burrowing 
 among her possessions for the pencil which is so elusive to 
 the properly constituted female. "You don't know Mr. 
 Lawrence?" she went on. 
 
 The old man's face broke into a wreathing smile. 
 
 "I not know Mr. Lawrence? I not know Dan Saib? 
 In these old arms I held him a baby. Mirza Lawrence, his 
 father, I know all time." 
 
 Jean, finding no paper, had torn off the side of a paste- 
 board box and was writing feverishly. There was a sound 
 of men removing their shoes at the door ; and she knew the 
 Hadji was returning. 
 
 Hastily she pressed the missive into the old man's 
 hand. 
 
 "In God's name be quick," she murmured. 
 
 "For Jesus' sake," he whispered reverently. 
 
 Then his voice changed to a whine and he was begging 
 alms of her. 
 
 The Hadji, who had just entered the room, leaped across 
 and struck the old man a blow that nearly knocked him 
 down. 
 
 Jean pointed her revolver at the cruel face. "Do that 
 again," she cried, "and I won't hesitate to fire." 
 
 With a hideous leer he answered cringingly, "Just as
 
 4 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Madam says. I thought he trouble you. We start now if 
 you wish ; snow stop by and by." 
 
 "How many hours' journey is it to Muramna?" Jean 
 demanded. 
 
 "Four five; in snow, perhaps a little more; six 
 seven, not longer with our beautiful steeds." 
 
 "Have you done what I told you for Lord Chesterton? " 
 
 "Oh ! he so comfortable ! That horse, he love me just 
 like my own brother." 
 
 "I will go and see him," answered Jean, with no hope- 
 fulness. 
 
 She found her horse in a bad condition, though, because 
 of a stone cut on his knee, she herself had cared for him the 
 night before. He had been crowded out of his good place 
 in the stable that was directly under the guest room of the 
 khan. The bandages over his sore leg had been kicked off ; 
 and he was shivering with pain and cold. 
 
 Much work had been done, and the morning was well 
 advanced before Jean Stuart was induced by the now urgent 
 and obsequious Hadji to mount Lord Chesterton and turn 
 her face, as she thought, toward the city of Muramna. Her 
 caravan was not a large one ; it consisted of herself, Hadji 
 Husain the courier, and six muleteers who conveyed on their 
 tired animals her personal baggage and the camping outfit 
 she had used on her way through Russia. 
 
 Jean, supposing that the city of Muramna lay on a plain, 
 was surprised to find that the road they were taking soon led 
 them up into the foot-hills of a mountain range, which 
 loomed up very high and bleak directly in front of them. 
 She called the Hadji to her and began to ask questions which 
 he answered suavely in an interesting way, full of circum- 
 stance and Oriental color. In spite of her dislike of him, 
 when she could get him to talk in this vein, she had to own 
 that he was almost fascinating.
 
 ONE AGAINST PERSIA 5 
 
 The time passed quickly, although they travelled with 
 deliberation on account of Lord Chesterton's knee. The 
 Hadji became more and more interested hi his own remarks. 
 He began to be less discreet in his use of language. At last 
 he ventured on an expression so disgusting that Jean quickly 
 rebuked him. The man threw back his head and laughed. 
 
 At the first sound of this ribaldry, anger took possession 
 of Jean Stuart. She turned in the saddle and with a gesture 
 of her whip-hand commanded him to be silent. They were 
 passing a little defile among steep rocks that opened to the 
 right from their upward path. The Hadji with a sudden 
 movement seized Lord Chesterton by the bridle and giving 
 his own horse the spur, swept Jean Stuart into the defile. 
 At a few words of Turkish from their master, the muleteers 
 with their mules closed up the opening of the defile. 
 
 Meanwhile, Jean Stuart was wishing she could be as ob- 
 livious of the Hadji's English as of his Turkish. There is 
 no need, luckily, to write down what he said. It is enough 
 to know that in her dreams, one pure-minded woman was 
 compelled to hear those words at intervals almost through- 
 out her after-life. She would have given anything if it had 
 been safe to cover her ears ; instead she grasped her whip and 
 made sure of her revolver ; for there was a menace hi the 
 man's eyes that would not be contented long with saying 
 things. 
 
 Her silence, she perceived, was goading him to the danger 
 point ; yet she could not have spoken to save her life. Pres- 
 ently his hand reached out and rested on her foot; for he 
 had dismounted and was staring up at her with his horrible 
 yellow eyes. The time had come. She presented her re- 
 volver at his right shoulder, intending to shoot him through 
 the lung, but not to kill him. Her hand was on the trigger ; 
 and he, motionless, was still holding her foot, when she 
 found her voice. 
 
 " You know I won't hesitate to kill you, " she said. "You
 
 6 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 had better come to terms. If you land me safe in Muramna 
 to-night, I give you my check for ten thousand dollars, and 
 my word that it shall be cashed." 
 
 "I will have the ten thousand dollars," he answered, 
 "and something sweeter." 
 
 Then she fired; but there was no explosion; and as he 
 sprang on her, the revolver dropped from her hand.
 
 CHAPTER H 
 
 THE BROWN-PAPER MISSIVE 
 
 "I'D rather my shoes had arrived in Persia than this 
 peremptory lady," thought Dan Lawrence as he crossed the 
 Compound from his house to the press building. The snow 
 which had fallen through the night was already melting, 
 though it was only ten o'clock ; and the holes in Mr. Law- 
 rence's rubbers exactly matched those in the soles of his 
 American shoes. He ran the last few steps to the press 
 building but took time to scrape the snow off his feet before 
 he went up the outside stairs. 
 
 The room which he entered was partly office and partly 
 composing-room. Two or three dark-eyed Nestorian print- 
 ers were setting type at one end. 
 
 "May your day be white," said the oldest of them; and 
 Mr. Lawrence replied with a salutation and a smile that 
 creased his ruddy cheeks from the edges of his gold-bowed 
 glasses to the ends of his long brown mustache. 
 
 The American man who was sitting at a desk near the 
 window made a sound that resembled a growl but did not 
 even turn his head. He was ploughing with a blue pencil 
 through reams and reams of proof-sheets, his hand moving 
 from right to left with a vigor that almost made havoc of 
 the paper. 
 
 Dan went over and stood quietly beside him, a remnant of 
 the smile still lingering in his gray eyes. 
 
 "When can you hold up a minute?" he said. "Are you 
 just going to press?" 
 
 7
 
 8 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 An unmistakable growl answered him. 
 
 "How soon will you be finished ?" 
 
 "Let me alone, can't you ?" 
 
 "Not if I have to wait long." 
 
 "Half an hour?" 
 
 "Not half a minute. You must come to, and read this, at 
 least." 
 
 Dan profaned the proof-sheets by laying down on them a 
 pulpy fragment of brown paper with something written on it. 
 
 The man at the desk scraped his feet and scowled as he 
 picked up the dirty missive and tried to read it. 
 
 "Looks about ready to throw at the schoolroom wall," 
 he remarked. "Better apply to Sammy Whiting." A 
 smile lit up for a second his face which, though young, 
 seemed hardened already into grim lines. He squelched 
 the pulpy mass together in his strong fingers. With his 
 other hand he threw open the window, and by a glance, 
 asked Dan's permission to aim the ball at one of the street 
 dogs, which was lying just under the wall. The indescrib- 
 able odor of an Oriental city rushed in at the window and 
 mingled with the no less powerful smell which was already 
 in the room. If the three Nestorian workmen had been 
 kept at home for a week or so, printers' ink and turpentine 
 might have been the most odoriferous things left in the 
 room. 
 
 "Air feels good," said the man at the desk as he watched 
 the dog chewing hopefully on his missile. The printers were 
 shivering already; and after a glance at them Dan shut 
 the window. 
 
 "You'll get air enough to-day," he said, "without starting 
 a strike among your workmen. Come, get those papers out 
 of the way. You're due at Kazu." 
 
 "Kazu ! What's up? Have the boxes come?" 
 
 "No, a lady from America." 
 
 "A lady ? Who's expecting her ? "
 
 THE BROWN-PAPER MISSIVE 9 
 
 "No one here. She's come, that's all. Kasha Abraham 
 brought the news and that billet-doux which you took the 
 liberty of throwing away. It was rather a peremptory re- 
 quest for help, and addressed to me by name." 
 
 " Oh, you know her ? " 
 
 "I never heard of her, nor Margaret either; but she is 
 alone except for a Moslem courier. He is keeping her 
 there on account of the snow-storm, and of course we must 
 see to her." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh, hurry up, Thor. Get those things out of the way. 
 I have to be at the Conference in Sergis by twelve o'clock, 
 and we may as well ride along together. You'll take Ab- 
 dullah the gate-keeper, I suppose. It's no use to get a 
 Christian mixed up in a row with that Moslem. That is, if 
 there should be a row." 
 
 At the word row a gleam of pleasure came again into the 
 face of Thorley Prescott. He gathered up his proof-sheets 
 and gave a brief command in Syriac, which brought all three 
 printers hurrying to him from their cases. (A few Orientals 
 under Thorley Prescott had learned the meaning of the word 
 hurry.) Thorley divided up the proof-sheets among them, 
 gave a few brief directions, and with a mutter that was 
 meant for a parting salutation, and a resounding slam of the 
 office door, was off with his friend across the Compound. 
 
 Ten minutes later the two Americans were mounted and 
 rode out of the Compound followed by Abdullah, the Mos- 
 lem gate-keeper. Prescott was on a black stallion that could 
 hardly be persuaded to keep a suitable number of feet on 
 the ground. He curveted and pranced and snorted through 
 the narrow streets in a way that left behind him a lane of 
 frightened foot-passengers. Even the other horses gave 
 way before him. Probably no one enjoyed his progress 
 through the streets of Muramna, except the Fiend himself 
 and his master.
 
 I0 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Dan Lawrence and Abdullah, when they reached the city 
 gate, found Fresco tt tightening the girths of his saddle and 
 feeding his horse a lump of sugar. The Fiend, though the 
 foam still showed around his mouth, was standing quietly, 
 while his master had an aspect of cheerful calmness, which 
 he was far from showing in his office chair. 
 
 "Well, it's a great day, Dan. I don't know but the 
 stranded female is doing us a good turn ! " 
 
 Prescott mounted as he spoke and made the Fiend walk, 
 until Dan on his old gray horse had drawn alongside. 
 
 "What you going to do with her when I get her ?" 
 
 "Margaret and I thought she had better come to 
 us," answered Dan. "Miss Wilcox's room is vacant, you 
 know." 
 
 "And you know nothing about her ?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 "Why, Dan, she may be anything." 
 
 "She writes like a lady, and her name is 
 
 Thorley gave a short laugh. "They say a lady is known 
 by her stationery." 
 
 Dan smiled. "You have taken the journey to Muramna 
 yourself, Thorley. Did you ever find hotel stationery in 
 any of the khans?" 
 
 "No, but I found a tooth-brush once for the use of the 
 whole establishment. Well, so long, Dan. This brute 
 wants to go, and I better let him out, or we won't get back 
 to-night." 
 
 " Do you think you can make it ? I rather expected you 
 would have to spend the night." 
 
 "Not if I know it. The lady will have to hump herself. 
 Well, so long." 
 
 "Just a moment, Thor. Don't take risks with the cour- 
 ier, will you ? You know how venomous those fellows can 
 be. If you think there is likely to be any danger, perhaps 
 I had better give up the Conference and go along after all.
 
 THE BROWN-PAPER MISSIVE II 
 
 It's really my concern, you know, and I wouldn't like to 
 have anything happen to you in my place." 
 
 A hearty laugh from Thorley answered him before he had 
 finished speaking ; and the next moment the Fiend and his 
 rider were off at a galop.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 DELIVERANCE ON A BLACK HORSE 
 
 A ROAD in Persia is really no road at all. It is merely a 
 track through mud or dust, and a track that is very hard to 
 follow. On this November morning the mud was as deep 
 as mud can be, the stones were even more slippery than 
 usual, and the pitfalls were hidden by three or four inches 
 of snow that had turned into slush. Even a reckless horse- 
 man would have been warranted in picking his way with 
 some care. But Thorley Prescott had no regard for any- 
 thing except to reach the guest-house at Kazu. His ser- 
 vant Abdullah, mounted on a slower horse, was obliged to 
 step on more than one kariss. Over these mounds which 
 concealed old waterways, he would leap as quickly as he 
 could, and never without muttering a prayer; for at any 
 moment his horse might plunge into the broken ground up 
 to the knees at least. At their best speed, it was long past 
 noon before they reached the khan. 
 
 "You talk to the crowd, Abdullah," said Thorley Pres- 
 cott, "while I keep the old man busy." 
 
 He knocked at the door of the khan with the handle of his 
 whip, dismounting, because even he could not hope to get 
 his information without talking for it. There were no signs 
 of a caravan near the guest-house; so he felt sure that his 
 search for the lady was not yet at an end. Meanwhile the 
 crowd had gathered. Abdullah moved among them find- 
 ing and making acquaintances. 
 
 Prescott, receiving no answer to his knock, left the Fiend 
 with his servant and pushed his way into the khan. In the 
 empty guest-room he was met at last by the landlord, who 
 
 12
 
 DELIVERANCE ON A BLACK HORSE 13 
 
 denied all knowledge of the American lady. He called down 
 upon himself the curses of all the prophets if any Inglesi had 
 lodged last night in his miserable hovel. He felt himself 
 marked for sorrow that any favor should have been asked 
 him by the venerated Saib, which he could not grant ; but his 
 tongue found it impossible to compass a lie, and "by the 
 beard of - 
 
 Prescott, whose eyes had been searching the room, 
 walked over to one corner of the raised mud platform 
 which ran around three sides of the floor, and picked up a 
 tan riding-glove. Turning the wrist back, he found the 
 word Jouvin, and the look with which he showed it to the 
 landlord caused the rest of a fluent speech to be lost forever 
 in the labyrinth of a very long and horribly dirty beard. 
 
 Abdullah's head appeared nodding in the doorway; and 
 Prescott, stuffing the glove into his pocket, left the land- 
 lord without so much as a farewell salutation. 
 
 "I have found it all out, Saib," said Abdullah. "Shall I 
 tell you as we ride? There is need of some haste." Pres- 
 cott's answer was to mount the Fiend. Abdullah pointed 
 the way into a track which led off at an oblique angle from 
 the road to Muramna. 
 
 "You are sure they have taken her to the mountains?" 
 asked Prescott. 
 
 Abdullah pointed in silence to tracks in the snow. 
 There were traces of a small caravan and especially of one 
 lame horse, differently shod from the others. Prescott 
 nodded, giving the Fiend his head. Abdullah would have 
 entered into explanations ; but his master checked him. 
 
 "Save your breath till afterwards," he commanded. 
 "How long since they started?" 
 
 "At least an hour, Saib. It is thought that the horse of 
 the Khanum had begun to go lame. They call her the Kha- 
 num with the Head of the Rising Sun. It should not be 
 difficult to find her."
 
 14 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Humph !" said Prescott. He particularly disliked red 
 hair. 
 
 Now the Fiend had a chance to prove himself. Prescott 
 had owned him but a little while and had never ridden him 
 on a long expedition. A more prudent man would have 
 taken another horse. Prescott knew it and actually 
 chuckled as he felt the unfailing strength of the muscles 
 that carried him along. He could easily have distanced 
 Abdullah but even he thought it better to keep within 
 sight of his servant. Very soon the track began to lead 
 uphill, the rocks grew larger, the clay more slippery than 
 ever. Once Abdullah's horse went down on his knees. 
 
 Though luckily unhurt, he refused to travel as fast as 
 before. Then Prescott's impatience got the better of him. 
 
 "Come as fast as you can, Abdullah," he shouted, for 
 the first time touching his crop to the flank of the Fiend. 
 No second touch was needed. It seemed to Abdullah that 
 the horse and his rider flew up the side of the mountain and 
 vanished into the sky. He pushed on as fast as he could ; 
 for it is not pleasant even for a Moslem to ride alone in the 
 mountains of Persia. 
 
 Thorley Prescott had ridden alone not more than fifteen 
 minutes when he heard very faintly the sound of a woman's 
 scream. His road just then lay down hill. How he and the 
 Fiend escaped rolling in a heap at the bottom of that hill, 
 is one of the miracles not due to common sense. The 
 screams continued, seeming to come from a defile somewhat 
 higher up and a little off the main road. Thorley began 
 now to urge his horse. His impulse was to shout a reply ; 
 but he repressed it, counting on the surprise of his attack to 
 make up for his being single-handed. Suddenly the Fiend, 
 mounting a path which seemed to have no end, swerved 
 around a huge rock; and Prescott saw just below him a 
 crowd of muleteers and a small dark man in a green turban, 
 with his arms around a red-haired, hatless woman whom
 
 DELIVERANCE ON A BLACK HORSE 15 
 
 he was trying to drag from her horse. The woman was 
 fighting desperately with her whip which one of the mule- 
 teers snatched just as Prescott rode up. At the same time 
 her saddle turned and as Prescott dashed down through the 
 crowd of mules and muleteers, she fell to the ground. 
 
 The next moment the man with the green turban was 
 jerked into the air, and a rain of blows fell about him, some 
 of which overflowed to the muleteers. A few commands in 
 Turkish sent them back cringing to their loads; for the 
 human beast of burden is brave only when he feels that the 
 upper hand belongs entirely to him. From the man in the 
 green turban also, courage began to ooze. It was not long 
 before he became limp in the hands of his captor. Even 
 his clothes began to give way in that vigorous grasp ; and 
 there seemed to be very little left of him, when, with one 
 jerk, Prescott landed him across the pommel of his saddle. 
 
 It was high time then, that the rescuer should see what 
 had become of the rescued. But the man who had not 
 feared to tackle unarmed, five of his fellow-men, was afraid 
 to turn in his saddle and look for a lady. He had once seen 
 a woman in a faint, and then he had run away. Now there 
 was nothing for it but to turn his head ; and when he had 
 done so, he was ready to fall off his horse with surprise. 
 Mounted on her horse, with her hat neatly perched on her 
 orderly hair, sat a self-possessed young woman loading a 
 shiny little revolver. She turned her head as he looked at her. 
 
 "I wish I knew," she said, "when Husain took out those 
 cartridges. It's very embarrassing to fire an empty revol- 
 ver. But for that, I could have managed nicely. How- 
 ever, since you've come, I shan't need firearms, shall I?" 
 She smiled at him in a way that made Thorley feel that the 
 sunshine was unusually brilliant. He did not notice that 
 she was still so pale that every freckle stood out against her 
 white skin, nor did he see her body shaking ever so little in 
 the saddle.
 
 1 6 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Now Abdullah rode up on a run which could not have 
 lasted much farther. At Prescott's command he took 
 rope from the loads of the muleteers and wound it around 
 the body of the man in the green turban. Prescott tested 
 the knots before he would let the Hadji be lifted from his 
 saddle bow. Then he gave orders to have him tied on the 
 back of one of the mules, the muleteers helping eagerly and 
 jeering in the face of their late master. This done, he 
 turned to the lady. 
 
 "Perhaps we had better ride on," he suggested. 
 
 "By all means," she answered. 
 
 Prescott led the way, followed by the lady. The six 
 muleteers came next with Abdullah and his whip in ener- 
 getic charge of the captive Hadji.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A COWARD AND HIS MONEY 
 
 WHILE they were still in the mountain passes, there was 
 no chance to do anything but to get over the ground as best 
 they could. The lady might watch the back of her deliverer 
 and speculate as to who he was. She probably did so in the 
 intervals of reflecting on her late danger ; but she had no 
 chance to satisfy her curiosity, and strange to say she 
 was not so very curious. It was enough for the present to 
 know that she had some one to take care of her. She was 
 glad that Hadji Husain was behind where she could not see 
 him. She hoped she had looked upon his evil face for the 
 last time. The threats that he had made as she fought 
 with him rang in her ears; and she resolved that Jean 
 Stuart would never again stir a step in the Orient without 
 a good strong American man at her side. 
 
 "This one is strong enough," she thought, gazing at the 
 smooth black head in front of her (Thorley had lost his cap 
 as he climbed the mountain), "and I'm sure he's an Ameri- 
 can. But what in the world is he doing here ? He's a 
 gentleman, I think, and he may be a scholar. At any rate, 
 he's every inch a man ; but I'll eat my hat if he ever was or 
 ever would be a parson." 
 
 Jean Stuart's curiosity was beginning to get the upper 
 hand of fear and fatigue and she was glad when they reached 
 a comparatively level place where they could ride together. 
 
 It was no surprise to her, of course, that Prescott should 
 take the first opportunity to begin a conversation. But 
 Prescott had no desire to talk. There was one thing more 
 that had to be done. 
 
 c 17
 
 1 8 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Hold up a minute, please," he said. "This is the best 
 place to let the Hadji go." 
 
 "I beg your pardon?" she asked so sharply that he 
 stopped the Fiend near her instead of going back to Ab- 
 dullah. 
 
 "What's the matter?" he asked. 
 
 "Do I understand you to speak of letting the Hadji go? 
 Is he to have no punishment? You do not understand, 
 perhaps, that he had already forced me far out of my way, 
 and had told me that he was carrying me off to his strong- 
 hold in the mountains. His followers are Kurds, he says ; 
 and he explained to me fully what they and he would do 
 with my my things, and and - 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Thorley, impatiently. "But what do 
 you want me to do?" 
 
 "Can't you take him to Muramna," said she, "and have 
 him punished? Is it for the public safety to let him go?" 
 
 Prescott gave a short laugh. "Public safety!" he said. 
 "You're in Persia." 
 
 "But is there no way of restraining criminals?" 
 
 "The new Governor of Muramna might have him bas- 
 tinadoed for you. Perhaps you might even get him shot 
 from the mouth of a cannon." 
 
 "Oh, mercy!" 
 
 "That's what he won't get, if the Governor wants to 
 punish him. If not, there are plenty of excuses for letting 
 him go scot free." 
 
 The lady looked at him, aghast. "Then there is nothing 
 to be done but to let that rascal go, after he has frightened 
 me almost to death ?" 
 
 Prescott shrugged his shoulders. "After all, he didn't 
 hurt you." 
 
 Jean Stuart thought she never in all her life had met so 
 unpleasant a man. 
 
 "Of course it shall be as you say," she said, drawing her-
 
 A COWARD AND HIS MONEY 19 
 
 self up with an expression and a tone which had seldom 
 failed in their effect. 
 
 Thorley Prescott turned away unscathed, "I'll scare him 
 a little mo^e, before I let him go," he remarked with zest. 
 "Listen if you like." 
 
 The Hadji was now untied and set on his feet. The mule- 
 teers and Abdullah formed a circle around him while Pres- 
 cott went over and stood near Miss Stuart. The Hadji 
 fell to his knees as Prescott looked at him. With groans 
 and sniffling he began to beg for mercy. Prescott regarded 
 him in perfect silence, so long that Jean Stuart thought she 
 should have to scream. At last the words came like the 
 lash of a whip. 
 
 "Get up, Husain." 
 
 The man rose quickly. 
 
 "You know the new Governor of Muramna?" Husain 
 mumbled something Miss Stuart could not understand. 
 
 "Speak English and say 'Sir.' Do you know the new 
 Governor?" 
 
 "Oh, sir, have mercy." The man sank again to his knees, 
 then at one stern word tottered to his feet, stuttering abject 
 appeals. 
 
 "What do you suppose he would do to you if I gave you 
 over to him ?" 
 
 Husain began to cry aloud and to beat his breast. 
 
 "Last week a man died under the bastinado for speak- 
 ing unpleasantly to an Englishman." 
 
 "It is a woman, sir," said Husain with sudden cheerful- 
 ness, and an indescribably belittling jerk of his thumb 
 toward Miss Stuart.' 
 
 "So much the worse. This is what we Americans do to a 
 man who attacks a woman." 
 
 Prescott put his hands around the Hadji's neck and let 
 him feel how easy it would be to choke him. The Hadji's 
 eyes started out of their sockets and his legs crumpled un-
 
 20 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 der him. Prescott quietly held him up by the throat until 
 a voice from behind said, "Oh, let him go, or I shall faint." 
 Then he dropped him as if he had been a hot potato. 
 Husain, with his tongue hanging out, called Allah to wit- 
 ness that not one hair of the Khanum's head had been 
 injured. 
 
 "That's lucky for you," growled Prescott, standing over 
 the wretch in such an attitude that he fell on his face writh- 
 ing. 
 
 "Get up, you coward, and be as much of a man as you 
 can." Prescott's foot moved as he spoke. Husain yelped 
 but got up in a hurry. 
 
 "Now," said Prescott, "would you like to be caught 
 again disturbing any one that belongs to us ? Do you care 
 to feel my hands around your neck or my whip on your 
 back?" 
 
 The feelings of the Hadji could be expressed only in a flood 
 of Turkish. 
 
 "You see how we are able to defend ourselves. You 
 might have fought me to-day seven to one." 
 
 "Ah sir, I am no coward. Your valor was as the valor 
 of Rustem, and you had a gun." 
 
 "I had nothing but a riding whip, and that I have a great 
 mind to use again on you." 
 
 "Oh no, sir I" grovelling before him. "I am a delicate 
 man, sir, I cannot bear it." 
 
 "Hold your tongue. One 'Sir' is enough in a sentence." 
 
 Turning to the muleteers, Prescott spoke to them in 
 Turkish. They seemed to assent, but when he spoke again, 
 they looked frightened and shook their heads. He asked 
 them another question and they rose with a suppressed 
 shout, and began to adjust their loads. 
 
 "Husain," said Prescott, "I have decided to let you off 
 this time without the whipping. Start at once and go 
 toward Kazu. But remember this, that the Christian God,
 
 A COWARD AND HIS MONEY 21 
 
 though a God of great patience, does not give to any of His 
 children more than a certain amount of it. Every bit of 
 my patience has now been spent on you. If ever I hear of 
 your hanging about our premises or bullying any one con- 
 nected with us, foreigner or native, I will whip you with my 
 own hands till the blood runs. Now go !" 
 
 The Hadji rushed toward his horse; but the muleteers 
 interfered, all talking at once, and laying hold of him as he 
 tried to slip away. Prescott appointed two of them to act 
 as guards while he questioned the others. After talking to 
 them, he went over to Miss Stuart. 
 
 "The muleteers say that the Hadji owes them wages," 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes, I paid him fifteen tomans a day for everything; 
 and he was to give them two tomans apiece." 
 
 "How many days have you been travelling with him ?" 
 
 "Since the River Aras; six days counting to-day." 
 
 "Have you paid him for to-day?" 
 
 "Thirty tomans. He demanded double wages on account 
 of the snow." 
 
 Prescott, after a moment's calculation, turned to the 
 Hadji. 
 
 "Husain," he said, "you have forty-eight tomans belong- 
 ing to these men, and fifteen tomans which you extorted 
 this morning from the lady. Of course you have robbed her 
 all along. We'll let that go because she agreed to it; but 
 the sixty-three tomans you must give me." 
 
 Husain, with tears, protested that he had no money, that 
 he would be reduced to beggary, that his wives and his 
 little children would perish, that before Allah . 
 
 Prescott cut him short with a question to the men. They 
 assented eagerly, with looks of secret joy among themselves. 
 Husain argued in Turkish with much rolling of his eyes and 
 such gestures as his captors would permit. This question 
 of money made a different man of him, shrewder, less ab-
 
 22 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 ject, with a touch of vindictiveness that amounted almost 
 to courage. 
 
 Prescott turned again to Miss Stuart. "He says the men 
 were to have only one toman." 
 
 "He agreed with me for two. I made him sign a contract. 
 Do you want it ? " She produced it without waiting for an 
 answer. 
 
 Prescott held it up before the Hadji. 
 
 "Now Husain, you will give me sixty- three tomans or you 
 will go with me to the Governor." 
 
 There was no more delay. Husain, with lamentations 
 that threw doubt on the sincerity of his earlier efforts, pro- 
 duced the sixty-three tomans. Then Prescott ordered the 
 men to free him. Husain rushed over to Miss Stuart, and 
 trying to grasp her feet, burst into a flood of entreaty. In 
 her efforts to avoid his touch Miss Stuart almost lost her 
 seat. Prescott leaped at his collar, flung him violently to 
 the ground, and stood over him with a face that would have 
 turned a braver heart cold. 
 
 "You damned scoundrel," he cried. "Get out, now, 
 quick! Or" 
 
 With one pull he brought the Hadji to his feet again, 
 raising his whip to strike. One terrible blow, one wild 
 shriek, and the rascal was running toward his horse. 
 
 "Let him go," cried Prescott. "To your saddles, every 
 one of you. He who first gets to the city gate shall have 
 an extra toman." 
 
 "Saib, the Khanum," cried Abdullah, and Prescott turned 
 just in time to keep Miss Stuart from falling off her horse. 
 
 "Confound it," he muttered, holding her uncomfortably 
 against the horse while Abdullah went for water. "Why 
 can't a woman have the sense to enjoy a row ?" 
 
 Jean Stuart opened her eyes and pulled at the pommel to 
 get herself back into the saddle. "Because she is never the 
 hero of it," she said, with the life in her gray eyes contradict- 
 ing the pallor of her face.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 THE LAWRENCE HOUSE 
 
 THORLEY PRESCOTT ordered that men and animals be fed 
 before they resumed the journey ; but he would not allow 
 them to wait for food to be cooked. He himself saw to it 
 that Miss Stuart made a sufficient meal. She took his 
 anxiety for granted ; but she would have been surprised if 
 she had known its chief motive. "Next time she might 
 really faint," thought Prescott, and he saw with relief as he 
 helped her remount, that there was color in her cheeks. He 
 did not ride with her at first, for he wan ted to impress it upon 
 the muleteers that they would have to hurry. Already it 
 was growing dark ; and in spite of his personal recklessness 
 Thorley Prescott knew as well as any one that the Muramna 
 highway after sunset was no place for an American woman ; 
 nor, indeed, for any one except a bandit. Besides, the later 
 they reached the city gate, the less chance there would be 
 of getting it opened. 
 
 Meanwhile curiosity had a chance to grow in the mind of 
 Jean Stuart. As soon as Thorley dropped behind the mule- 
 teers she made a sign that she wished to speak with him. 
 
 " I suppose we are on the way to Muramna ? " she said. 
 
 "That's what you want, isn't it?" he answered. 
 
 "Muramna has always been my destination," she replied. 
 
 Amusement sprang full-armed into his eyes. "I wonder 
 why," he demanded. 
 
 "Not half as much as I wonder who you are and how you 
 happened to come riding to my rescue at exactly the right 
 moment." 
 
 "Why, Dan Lawrence sent me, of course." 
 
 23
 
 24 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 There was a brief silence. Then she began again. 
 
 "You are staying in Muramna, perhaps, with Mr. Law- 
 rence ? " 
 
 "I live there." 
 
 "Oh - Is there anything to do ? " 
 
 "You might ask Dan when you see him. He'll have a 
 job planned for you by this time, probably." 
 
 "Forme?" 
 
 One merry little sound escaped her, more provoking than 
 a laugh, more refined than a chuckle. Thorley Prescott 
 wondered how she made it and began scheming to have her 
 do it again. 
 
 "Suppose you tell me your name," he said. 
 
 "Before you have mentioned your own?" 
 
 "Oh, mine is Samuel Thorley Prescott at your ser- 
 vice," he added, very much to his own surprise putting up 
 his hand to take off his cap and make her a salute. 
 
 A laugh more in tune than the usual chime of bells rang 
 out in the twilight. Then she begged his pardon, for his 
 look of surprise had been succeeded by one of dismay. 
 
 ' ' My best and only head-covering, ' ' he explained . ' ' Well, 
 it's up to Dan ; he has three." 
 
 "I should say it was up to me," she ventured. 
 
 To her surprise he laughed heartily. 
 
 "So it is. Only this morning I had hopes that you were 
 the boxes from America." 
 
 "Then there are no hats to be bought in Muramna ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Well, hardly." 
 
 Another silence fell. 
 
 Curiosity was now aflame in the mind of Jean Stuart ; but 
 before she could frame another question, Thorley Prescott 
 spoke. 
 
 "You didn't tell me your name, after all."
 
 THE LAWRENCE HOUSE 25 
 
 " Oh, I am Jean Stuart. Didn't Mr. Lawrence tell you ? " 
 
 "He showed me your letter; but I don't know how much 
 of it he could read himself. I couldn't make anything of 
 it but a ball which I threw at a dog." 
 
 "I'm afraid you're a case for the S. P. C. A." 
 
 "Oh no, it was a very slushy ball, and the dog knew I 
 meant it for a joke. But you'll be a case, if you ride that 
 lame horse any longer." 
 
 "I know it," she said with great distress. "I feel it all 
 through me every time he limps. But what can I do ? " 
 
 "The Fiend wouldn't let you stay on his back." 
 
 "Oh, yes, he would. But you're heavier for poor Lord 
 Chesterton than I am." 
 
 Prescott sprang from the Fiend's back, ordered the mule- 
 teers to go on, helped Miss Stuart to dismount, and changed 
 the saddles without paying any attention to protests from 
 her. Then he held his hand for her to mount, saying, 
 "Come, I shall think you're afraid." 
 
 She forgot she was tired; and for several minutes the 
 Fiend forgot too ; but her hand on the snaffle was light 
 and strong ; and it was nearly ten hours since the Fiend 
 had left his stable. So presently he was jogging along 
 again behind the muleteers. Thorley Prescott, leading the 
 lame Lord Chesterton, walked the rest of the way to 
 Muramna. 
 
 At least two hours longer they plodded over that miserable 
 excuse for a road. The muleteers lit one or two lanterns, 
 which sometimes brought to light a pitfall when it was too 
 late to avoid it. It had grown cold enough to freeze just 
 the surface of the slush ; and the horses' feet crunched 
 through at every step. As for Prescott, he took no pains 
 not to splash ; and the spark or two of interest which he had 
 begun to feel in the stranger died a muddy death. Their 
 journey seemed all the more endless because the lights of 
 Muramna had appeared for so long to be very near them.
 
 2 6 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Jean Stuart, not yet fully used to the Persian atmosphere, 
 was tantalized again and again. The effort it cost her to sit 
 upright in her saddle was very great. More than once she 
 caught herself falling into a doze. When at last the mule- 
 teers stopped and the Fiend halted of his own accord, she 
 could not believe that it meant anything but another vexa- 
 tious delay. Only the voice of Thorley Prescott shouting 
 to the keeper of the city gate convinced her that this at last 
 was Muramna. 
 
 And now there was another vexatious delay. It is no easy 
 thing to enter an Oriental city after nightfall. Thorley 
 Prescott would have been wiser if he had supplied the keeper 
 of the gate with a few inducements before he had left for 
 Kazu that morning. What arguments he now used, he never 
 told ; but his father noticed later that Thorley withdrew 
 his order for a new suit, which was to have been sent from 
 America. 
 
 Now they began to pick their way through the crooked, 
 narrow streets of the city. The going there was little better 
 than outside the walls. Their horses were liable to step on 
 sleeping street dogs. The widely-separated, rough cobble- 
 stones, slippery with mud, were even more treacherous than 
 the quagmires of the highway, and the high walls on each 
 side seemed to make the darkness tangible. For the first 
 time, since she had seen the last of Hadji Husain, Jean 
 Stuart felt terrified. It occurred to her now that she had 
 no idea where she was going. 
 
 "Mr. Prescott," she cried ; and a grim voice answered her 
 from below in the darkness, "Well?" 
 
 "I hope the hotel is better than those awful khans. You 
 will speak to the proprietor, won't you?" 
 
 "The hotel?" 
 
 "Yes. You are going to see that I get there safely, 
 aren't you ? You're not going to leave me until I am under 
 a roof?"
 
 THE LAWRENCE HOUSE 2J 
 
 "Wasn't planning to. What Muramna hotels were 
 starred in your Baedecker?" 
 
 "Oh well, even if it is uncomfortable, it will be a place 
 to sleep in. What is the name of the best hotel?" 
 
 "The Lawrence House." 
 
 "How very American ! Who keeps it?" 
 
 Then Thorley Prescott laughed. Jean Stuart felt a vexa- 
 tion that grew into anger when he said, "Do you know 
 anything about Persia?" 
 
 "I beg your pardon?" 
 
 " You aren't really expecting to find a hotel in Muramna ? " 
 
 "You spoke about the Lawrence House yourself." 
 
 "Mrs. Lawrence has invited you to her home." 
 
 "But she doesn't know me. Why should she invite me? 
 I can't possibly accept. I shall go to whatever place is 
 open to travellers, no matter how poor it is." 
 
 "Oh, very well. Shall I call an electric cab?" 
 
 Jean Stuart could not trust herself to speak ; and there was 
 silence for several minutes. Then they reached a street a 
 trifle cleaner and more level than the others. A substantial 
 wall loomed up before them, with a building inside that 
 looked very tall. Lights could be seen from the upper win- 
 dow of another building farther in. The muleteers stopped ; 
 and Prescott rode among them to rap with the butt of his 
 whip at the gate and to cry, "Issachar ! Shimoon ! Hil- 
 gar ! Whoever you are, wake up!" 
 
 Some one had evidently been watching, for the gate was 
 opened without delay. 
 
 "Oh .Dan, is it you? How'd you get here so soon?" 
 cried Thorley. 
 
 "I've been watching in your office. Have you got her ? " 
 
 "Yes, here she is. Miss Stuart, this is Mr. Lawrence, 
 proprietor of the Lawrence House," he added in a lower 
 tone. 
 
 "Mr. Lawrence," said Jean, offering her hand, and was
 
 2 g THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 going on to speak incoherently of "embarrassment" and 
 "hospitality" and "your wife" and a "nuisance." But 
 Dan would have none of it. 
 
 "Let me lead your horse," he said. "You must be tired 
 to death. My wife is looking forward to your coming, with 
 the greatest interest. I hope you have brought the latest 
 fashion papers." 
 
 The tone was so friendly and commonplace that Jean 
 Stuart could not think of herself as an intruder. It was 
 only a few steps farther to the open door of a house, which 
 she forgot to measure with the eye of a woman who had all 
 her life owned more houses than she could live in. And 
 now the figure of a lady appeared in the doorway, and a 
 cheery voice rang out into the darkness. 
 
 "Is Miss Stuart there? Oh, I am so glad !" 
 
 The lady ran down the steps, took Jean by the elbow, 
 then feeling that she could scarcely stand, slipped an arm 
 around her waist and helped her into the house. 
 
 "Are you able to go right upstairs?" she asked. "Dan 
 will send your things and I really think you'd be more com- 
 fortable in bed. Besides I've had water heated and I guess 
 a bath in a tub will feel pretty good." 
 
 " Good ! " cried Miss Stuart, sitting down on the bottom 
 step of the stairs. "Just give me a minute, won't you? 
 I've been praying for the shelter of a Persian hotel, and here 
 I wake up to find myself in an American heaven ! " 
 
 There came from a doorway at Miss Stuart's right the 
 sound of a mellow laugh. She raised her heavy eyelids and 
 saw an old man regarding her with a benignity which made 
 her love him on the spot. He stood quietly watchful, strok- 
 ing his long white beard. After his laugh, he paused before 
 he said, still very gently, but with a strength of tone that 
 made the words sink even into the tired mind of Jean 
 Stuart : 
 
 "Ah, Margaret, our new young friend has seen already
 
 THE LAWRENCE HOUSE 29 
 
 that you and Dan and the little ones know how to make our 
 home indeed a 'Foretaste.' ' 
 
 "A foretaste of what?" asked Jean Stuart sleepily, 
 getting up as Margaret Lawrence pulled helpfully at her 
 arm. 
 
 Dr. Lawrence's face, which with his last words had grown 
 serious and even a little wistful, broke again into a most 
 lovable smile. To Jean his answer was so mysterious that 
 her mind refused at the time to puzzle over it. 
 
 "Of our Real Home," he answered.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE INTRODUCTION 
 
 Miss STUART slept without waking for at least ten hours. 
 When at last she opened her eyes, she saw at the foot of her 
 bed a quaint little face framed in fine brown hair and sup- 
 ported by an active figure in a plaid dress. As the stranger's 
 eyes opened, the little face crinkled up into a smile and a 
 little voice said, 
 
 "My mother sent me to come in very quitely and see if 
 you want your breakfast yet. She says you are not to get 
 up on any account." 
 
 Miss Stuart, laughing softly, raised herself on one elbow. 
 "Come here, you darling mite," she said, " and tell me how 
 old you are and what your name is." 
 
 The child went around the bed and offered her hand 
 gravely. "My name is Ruth Lawrence, and I'm nine years 
 old. Danny is only seven. But if you are awake, I must 
 go and tell Mamma. Would you like me to come back and 
 plump your pillows ? " 
 
 "Very much, dear heart; and tell your mother I hope 
 I am awake, but it seems too good to be true." 
 
 "I don't know what you mean," said Ruth, soberly, "but 
 Mamma will prob'ly ; she most always does know what 
 people mean, even Uncle Thor." 
 
 "So do I," announced another voice from behind the 
 door. "She means she's so glad to be here that she hopes 
 she isn't dreaming. I don't think that's much of a joke." 
 
 The merriest kind of laugh rippled out from the bed. 
 " Is that Danny ? " cried Miss Stuart. " Make him come in." 
 
 30
 
 THE INTRODUCTION 3! 
 
 As she spoke, there popped into the doorway a pair of 
 shining gray eyes with a small, thin child attached. " Good 
 morning !" said a cheerful voice. Ruth went over to him, 
 saying in a reproachful undertone, 
 
 "Mamma said you were not to come in." 
 
 "Well she asked me. Mamma wouldn't want me to be 
 unpolite." 
 
 Ruth, with a righteous air of having done her own duty 
 and some of her brother's as well, went her way ; while 
 Danny advanced to the bedside, tugging at a gold chain that 
 was festooned across the front of his blouse. A large gold 
 watch presently popped out from a pocket that was a little 
 too small ; and Danny exclaimed triumphantly : 
 
 "See! Uncle Thor lent me his gold watch and chain. 
 I can wear it to Thanksgiving dinner at Aunt Kate's. 
 Won't Sammy Whiting be mad, though ! Uncle Thor says 
 he's a brat. What is a brat?" 
 
 "I never answer questions until my teeth are brushed." 
 
 She lay back on her pillows smiling at him ; and he stared 
 at her. The large eyes travelled thoughtfully over every 
 inch of her face and the full lips moistened each other with 
 a hearty relish before they gave the verdict. 
 
 "Well, / think you look pretty nice if your hair is red; 
 and you aren't so very homely either. Uncle Thor told 
 Papa that Mrs. Whiting would consider you a very plain 
 woman. I think your looks are the kind that brighten 
 things up a good deal; but it's harder to tell before your 
 face is washed. I b'lieve I'd rather have you to teach us 
 than Miss Wilcox. Uncle Thor said you didn't know 
 enough. But I'd rather have a niggerent teacher than one 
 that purses her mouth. Miss Wilcox does, this way." 
 Miss Stuart's smile broke into a chuckle. "And whatever 
 you are," concluded the judge, "I don't b'lieve you could 
 be pursy !" 
 
 For the first time in a year, Miss Stuart gave herself up to
 
 32 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 whole-souled merriment. The child pranced about, well 
 pleased with himself and her too well pleased. 
 
 "Tell me," she said, willing to divert his mind, and re- 
 solving after this to laugh only in the proper places, " Tell 
 me who was it that lent you the watch, and why did he do it ? " 
 
 "Uncle Thorley Prescott the one that found you. 
 He came in while we were at breakfast this morning. He 
 seemed in a very good mood. Often he's pretty cross. 
 To-day he tossed me up to the ceiling and bumped my head 
 quite hard ; and because I didn't cry hardly at all but said 
 it would be better if the ceiling was higher, he took out his 
 watch and said I could wear it to school. But 7 said I 
 didn't need to be rewarded for being hurt and besides there 
 isn't any school, because of Thanksgiving ; so he said, would 
 I do him the honor to wear it on this occasion because of his 
 respect for me and to help him give thanks that he was a 
 sochated with three genrations of perfect gentlemen. What 
 is a genration? I think it meant Papa and Grandpa 'cause 
 they both looked red an' pleased. But maybe it was only 
 to hear Uncle Thor say so much. They think he doesn't 
 talk enough, and Mamma thinks so 'specially. Once I 
 heard them say that he gets out of the habit at home ; and 
 Papa said, 'It's no wonder.' I asked why; but they said, 
 'Never mind.' So I began watching, and I guess it's be- 
 cause Mrs. Prescott talks so much herself. She does talk 
 a lot!" 
 
 "Don't you enjoy hearing her?" 
 
 "Well, not so very much. She seems to jaw a good deal. 
 Nobody jaws in this house ; but Sammy Whiting's mother 
 does. That's where I learned the word ; but Mamma says 
 it isn't a very good one. I don't see why, when it means 
 what you mean and no other word does. Well, here's 
 Mamma now with your breakfast. Shall I open the door ? " 
 
 "Please do," said Jean, still chuckling, her hands going 
 apprehensively to her erring hair. "Good morning," she
 
 THE INTRODUCTION 33 
 
 cried, "your son has been so entertaining that I haven't 
 even washed my face." 
 
 "She ast me to come in; so of course I hat to," said 
 Danny, virtuously. 
 
 " Well, you may go to Grandpa now. We'll speak about 
 that later," said his mother, with a smile for her guest. 
 
 "7 have to come in and plump the pillows because I said 
 I would," announced Ruth, setting down the little coffee- 
 pot she was carrying. 
 
 "Never mind that, dear," said Jean, "I can do them 
 myself." 
 
 "Well, I know you can," said Ruth, plumping with the 
 greatest energy, "but it isn't every day that we have a 
 lady come clear from America. Gentlemen come some- 
 times; but hardly ever ladies, bercept missionaries. You 
 aren't a missionary, are you ?" 
 
 "No, dear." 
 
 "And you aren't going to be?" 
 
 "Heaven forbid," thought Jean ; but she only smiled and 
 shook her head. 
 
 "Come Ruth," said Mrs. Lawrence, "we won't stay any 
 longer now. I'll be back later," she added, "and see that 
 you have all you want." 
 
 "Please don't trouble about me," said Miss Stuart. "I 
 have made you too much work already; and everything 
 smells delicious." She made a face of delight at Ruth, 
 whose face crinkled until her eyes looked like the thinnest 
 kind of half moons turned upside down. She kept her 
 head turned toward the stranger, as she followed her mother 
 from the room, her eyes saying unmistakably that she 
 would far rather stay. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Lawrence," called Jean, "my breakfast will 
 taste lots better, if Ruth is with me. I suppose I mustn't 
 ask for Danny, too." 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence's eyes twinkled ; but she shook her head.
 
 34 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Ruth may stay," she said, "if you'll send her out the 
 moment she is in the way." 
 
 "On those conditions, you may never get her back," 
 laughed Miss Stuart. "Now you can tell me all about 
 everything," she added in a confidential tone that made 
 Ruth squirm with delight. "You know it was dark when I 
 came last night, and I have no idea what this house looks 
 like on the outside, nor how many people live in it, nor who 
 your neighbors are, nor anything." 
 
 "We-e-e-1-1," said Ruth, elated but not overwhelmed by 
 her new importance, "Well, where shall I begin?" The 
 child could not help feeling a little glad that Danny had 
 put himself out of the running. "If he was here," she 
 thought, "I wouldn't have a chance to tell much of anything. 
 But of course I'm sorry he was naughty, and besides I told 
 him not to come in." 
 
 "Suppose I tell you first what I know," said Miss Stuart, 
 "and then you'll know just how 'niggerent' I am. In this 
 house live," she closed her lips so that something not quite 
 like a dimple showed at each of the corners, and her eyes 
 laughed as she began to count on her fingers, "your 
 mother," that was the forefinger, "your father," middle 
 finger, "a young lady named Ruth." The child's face 
 crinkled up again more than ever, as she gazed at the shining 
 ring that was on the very tall ladylike finger that stood for 
 her. Only the little finger remained for Danny. She 
 guessed he wouldn't have liked that. 
 
 "And nobody for the thumb?" asked Miss Stuart. 
 
 "Yes, Grandpa; but he's as tall as Papa." 
 
 "I remember ! I saw him last night. He's the dear old 
 gentleman with the white beard And is he a missionary ? " 
 
 "Oh my, yes ! He's been one for ever-unever-unever 
 I guess most to Amen." 
 
 "And he lives with you all the time? Isn't there any 
 Grandma ?"
 
 THE INTRODUCTION 35 
 
 i 
 
 "No, no other relations bercept in America. When we 
 came back to Persia, there was nineteen to see us off at the 
 steamer." 
 
 "Then who are Uncle Thorley and Aunt Kate ?" 
 
 "We-e-e-1-1, they're pertend relations. To keep off 
 homesickness, Mamma says. There's Aunt Kate and 
 Uncle Harry, Uncle Giant we call him sometimes, 'cause 
 he's so big and has a beard that sticks out just like in Jack 
 the Giant-Killer. Their other name is Franklin." 
 
 "And they are missionaries?" 
 
 "Oh my, yes! Uncle Harry is a doctor and he has a 
 hospital out at the College, and has to cure so many sick 
 people that Aunt Kate says he doesn't know how to eat any 
 more. But he's promised to chew a great deal at Thanks- 
 giving that's to-day 'cause Harriet says she won't 
 chew 'nless he does. " 
 
 "Is Harriet his little girl ?" 
 
 "Yes, and so is Edith, only she's bigger and she'll have to 
 go home next year. She cries every time anybody talks 
 about it; but Edward doesn't. He's dying to go home. 
 He says he's read every decent book in the Station at least 
 three times ; but Tom's written him that there's no time to 
 read books when you go to college. I heard Edward read 
 the letter to Uncle Thorley, and Uncle Thorley laughed and 
 said there was a good deal in it. But at College here they 
 all read books like everything. Uncle Thorley can't get 'em 
 printed fast enough ; and sometimes Grandpa has to stay 
 up nights to help him." 
 
 Jean Stuart had been sitting up in bed waiting for a chance 
 to get in a word. It was one of her principles never to in- 
 terrupt a child for her own pleasure. Now Ruth was 
 obliged to stop for breath, so Jean seized upon the instant. 
 
 "You don't mean to tell me," she said, "that your Uncle 
 Thorley has anything to do with missionary work ? " 
 
 "Why, yes ! He pays the workmen and he makes books
 
 36 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 in Syriac and he writes a paper called The Light of tlte 
 World and he trains horses for everybody that can't train 
 their own and he can talk to Kurds better than anybody else 
 bercept Mr. Freyer; and he can't talk half as fierce as 
 Uncle Thorley, so it doesn't sound like a Kurd atall." 
 
 "Oh-h-h-h!- This Uncle Thorley, then, is not the 
 same as the Mr. Prescott that came and found me ? " 
 
 "Why yes. Of course he's the same. There's only one 
 Uncle Thorley. He has a father ; but he's just Mr. Prescott. 
 And Mrs. Prescott isn't like an aunt atall. Even Uncle 
 Thorley just calls her Mrs., like anybody else, and he's re- 
 lated to her, but she isn't his real mother. I wish Danny 
 was here," Ruth finished, looking about her helplessly. "He 
 can 'splain all those hard things." 
 
 "Oh, can he?" said Jean Stuart mischievously. "Then 
 I'll get him to 'splain Uncle Thorley. Are there any more 
 Prescotts?" 
 
 "No, but Mrs. Prescott is praying for Uncle Thorley to 
 get a sooterable helpmate. (That's the praying word for 
 wife, you know.) So I s'pose he'll get one pretty soon. But 
 once when she prayed it, he got up and went out of the room. 
 What do you s'pose God thought of that ? " 
 
 Jean Stuart was lying back on her pillows and wiping her 
 eyes. 
 
 "I don't know," she said. "Does Danny?" 
 
 Ruth was dreadfully shocked. "Oh, no," she said. 
 "Danny can't 'splain God. He's only a little boy. Even 
 Grandpa doesn't know all about Him, nor Miss Oddfellow 
 either, and she's most as old as Grandpa an' just as 
 good! 1 ' 
 
 There came a knock at the door, which Ruth opened, ad- 
 mitting her mother. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Lawrence, "have you had any chance 
 to eat?" 
 
 "I never ate a meal that tasted so good," Jean declared.
 
 THE INTRODUCTION 37 
 
 "I shall remember it all my life. This is what I call 
 luxury." 
 
 A shadow passed over Mrs. Lawrence's face, as her guest 
 brought out the last word. 
 
 "Oh no," she said. "Please don't think we're luxu- 
 rious." 
 
 "What do you call it, then?" laughed Miss Stuart. 
 "Night before last I was glad to have a rubber blanket be- 
 tween me and the mud floor ; and the breakfast I tried to 
 eat! Ugh!" 
 
 " Oh well, of course, when you've just come off the journey, 
 most anything clean seems nice. But you won't write that 
 word home to your church, will you ? At least not until 
 you've lived here a whole whiter ? " 
 
 "Lived here a whole winter !" cried Jean Stuart, with a 
 start that made a Castanet of every dish on the tray. Mrs. 
 Lawrence and Ruth caught it, as it was sliding to the 
 floor. 
 
 "You aren't expecting to go back across the mountains at 
 this time of year?" 
 
 "No, but I'm going on around the world by the southern 
 route. You'll help me find a maid, won't you ? And your 
 husband surely knows a reliable courier. I must have an 
 American, at least not an Oriental." 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence smiled, in a way that slightly irritated her 
 guest. "Suppose we discuss all that later," she said. 
 "It's time I was getting the children ready for the little 
 English service which is a luxury, if you please. I knew 
 you were too tired to go, so I wouldn't speak of it before. 
 But would you feel able to go out later to the College ? It's 
 three miles away, just outside the city walls. The Hos- 
 pital is there too; and Mrs. Franklin, the wife of our 
 doctor, is giving the dinner at two o'clock. We'd all love 
 to have you with us." 
 
 "But why should Mrs. Franklin ask me to her dinner?
 
 38 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 You are all too good. I'll do just what will cause you the 
 least inconvenience." 
 
 "Oh," cried Mrs. Lawrence, " do you realize what it is to 
 see some one from America when it's seven years more until 
 your furlough comes again ? Why, one look at your sleeves 
 is worth a whole week of Thanksgiving dinners !"
 
 CHAPTER VH 
 
 THANKSGIVING DINNER 
 
 Miss JEAN STUART of New York and Bar Harbor chuckled 
 more than once, in a way which the word chuckle is not fine 
 enough to describe. She was getting ready to dine in the 
 middle of the day with sixteen missionaries and their nine 
 children, and she could find in her trunks no gown with 
 sleeves adequate to the occasion. She wished she had not 
 countermanded that last order of hers in Paris. Then she 
 realized that it was months since she had taken such an 
 interest in her clothes. The gown she finally chose was 
 black, like all the others she was wearing ; but it was a kind 
 of black she had not intended to put on until a little later. 
 She was ready before the Lawrences came home from the 
 service, which they had said would be held at the Girls' 
 Seminary ; but her fur-lined coat was warm, so rather 
 than linger in the little sitting-room which she had found 
 on going through Dr. Lawrence's doorway, she opened the 
 front door and stepped out into the golden sunshine. The 
 air felt as if it would soon be time to pick violets. The 
 driveway in front of the house was as bare as if yesterday's 
 snow had fallen in a dream. Patches of scanty grass were 
 still green ; and in garden beds on either side of the Law- 
 rence steps were chrysanthemum stalks with a few blos- 
 soms which had escaped being picked for the Thanksgiving 
 centerpiece. 
 
 Jean Stuart turned for a look at the house to which fate 
 had brought her. It was three stories high, built of bricks of 
 dried mud, but in a substantial way that made it look very 
 different from the Persian houses she had seen. The roof 
 
 39
 
 40 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 was flat, and a railing at the edge showed it was often in use. 
 The Lawrence house was between two other houses very 
 much like it and built on a common foundation. They 
 could not be called ugly, for they gave an impression of simple 
 comfort ; but even a real estate agent would have hesitated 
 to describe them as commodious, much less palatial. 
 
 Jean turned, and her eye followed the driveway to the gate. 
 The wall was there as she remembered it, very high, but not 
 one bit too high, she thought, shuddering a little. Near it 
 was a building larger than all three houses. She thought 
 Dan Lawrence must have been wailing there when they 
 had arrived last night, and she remembered he had spoken 
 of waiting in his friend's office. 
 
 "I'll wager he likes training horses," she thought, "better 
 than editing The Light of the World. I suppose that's 
 a religious paper. Oh, my eye ! He's no more fitted to 
 write for it than I am ; but maybe he only stands over the 
 printers while they set up the type. I guess he could make 
 most anything work, if he wanted to. I wonder if 'God 
 could 'splain' his being a missionary. Jeanie, if you sit 
 next him at dinner to-day, I dare you to ask him." 
 
 A little sound of amusement broke from her as she picked 
 up her skirts and went to peep around the corner of the 
 houses. Several groups of people were just coming down 
 the steps of the large building at the other end of the Com- 
 pound. 
 
 "Oh my ! " she said, "the missionaries have finished their 
 luxury. If they consider a church service the chief luxury 
 of Thanksgiving Day, what will the dinner be like ? Well, 
 I ate enough for breakfast anyway ; and I'm not likely to 
 write to my church." 
 
 Out of the nearest group, a tall, slender girl with light 
 hair and earnest eyes, ran back to find Margaret Lawrence, 
 who was lingering in the doorway of Faith Seminary. 
 
 " Is that Miss Stuart ? " demanded the girl in a penetrating
 
 THANKSGIVING DINNER 41 
 
 whisper. "Isn't she stunning ? And that hat is absolutely 
 the newest thing I've seen since I left New York. Would 
 you dare ask her if it came from Paris?" 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence laughed. " Get Ruth to ask, if you must 
 know," she said. "Miss Stuart has fascinated both the 
 children, and I believe she'd tell them what she might not let 
 out to us." 
 
 "Has she vouchsafed to explain how she happened to be 
 stranded at Kazu with only a Moslem courier?" 
 
 The voice was the voice of Miss Wilhelmina Trench, who 
 had not left behind her in Boston her hereditary ideas of 
 propriety. 
 
 "If she happens to be one of the Jonathan Stuarts," said 
 another voice that was kindly as well as brusque, "she'll 
 never explain anything. Her family don't have to." 
 
 A snort from behind them made more than one of the 
 ladies jump. 
 
 " If I am not very much mistaken," said a magisterial voice, 
 "this ambiguous young person will explain herself to us all, 
 before the day is over, unless," the speaker's hand went up to 
 adjust her eye-glasses and succeeded in making them sit even 
 more crookedly on her very inconvenient nose, "unless her 
 conduct should prove to be inexplicable. I very much 
 regret," she added, "that any Missionary should consider 
 this a moment for expatiating on the stranger's hat." Mrs. 
 Prescott, whose enunciation of the word Missionary showed 
 that she spelled it always with a capital, fixed her august 
 regard on the spot where the earnest-eyed Amy Lea had 
 stood ; but the girl had managed to slip away and was at 
 that very moment watching that newest of hats, as its 
 owner took her place in the Lawrence buckboard. 
 
 "If she finds out that I've been here less than a year," 
 thought Amy, "she'll know that this dress wasn't the latest 
 fashion even then. Oh well, I suppose a real missionary 
 wouldn't mind."
 
 42 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 But perhaps more than one real missionary did mind a 
 little bit. Mrs. Whiting's first thought was of Sammy's 
 shoes, which really were a disgrace ; and Jane's dress was 
 scandalously short ; but Caroline in her embroidered white 
 lawn would look sweet enough to make up for anything. 
 She did wish George wouldn't persist in making that dread- 
 fully old-fashioned bow ; but there were things you could not 
 teach a husband, no matter how faithfully you kept at 
 him. 
 
 At the dinner table Miss Stuart found herself in the seat of 
 honor between Dr. Franklin and Thorley Prescott. The 
 quaintest of elderly ladies, in a costume that suggested the 
 days of the Civil War, sat opposite her and nodded benig- 
 nantly when she was introduced as Miss Oddfellow, Prin- 
 cipal of Faith Seminary. Jean Stuart found it hard to take 
 her eyes from the little lady, until she espied through a wide 
 archway another dinner table where nine children were 
 quietly sitting. A question was just coming off her tongue, 
 when Prescott cleared his throat and she discovered that 
 every head was bowed but his and her own. In a moment 
 Dr. Lawrence was "asking a blessing." 
 
 Jean Stuart did not trust herself to speak until every one 
 else had begun. She had to chat a little with her host be- 
 fore there was a chance to address Thorley Prescott. Then 
 she murmured : 
 
 "Thank you for another rescue. What would have 
 happened, if I had talked out loud?" 
 
 "Don't be too sure that nothing will happen now. You 
 kept your eyes open." 
 
 "Oh, was that wrong? I see I'll have to get you to tell 
 me lots of things." 
 
 "Me!" Thorley Prescott gave his shortest, most dis- 
 agreeable laugh. 
 
 "Yes, you. It's a pity if one black sheep can't stand by 
 another."
 
 THANKSGIVING DINNER 43 
 
 "Oh, they've talked about me already, have they?" 
 
 "Do you suppose I would allow any one else to call you 
 names in my hearing ? If my eyes were open, what about 
 yours?" 
 
 He laughed with a different ring this time. 
 
 Miss Oddfellow was speaking across the table. "I ven- 
 ture to say, Miss Stuart, that in your home muskmelons are 
 hardly palatable at Thanksgiving." 
 
 "You are right, Miss Oddfellow," said Jean, with the 
 deference which had won her so many elderly friends, "and 
 this melon is the most delicious I ever ate. How do you 
 manage to keep them ? " 
 
 " It is due to our dry climate," said Miss Oddfellow, much 
 gratified. "Even grapes can be kept until March." 
 
 "But here is what delights us more than all the melons in 
 Persia," said Dr. Franklin, as the servant placed before 
 Miss Stuart a plate of milky soup with one small oyster 
 floating in it. " Where did you get 'em, my dear ?" he called 
 to his wife. 
 
 "Mrs. Lawrence's father sent them out last summer," 
 returned Mrs. Franklin, beaming at him from her end of 
 the table. Then with a little turn of the head, she made the 
 radiance fall on Jean Stuart. "And you see," she added, 
 "that for a long time a welcome has been provided for our 
 guest because the can held exactly twenty-six oysters." 
 
 "Had it held but twenty-five, Mrs. Franklin, I am sure 
 you and Mrs. Lawrence are perfectly capable of creating 
 an oyster if it is necessary for the comfort of a guest. I 
 shall drink to you in this broth. Here's to the hospitality 
 of Muramna. May it never grow less, for greater it could 
 not be!" 
 
 She raised her spoon to her lips, smiling at Mrs. Franklin 
 and Mrs. Lawrence, who sat next to each other. 
 
 "Let us make that a rising toast," said a little man who 
 sat at Mrs. Franklin's right.
 
 44 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 A young fellow on the same side of the table jumped to 
 his feet. 
 
 "Good plan ! " he cried. "You and I will click plates, 
 Mr. Freyer. No such cracker-jack dinners to be gotten 
 in our little mountain home, eh?" 
 
 "These gentlemen, Mr. Freyer and young Mr. Standish," 
 explained Miss Oddfellow, "are stationed in the Mountains. 
 Their departure has been delayed this autumn ; so Muramna 
 has the pleasure of entertaining them." 
 
 "What are you doing, Papa ?" called an astonished voice 
 from the smaller table, as Mr. Freyer and young Standish 
 actually clicked their soup plates together, after which 
 Standish capped the climax by drinking from his. 
 
 "Oh, Mary," said her father, "you should be participat- 
 ing in this toast." 
 
 "Indeed she should not," shouted Dr. Franklin. "Mary 
 belongs to us and I'll bet she helped make the soup. She 
 stays with us because her father couldn't possibly keep her 
 in the Kurdish Mountains. I don't know what my Edith 
 would do without her," he added to Miss Stuart. 
 
 Now the doctor's man strutted into the room bearing a 
 turkey on an immense platter. He was followed by a Nes- 
 torian maid with a smaller bird which she took to the chil- 
 dren's table. 
 
 "I thought all the turkeys had fallen down the well," 
 announced Dr. Franklin. "How did you manage to resur- 
 rect this monster ? Well, if that isn't cranberry sauce ! In 
 the name of the Prophet Figs, where did that come from ? " 
 
 Mrs. Whiting bridled. 
 
 "Why do you give us away, Doctor?" said Thorley 
 Prescott. "Miss Stuart sees nothing singular unless it's 
 soup with one oyster." 
 
 "If she stops with us as long as we hope she will," said 
 Dr. Lawrence, who sat opposite Thorley, "Miss Stuart will 
 find that we do not fare sumptuously every day."
 
 THANKSGIVING DINNER 45 
 
 During this speech, Dr. Franklin had performed his whole 
 duty of laughing at Thorley's joke ; but he was, after all, 
 less concerned with the talk of his neighbors than with the 
 origin of the cranberry sauce. 
 
 "My dear," he shouted, "if you don't tell me about these 
 cranberries, I'll give you the best piece of turkey on the 
 platter." 
 
 "Good for you, Pa," called Edward from the other room. 
 "Give it to her anyway." 
 
 "What are you doing, my son?" asked the doctor, cran- 
 ing his neck to look at the boy, who, brandishing a smaller 
 knife over a smaller turkey, was in every look and gesture 
 an image of his father. 
 
 "Following your example, sir," he replied, with a flourish 
 of his knife that nearly sent the bird off its platter. 
 
 "Careful, sonny," smiled his mother. "I told him he 
 might try to carve, Harry, and he does pretty well when no 
 one is looking. The cranberries are from Mrs. Whiting. 
 You must ask her how they came and thank her for giving 
 them all to this dinner." 
 
 "I do indeed thank Mrs. Whiting," said the doctor, bow- 
 ing to the lady who sat not far away, between Dr. Lawrence 
 and Roger Standish. Miss Stuart also smiled across the 
 table as she helped herself to a little piece of the jelly. She 
 hated to eat her full share of these delicacies, though they 
 tasted so good. 
 
 "How did you ever get it here, Mrs. Whiting?" she said, 
 realizing in a flash that this was the person who would con- 
 sider her very plain. "Your muleteers must have been 
 different from mine." There was mischief in the smile 
 with which she finished. 
 
 Mrs. Whiting, looking radiant, hastily revised her first 
 opinion of the stranger, as she said, " My mother packed the 
 jars carefully in a small trunk ; and Mr. Standish was kind 
 enough to bring it out." She smiled brightly at the young
 
 46 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 man who was talking with Miss Lea and missed both the 
 compliment and the smile. 
 
 "Either your mother or Mr. Standish is a genius," said 
 Miss Stuart. Standish looked up suddenly and wished he 
 had been paying attention. "My things were all shaken 
 into jelly, but not such jelly as this." 
 
 While Mrs. Whiting, leaning happily across the table 
 toward her husband gave " George" the benefit of this re- 
 mark, Thorley Prescott said to Miss Stuart : 
 
 "Your supply of taffy, though brittle, has stood the jour- 
 ney remarkably well. Isn't it lucky?" 
 
 "I don't wonder you are envious." 
 
 "Envious?" 
 
 "You ought to be, if you are not. I have yet to hear you 
 make one pleasant remark." The look she gave him robbed 
 her words of sting ; and he laughed more heartily than she 
 had yet heard him. 
 
 Dr. Franklin determined to find out for himself what this 
 stranger was that she could make Thorley Prescott laugh, at 
 a Station dinner. He himself was soon laughing to his 
 heart's content; and the fun was such that it extended 
 down the other side of the table as far as Amy Lea ; but 
 Thorley Prescott took no further part in it. His right-hand 
 neighbor, Miss Wilhelmina Trench of Boston, after one 
 look at his face, decided that it was not her duty to become 
 the butt of his ill humor; so she turned back to George 
 Whiting with a half smile on her face that made George's 
 wife decide to tell her that lavendar was a color which should 
 not be worn between thirty and sixty. 
 
 After a story of Jean Stuart's had made mention of 
 Central Park, Miss Oddfellow, with eagerness in her thin 
 old voice begged pardon, but was it possible that in the 
 immensity of the metropolis Miss Stuart might be ac- 
 quainted with Dr. Von Barnhelm, the famous archaeologist 
 and traveller.
 
 THANKSGIVING DINNER 47 
 
 Oh yes, Miss Stuart had met him often. 
 
 Dr. Franklin was getting more and more bewildered. 
 Mrs. Prescott had told him before dinner that her stepson 
 had found the stranger positively illiterate. 
 
 "You knew him socially, I suppose," he said, "not be- 
 cause you are interested in archaeology?" 
 
 "Well, I have yet to see a cuneiform inscription more 
 interesting than the personality of Mr. Von Barnhelm." 
 
 Thorley Prescott's voice broke in, 
 
 "I suppose it was he who told you about the hotels of 
 Muramna." 
 
 "Hotels nothing ! " said Dr. Franklin. "He stayed at the 
 Lawrence's." 
 
 To Thorley's intense surprise the little sound which was 
 not a chuckle became audible, though smothered by Miss 
 Stuart's lips. 
 
 "Was it from Von Barnhelm that you heard of us?" 
 asked Dr. Franklin. "What do you say, Thorley, shall we 
 write him a round-robin of thanks ? " 
 
 "Better not," said Miss Stuart. "I didn't see him after 
 he came back from here. Had I been able to get his advice, 
 my journey would have been less dangerous, though perhaps 
 not so interesting." 
 
 Dr. Franklin was on the point of asking another question, 
 when Miss Oddfellow took up her theme. 
 
 "Dr. Von Barnhelm is a very agreeable man," she said, 
 "and full of delightful information." 
 
 "Ha, ha," laughed the doctor in a way that made the 
 whole table stop to listen. "He didn't look very learned 
 when he got here in the middle of a blizzard with his face 
 cracked open by the snow and his silk hat tied to the pommel 
 of his saddle. Ha, ha, ha, ha, nor after he had been 
 plucked by that native barber, eh, Mrs. Lawrence?" 
 
 "No doubt he is more full of information now than when 
 he first came among us," admitted Dr. Lawrence, with his
 
 48 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 charming smile. "He was on his way to Behistun where 
 he spent two days and a night on that narrow ledge under the 
 sculptures. It was a daring act, and justified only by the 
 importance of the discoveries he made. We Americans may 
 well be proud of him." 
 
 "He knows more than any man I ever saw." It was 
 young Roger Standish who spoke. "I studied Syriac under 
 him at the University, and in summer school he teaches Old 
 English. I tell you he's a cracker-jack. I wish I could ask 
 him about this seal I got in the Mountains." He touched 
 his breast pocket as he spoke and leaned forward. "You've 
 seen it, Dr. Lawrence. How about you, Dr. Franklin ? " 
 
 "I'd like to," said the doctor. 
 
 Standish, with a glance at Mrs. Franklin, went around 
 the table and handed the seal to Dr. Franklin. The doctor 
 looked at it and shook his head. He passed it to Miss Stuart, 
 who examined it carefully and said it was very interesting. 
 Then Miss Oddfellow produced a small magnifying-glass 
 and went thoroughly into the matter, discussing the engrav- 
 ing, point by point, with her left-hand neighbor, Dr. Law- 
 rence. She had an idea that the seal was of the Sassanian 
 period ; but Dr. Lawrence thought it was older than that, 
 probably Achaemenian. Standish was questioned as to 
 where he had found it, and while he was telling what he knew, 
 the stone passed from hand to hand until it had gone around 
 the table and reached Thorley Prescott. Standish had just 
 finished his account and the whole company was quiet, when 
 Prescott held the stone out to Miss Stuart, saying : 
 
 "I suppose you know all about it." 
 
 Every one heard him, and no one could help waiting to 
 hear what Miss Stuart would answer. She took the seal 
 and looked at it again, closely. 
 
 Margaret Lawrence at her end of the table tried to be 
 polite and started a conversation ; but even Mrs. Franklin 
 would not help her keep it up. Now Miss Stuart borrowed
 
 THANKSGIVING DINNER 49 
 
 Miss Oddfellow's magnif ying-glass and scrutinized the stone. 
 Mrs. Franklin kept her shining eyes on Thorley Prescott's 
 face ; but every other eye was on Miss Stuart. At last she 
 handed the glass to Miss Oddfellow, and placing the seal in 
 Thorley 's hand, said casually 
 
 "There is a stone very much like this in the British 
 Museum. Professor Arnold calls that Sassanian. This is a 
 far more perfect specimen and does not look as old ; but 
 the head dress, which Professor Arnold considers the deter- 
 mining point, is identical in both." 
 
 A little murmur of applause went round the table. Miss 
 Oddfellow's plain old face beamed with pride, not at the jus- 
 tification of her own idea, but because the whole Station had 
 been set right by the intelligence of a woman. Miss Odd- 
 fellow had been herself a favorite pupil of Mary Lyon. 
 
 Then Thorley Prescott disgraced himself. Without heat, 
 but with great decision, he remarked, 
 
 "I do hate an intellectual woman." 
 
 Every one gasped, excepting Miss Stuart. No one could 
 think of anything to say. Mrs. Franklin's cheeks flushed 
 as she continued to gaze at Thorley ; and the men all glared 
 at him as if they would like him to know the reason why. 
 Only the stranger guest remained perfectly at her ease. She 
 spoke at once, but without any hurry. 
 
 "Oh, then you would agree with Jane Austen." Her air 
 of impersonal interest was belied only by her dancing eyes, 
 and she looked straight into the dogged face of Thorley 
 Prescott. 
 
 As she looked, his expression changed ; and it was almost 
 with eagerness that he asked, 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "Jane Austen says, you remember, that if a woman knows 
 anything, it should be the effort of her life to conceal it." 
 
 There was a storm of laughter. Roger Standish, followed 
 by one or two others, went so far as to clap his hands.
 
 50 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Thorley Prescott looked around at his colleagues with a 
 triumphant smile that surprised them almost into silence. 
 Then Miss Stuart turned demurely to her host. 
 
 "Do you know," she said, "I believe this is strawberry ice 
 cream. Have you kept these strawberries since June, or 
 is Persia a tropical country after all? I'm sure I always 
 thought so, until I was caught in that snow-storm."
 
 CHAPTER VIH 
 
 EXPLANATIONS GIVEN 
 
 IT was getting dark. The children had said their "pieces " 
 and played their "pieces." Roger Standish had done his 
 "stunts," which were received with great applause because 
 they were full of last winter's slang, being therefore of thrill- 
 ing interest to his eager but benighted colleagues. Then, 
 because Thorley Prescott could make the most noise without 
 hurting the very infirm old piano, he played with unusual 
 geniality for a final game of "Going to Jerusalem," after 
 which there began to be talk of hats and coats. 
 
 Jean Stuart was approached by a square little lady with 
 very bright eyes, abnormally smooth hair, and a voice that 
 was brusque but not unkindly. This was Dr. Flora Mac- 
 Coll, the woman physician. 
 
 "You're to spend the night with me," said the little lady, 
 "so get your things and come along; for I have to make 
 rounds before tea. Yes, Margaret Lawrence knows it. 
 She and the children are staying at Stella Whiting's." 
 
 "Isn't anybody going back to the city?" asked Jean. 
 
 "Only the men, and they shouldn't; but, poor things, a 
 taste of danger is their only social excitement." 
 
 "Dangerous to go back to the city now? Why, it's 
 hardly dark. What harm could come to five or six men 
 riding together ? " 
 
 "Get your things and come along," laughed the doctor. 
 "I see my evening's work is cut out for me." 
 
 The doctor's rooms were adjacent to the Woman's Hos- 
 pital. Jean found them bare, though not devoid of interest. 
 
 51
 
 52 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 There was a beautiful old rug on the mud floor of the sitting- 
 room. One or two good engravings emphasized the white- 
 ness of the high walls. Books and magazines were scattered 
 about. The New York Tribune for October twentieth, lay 
 just under the lamp; and Jean fell upon it very much as 
 Sammy Whiting had fallen on the drumstick of the turkey. 
 But even the advertisements made her homesick ; and she 
 looked about presently for something that would help her 
 swallow the lump in her throat. In an obscure corner she 
 found a cheap little book-case of reddish wood, that had been 
 fitted with awkward glass doors. It was partly filled with 
 old books in leather bindings. Jean Stuart opened the book- 
 case and drew out a book at random. Then she plumped 
 herself down on the bare floor, and pulling out volume after 
 volume, forgot everything else in the world. 
 
 A laugh from the doorway roused her. 
 
 "Aha," cried the doctor's voice. "I thought I could 
 trust you to find 'em. Nice old fellows, aren't they?" 
 
 "The best of company," Jean agreed. "But you'd 
 better lock them up until I leave Muramna. Here's a vol- 
 ume I've been hunting from London to San Francisco." 
 She held up a thin little book bound in green Morocco. 
 
 "What'll you give me for it?" asked the doctor laugh- 
 ingly. 
 
 "Anything you want," said Jean. "My agent at Chris- 
 tie's almost got it for me ; but at the last minute he let an 
 English Earl outbid him. He'll never buy for me again." 
 
 "And you would have paid more than the Earl?" 
 
 " Of course I would. He got it for only fifty-one pounds." 
 
 " Fifty-one pounds ! Good gracious, it isn't worth all 
 that?" 
 
 "Of course it is." 
 
 " But it's just an odd volume." 
 
 Compleat Angler,' First Edition, and it fills out my set. 
 Oh, well, I suppose I can live without it."
 
 EXPLANATIONS GIVEN 53 
 
 "Are any of these other books worth as much as that?" 
 The doctor spoke with awe, and as if she were not very 
 well pleased. 
 
 "I haven't looked at them carefully and I'm not an ex- 
 pert ; but if they were mine and any one offered me three 
 thousand dollars for the collection I'd laugh in his face." 
 
 "Well, they're not for sale," snapped the doctor. 
 
 Jean flushed and began putting back the volumes, as if 
 they burned her fingers. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," she said, rising haughtily. "I 
 understood you to ask about their value." 
 
 "Tut, tut," said the doctor. " It's myself I'm disgruntled 
 at. Come and help me get tea." 
 
 "Now, my dear," said Dr. MacColl, when they had eaten 
 their frugal supper, "let me give you a piece of advice." 
 
 "Must you?" said Jean. "Shall I like it better than 
 Mrs. Prescott's?" 
 
 "How rude she was, to be sure," admitted the doctor, 
 "and I didn't blame you for refusing to satisfy her. Just 
 the same it would have been better to put your pride in your 
 pocket and explain yourself a little. After all, though we 
 live out of the world, we have our traditions. The fact, for 
 instance, that your grandfather was Jonathan Stuart, would 
 go a long way with Willie Trench." 
 
 "But how do you know?" cried Jean, opening her eyes 
 very wide. 
 
 "The Stuart features, my dear." 
 
 Dr. MacColl went over to her desk and picked up an old 
 daguerrotype. Jean turned it until the light fell on two 
 stiff young men standing side by side, one tall and distin- 
 guished, the other short and square. 
 
 "My father," said Dr. MacColl, "and your grandfather. 
 Nice, isn't it?" 
 
 Jean put her hands on the little doctor's shoulders. 
 " That makes me feel at home," she said.
 
 54 
 
 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Dr. MacColl patted the slender fingers. "And now," 
 she demanded briskly, "I have just one question to ask 
 you. Where was your Aunt Cordelia when you started off 
 on this wild-goose chase?" 
 
 Jean threw back her head with a laugh so musical that the 
 doctor had to join. 
 
 "By great good luck, my Aunt was on the other side of the 
 Atlantic. If she had been with me, I should have had to 
 bring her along, and I doubt whether she would have liked 
 the Hadji." 
 
 The doctor spoke now very soberly. "I shall take the 
 liberty of writing Mrs. Craven to assure her of your safety 
 and to promise that we'll look after you. It makes me shud- 
 der to think of the danger you were in." 
 
 "Do you suppose I liked it? You need promise nothing 
 in my behalf. I shall be cautious enough after this ; and I 
 will not have my Aunt disturbed by a highly colored account 
 of my adventures." 
 
 The doctor chuckled. "Not much room for coloring 
 matter in a page of typewriting. Did your cousin Mary 
 live to grow up ? " 
 
 They talked for some time about the Stuart family. 
 Jean Stuart, it seemed, was now alone in the world, except 
 for one great-aunt, who was married but had no children 
 living. Her father had died some time before. Her one 
 sister, Delia, had outlived him only a few years ; and Delia's 
 little girl, Mary, whom Jean had loved more than all the 
 rest of the world, had died of croup, not more than two 
 months ago. When the news reached her, Jean had been in 
 Paris, and instead of feeling moved to go home, she had 
 determined to start at once for some place that should be 
 perfectly new and strange. It happened that she was with 
 her friends, Professor Arnold and his wife; and they had 
 begged her to share their journey around the world. 
 
 So far Jean's story had been fragmentary. A fact here
 
 EXPLANATIONS GIVEN 55 
 
 and there had led the doctor to infer more than she was 
 told. Jean's expression as she spoke of the child's death 
 made it impossible to ask why the two that loved each other 
 so well, had been separated at the end. The doctor saw 
 clearly that great bitterness was mingled with Jean's sorrow 
 and that nothing could be said now to comfort her. 
 
 "Well," she inquired briskly, "what became of the Ar- 
 nolds ? You started out with 'em ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Jean, "and while I was with them everything 
 was perfect. We had with us a Greek courier named Anas- 
 tasi and his French wife Rosalie. They made us perfectly 
 comfortable and knew their business so thoroughly that 
 we had no alarms about anything. But when we reached 
 Tiflis, Mrs. Arnold found a telegram from home, which made 
 her determine not to go farther. It was about one of the 
 children ; and she fell into such a state of mind that her 
 husband could not allow her to return alone nor with me." 
 
 "Why didn't you go back with 'em?" 
 
 "Well, I know it was silly; but I was fascinated by the 
 Orient. While I was seeing all those new things, I began 
 to forget a little, and at night I was so tired that I had to 
 sleep. Rosalie was so nice and trustworthy, she was almost 
 like a friend, and as for Anastasi, we all swore by him. Mr. 
 Arnold had no hesitation in leaving me with them. You 
 know I'm not a youngster, and I've taken care of myself for 
 ever so long." 
 
 "Hm," said the doctor, "you're still in your twenties, 
 aren't you?" 
 
 Jean nodded. "Twenty-eight." 
 
 "I thought so. And your looks are well, noticeable, to 
 say the least." 
 
 "Thank you," said Jean. "Mrs. Whiting, I am told, 
 v/ould think me very plain." 
 
 "Don't interrupt your story. What happened next?" 
 
 "Everything went splendidly until we reached the River
 
 56 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Aras. We travelled by caravan and made our own camp 
 at night, instead of stifling in those horrible khans. It was 
 all perfectly delightful." 
 
 " Rather cold, I should say, for one of your tender habits." 
 
 "I'm not so very tender. Camping has been my chief 
 delight, since I was a youngster." 
 
 "Well, go on, go on." 
 
 Jean Stuart smilingly regarded the little doctor. "Why 
 don't I snub you," she wondered, "as I did that gorgon- 
 headed Mrs. Prescott ? " 
 
 "You don't dare," said the doctor. "How many times 
 must I tell you to go on?" 
 
 "Well, when we reached the River Aras, Anastasi got into 
 a fuss with the Custom House officials." 
 
 "Of course," said the doctor. 
 
 "That's what I thought, and it didn't bother me at all. 
 Even when Anastasi explained that it would delay us an 
 extra night, I went to bed in perfect confidence and woke 
 to find myself alone in the middle of Asia." 
 
 "Humph," said Dr. MacColl. 
 
 " Rosalie had left an elaborate note explaining that her 
 husband had met his most ruthless enemy, that he was 
 obliged to flee in the night, that he could not take Mademoi- 
 selle with him because his going would then have been dis- 
 covered, that he considered it a risk to take his wife, but 
 that she insisted, though desolated to leave Mademoiselle ; 
 'but it may well be,' the note remarked, 'that if he take 
 leave of me now, I may never see him again.' " 
 
 "She was right there," said the doctor. 
 
 "Rosalie went on to say that they would commend me to 
 trust myself unreservedly to the bearer of the note, who was 
 an experienced person, very friendly to the country, and of 
 the strictest integrity and faithfulness. This person turned 
 out to be Hadji Husain. Well, what was I to do ? It was 
 almost as far to turn back as to press on. I had no reason
 
 EXPLANATIONS GIVEN 57 
 
 to think it more dangerous. Hadji Husain assured me he 
 would bring me safely to Muramna ; and the long and short 
 of it was that I hated to turn back. How foolish was I ?" 
 
 "Your foolishness had come earlier in the day. I wish 
 I could get that Mr. Arnold within reach of my tongue ! 
 Well, as it's turned out, there's no harm done. But it's 
 only another illustration of the old proverb." 
 
 "The one about Providence watching over fools?" asked 
 Jean. 
 
 "When did the fellow first begin to frighten you?" 
 
 "Not until yesterday morning at Kazu. I had been 
 spending the nights at khans, you see, because it seemed a 
 little more prudent." 
 
 "Humph !" repeated the doctor. 
 
 ' ' I had risen early, expecting to reach Muramna that 
 night ; and when I found that the Hadji would not move 
 because of the snow, I spoke to him in a way that he re- 
 sented. He snarled at me and was so impertinent that I 
 was awfully frightened. We were at the door of the khan, 
 and of course there was a crowd. I looked at every face, 
 hoping against hope for the sight of a European. Then I 
 remembered that in rushing out to see why Hadji was not 
 getting the horses out from under me in the stable, I had 
 forgotten my revolver. The old man Kasha Abraham fol- 
 lowed me in, as you know. I'm told he's a Christian pastor. 
 Mr. Lawrence says he is not to have a money reward. Is 
 that fair to the good old soul?" 
 
 "We'll have to see. You knew Dan in America?" 
 
 "No, but I once heard him preach. It was in Shiloh, 
 Connecticut, two or three years ago. It wasn't an eloquent 
 sermon. In fact my friends found it rather dull." 
 
 "But you liked it?" 
 
 "I liked him. I liked the way he spoke of his life. He 
 gave the impression of having found something that suited 
 him. It happened that I had been playing a game with
 
 58 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 myself of looking for a contented person. In all my search 
 I found no other, and after a while I began to doubt 
 whether he would seem so contented, if I could see him in 
 his own environment, pestered with all the little things that 
 are too much for the rest of us. I suppose you think me 
 awfully silly ; but really it was partly curiosity that drew 
 me on, for Mr. Lawrence had intimated that all his col- 
 leagues were just as much taken up with life as he was. 
 I thought I'd like to see what this kind of work is that 
 will satisfy a human soul." 
 
 "You shall see it to your heart's content," cried the doc- 
 tor. "To-morrow morning I'll take you round the Hos- 
 pital." 
 
 "No, no," protested Jean, "that's just what I can't bear. 
 I hate to see people suffer." 
 
 "And yet you want to look on at missionary work?" 
 The doctor smiled sadly. "Oh well, we'll have you doing 
 it before long, and that's the part that contents us." 
 
 "Me doing missionary work!" Jean held up both her 
 hands, and her eyes danced. "Besides, I won't stay here 
 long enough. I'd rather go away, after all, before I've 
 seen that the Lawrences are just like other people." 
 
 "Well," said the doctor, "if you can find any safe way 
 to leave Muramna before spring, I'll give you that Com- 
 pleat Angler to take home with you." 
 
 "Done!" cried Jean. "I'll stake all my four volumes 
 against your one. And I'll just have to write my Aunt Cor- 
 delia," she chuckled, "that I hadn't been in Muramna 
 twenty-four hours before I was making a bet with one of 
 my missionary friends !"
 
 CHAPTER DC 
 
 A BOX OF PERFECTOS 
 
 THAT evening, at a later hour than their wives would have 
 liked, or indeed allowed, the gentlemen of the Station, ex- 
 cepting Mr. Freyer, who had stayed at the College, were mak- 
 ing themselves comfortable in the Lawrences' sitting-room. 
 The scene was one that faintly suggested dissipation ; for 
 Dan Lawrence had brought out the Sparklet bottle (one of 
 the fruits of his last furlough) and was busily concocting 
 a pale pink beverage which, as there are no lemons in Persia, 
 was neither circus lemonade nor anything stronger. Dr. 
 Lawrence sat with his usual stateliness in his armchair by 
 the round table ; but the other gentlemen were disposed in 
 easy attitudes around the room ; and Dr. Franklin had taken 
 out the old pipe which he loved to finger in his hours of ease, 
 though he had almost given up using it in any other way. 
 The tobacco he was able to get on the Mission field was not 
 as soothing to his nerves as the blend he had smoked in the 
 days when he had the largest practice in Milwaukee, Wis- 
 consin ; and he was now heard again to complain that even 
 "the filthy weed" was not what it used to be. 
 
 "Better be thankful that you feel so," said George Whit- 
 ing righteously. "A missionary has no business to be a 
 smoker." George had promised Stella, when they were en- 
 gaged, to give up smoking ; but it is likely that if they had 
 made their home in America, his would have been one of the 
 promises that are allowed to lapse after marriage. 
 
 "I don't know about that," said Dr. Franklin. "Some- 
 times I think we'd get on better with the Moslem grandees, 
 
 59
 
 60 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 if we smoked with them as the diplomats do. It's contrary 
 to the policy of the Mission, I know ; but in my opinion, we 
 should not eschew habits which would naturally bring us 
 nearer to the people among whom we live." 
 
 "If the habit is wrong?" said George Whiting fervently. 
 
 Dr. Franklin shrugged his shoulders. !< 'And who shall 
 arbitrate ?' " he murmured ; for the doctor's favorite poet 
 was the great Apostle of the Imperfect, "when even our 
 wives disagree on this great question." Aloud he added, 
 "Well, it may be a damaging admission ; but if I were con- 
 fronted with a Perfecto, you'd see me falling from grace so 
 fast that you wouldn't know when I bumped." 
 
 Thorley Prescott, who had been reading an August copy 
 of the Literary Digest, suddenly thumped the fore legs of his 
 straight chair on the floor and left the room. He could be 
 heard going upstairs two steps at a time and slamming the 
 door that led across a little gangway from Dan's study to 
 his own in the next house. Before the subject of conver- 
 sation had been changed in the sitting-room, he had come 
 back with a wooden box, which he held out to the doctor, 
 saying, ^ 
 
 "Here's your Perfecto, sir." 
 
 "Holy smoke, Thor ! Those look like the real thing." 
 The doctor incredulously pinched three or four of the cigars. 
 "Yellow ribbons and gold bands and a smell that carries 
 me back to Milwaukee. Anybody left you a fortune ? " 
 "Take one," said Thorley, moving the box impatiently. 
 The other missionaries, wide-eyed, gathered in a circle 
 around the doctor, except the two Lawrences, who went 
 on quietly with what they were doing. 
 
 The doctor, still with an air of scepticism, chose a 
 cigar, and sniffed it carefully before he cut off the end. 
 Then, sitting upright in his chair, he scratched a match 
 on his trousers, applied it, and took the first whiff. An 
 expression of unqualified bliss overspread his face as he
 
 A BOX OF PERFECTOS 6 1 
 
 sank back into his chair. He pushed Thorley gently 
 away with his foot and said, 
 
 "Don't talk to me now, boy. Don't tell me where you 
 got 'em. It's too good to be true; but while it lasts, I'll 
 just pretend." 
 
 With that, he shut his eyes, half opening them once in a 
 while to watch the rings of smoke. 
 
 "That cigar has brought down its victim. Anybody 
 else going to fall from grace?" With a quizzical look, 
 Thorley passed the box to his father. John Prescott, who 
 though he stooped, was taller than his son, looked down at 
 him with a tolerant expression in his blue eyes. 
 
 "It's a saving of good cigars to pass them to me," he said, 
 smiling behind his gray whiskers. 
 
 "Did you ever smoke, Mr. Prescott?" asked Roger 
 Standish. 
 
 "Enough so I don't care about repeating the first symp- 
 toms," replied the older man. 
 
 "First symptoms, nothing," said Dr. Franklin without 
 removing his cigar. "This weed couldn't upset a baby. 
 Try it, Prescott ; you'll sleep better for it." 
 
 The older Prescott turned away with the same quiet smile. 
 
 Roger Standish was rude enough to mutter, "He might 
 sleep for one night, but after that 
 
 There was this excuse for Roger that he wanted one of 
 those cigars more, it seemed to him at the moment, than he 
 had ever wanted anything else. The aroma brought back 
 the few occasions in his life, when, after a real dinner, a box of 
 real cigars had been passed. He had worked his way 
 through College and the Seminary ; but it had cost him less 
 effort to earn the extra money for tobacco than to give it up 
 at last, after more than one scolding from his doctor. Now 
 he was approached by Prescott with the brown box; and 
 though he had resolved not to do any such thing, his hand 
 went out automatically. Dr. Franklin was oblivious.
 
 62 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 George Whiting's lip curled; for he had more than once 
 overheard Standish freeing his mind on the perennial subject 
 of Thorley Prescott's black pipe and its bad influence on the 
 native pastors and the college boys. Standish had taken a 
 cigar and was feeling for his knife, when Dan Lawrence 
 stepped up behind him. 
 
 "Will it pay for the bother of leaving off again ?" he said 
 in a tone casual enough not to draw attention. Standish 
 turned and looked into the kind eyes. 
 
 "If anybody else had said that to me," he muttered, "I'd 
 have smoked Hke a chimney all the evening. Much obliged. 
 Just take it, will you ? I don't want Whiting to see me put 
 it back." 
 
 Now Thorley Prescott had finished his rounds. He placed 
 the box near Dr. Franklin and went back to his corner, 
 where, with his chair tilted against the wall, he resumed his 
 reading. 
 
 "Won't you smoke, Thor?" asked Dan Lawrence, won- 
 dering a little what his wife would say when she smelled her 
 sitting-room in the morning. 
 
 "Thank you," said Thorley. He took out his notorious 
 black pipe, filled it from a leather pouch shiny with age, 
 settled his feet more comfortably on the rounds of his chair, 
 and struck a match. The doctor had just been wakened 
 from his reverie by burning his fingers, so he threw away 
 his cigar end, and not noticing the box at his elbow, looked 
 around for the dispenser of bounty. There was Thorley in 
 a cloud of acrid smoke that was gaining the victory already 
 over the fragrance in the doctor's corner. The doctor 
 sprang from his chair. 
 
 "Well, Thor," he cried. "Has anything affected your 
 mind or have you only lost your senses from smoking that 
 abominable Mixture ? " 
 
 "Nothing ails me, I guess," answered Thorley, "but vul- 
 garity. The rest of the box is yours, Doctor."
 
 A BOX OF PERFECTOS 63 
 
 "What ! Am I the only sinner? With such a tempta- 
 tion, too? Come, Thor, what's the matter with you?" 
 
 He came and stood in front of the young man, clasping his 
 hands behind him under his coat-tails, and peering out, for 
 some time, from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. Thorley, 
 scowling at the Literary Digest, continued to smoke his 
 pipe. At last the doctor threw back his head with the laugh 
 that had once brought down a ceiling. 
 
 "Ha ! Ha ! ha, ha, hmmm," he finished, subsiding into a 
 chuckle. "These cigars are too intellectual for you, are 
 they ? They suit me down to the ground and so does the 
 lady. What inspired her to bring 'em ? She may smoke ; 
 but I'll bet she doesn't smoke cigars. Ha, Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 Thorley Prescott's face was a dark red. He thumped his 
 chair furiously to the floor and rose as if to leave the 
 room. 
 
 Dr. Franklin, towering above him by several inches, put 
 a heavy hand on the broad shoulder. "No offence, Thor- 
 ley," he said heartily. "I only hate to send up the smoke 
 that you have earned. And she did bowl you over at dinner 
 about as neatly as any lady could ! " The doctor ventured 
 a milder laugh in which, after a second, Thorley Prescott 
 joined him. This was the signal for a general shout. 
 
 "Who is Miss Stuart, anyway?" asked Roger Standish, 
 when he could make himself heard. 
 
 "Yes, does anybody know?" demanded George Whiting. 
 
 "She appears to have a great talent for evading ques- 
 tions," ventured Mr. Prescott. 
 
 "That seems to me a very good sign," said Dan Law- 
 rence. "If she had anything to conceal, she would have 
 invented some story to set our minds at rest. Margaret 
 thinks her very much of a lady ; and the children have 
 taken to her wonderfully. As for the cigars, she got them 
 for her courier and asked Margaret to dispose of them be- 
 cause she disliked the odor among her things."
 
 64 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 The doctor burst out laughing again. 
 
 "An appropriate commission for Mistress Margaret," he 
 shouted. " I must speak to her about dispensing cigars." 
 
 Dan smiled and did not reveal the measures he had taken 
 to secure the box for his friend. 
 
 "Say, Prescott," blurted out Standish with the effort 
 which was always necessary when he addressed his taciturn 
 colleague. "How was it about that courier, anyhow? 
 What did happen when you found Miss Stuart ? " 
 
 "Nothing much," said Prescott. 
 
 "What did he do?" 
 
 "Knuckled under." 
 
 "Did he run away?" pursued Standish. 
 
 "When he got a chance." 
 
 "Wasn't there more than one man with her?" asked 
 George Whiting. "Abdullah talks as if he had defeated 
 an army." 
 
 " She had muleteers, of course ; but you know what cattle 
 they are." 
 
 "You kept them, I suppose, until you reached the Com- 
 pound ? " 
 
 This question came from Dr. Franklin. 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Did you have any trouble with them ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Why didn't you bring in the courier, too?" asked 
 George Whiting. 
 
 "What would you have done with him?" 
 
 "Had he deserved punishment?" 
 
 Thorley smiled. "Ask the 'Khanum with the Head of 
 the Rising Sun.'" 
 
 "I heard her discoursing on that point," said Dr. Law- 
 rence, beaming at Thorley over his glasses. "She was elo- 
 quent enough when it came to describing her rescue. ' De- 
 liverance on a Black Horse,' she called you."
 
 A BOX OF PERFECTOS 65 
 
 Thorley growled and returned to the Literary Digest. 
 
 "But she was still bewildered," continued Dr. Lawrence, 
 "because you let the rascal go without punishment. She 
 seems to fear that he will seek revenge." 
 
 Thorley growled again. 
 
 "I suppose she thinks it would have made him amiable, 
 if I had got the Governor to cut off his ears." 
 
 "Will he harbor a grudge, do you think?" asked Mr. 
 Prescott, beginning to look anxiously at his son. 
 
 "Why shouldn't he?" said Thorley with a slight move- 
 ment of his shoulders. 
 
 More questions would have been asked ; but Dan Law- 
 rence insisted on filling up all the glasses from the Sparklet 
 bottle, and he called for a rising toast to Deliverance on a 
 Black Horse, after which it was mildly suggested that they 
 had better go to bed. Dr. Franklin yawned prodigiously. 
 
 "Come along, fellows," he said. "It's to-morrow; and 
 if we should stay up any longer, somebody would be talking 
 refugees, which you know was forbidden only for Thanks- 
 giving Day." 
 
 A shadow settled down over the face of every man present, 
 and there was no more light talk or laughter as they went 
 their ways to bed. 
 
 When he had made his guests comfortable for the night, 
 Dan Lawrence, seeing a light still burning in Thorley Pres- 
 cott's den, went across the gangway and found his neighbor 
 alone. 
 
 "Thor," he said, "there is danger from the Hadji." 
 
 "Well," admitted Prescott, "I was fool enough to make 
 him give back some money that didn't belong to him." 
 
 "You made him give back money?" 
 
 "Fifteen tomans excess which he had extorted from Miss 
 Stuart that morning he had really been robbing her right 
 along and the forty-eight tomans owing to the muleteers. 
 He hadn't paid them a chahi."
 
 66 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Was that quite prudent? You could have allowed the 
 muleteers to take their own money and let the rest go." 
 
 " I was red-hot at the man ; and it was impossible to whip 
 him properly before her." 
 
 Dan whistled. "It's a pity you couldn't have sent her 
 ahead, if it came to that. A whipping does such a fellow 
 good ; but to take his money ! Whew ! " 
 
 "His money !" said Prescott. 
 
 "Well, did he consider it yours?" Dan stood for a mo- 
 ment in serious thought ; then he walked close up to his friend, 
 and putting an arm across his shoulder, "Thor," he said, 
 " I don't forget that you went in my place ; and if ever you 
 know of any danger likely to come from this fellow, I want 
 you to share it with me." 
 
 "Oh pshaw, Dan, it was my fault entirely." 
 
 "You went as my proxy," said Dan quietly, "and if 
 there are evil consequences, they should fall on me." 
 
 Thorley Prescott was strangely moved. He remembered 
 Dan's look and his words, until he had reason never to forget 
 them.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 TURNING UP A TRUMP 
 
 "HAVEN'T I heard it suggested," remarked Jean Stuart, 
 "that the Sabbath is a day of rest?" 
 
 Thorley Prescott chuckled. He had been taking supper 
 with the Lawrences because Mr. and Mrs. John Prescott 
 were conducting special meetings at the College. Dan 
 Lawrence had gone over to hold a service at the Guest De- 
 partment (rooms in one of the mission buildings, where 
 men from out of town were free to lodge for a limited time). 
 Dr. Lawrence had a native conference in his study; and 
 Margaret was upstairs with the children. 
 
 " Did they forget to give you time for your Sunday nap ? " 
 
 Jean waved the question aside. "Mr. Lawrence is now 
 preaching for the third time. The second time, he rode 
 eight miles there and ten back because he didn't care 
 to make his horse swim the river twice. Mrs. Lawrence 
 has played the organ in preaching service and in Sunday 
 School, besides teaching a class of little girls. This after- 
 noon she went way over the other side of the city to talk 
 with two or three Moslem women ; and between times, she 
 has done most of the work of the house, so as to give her 
 servants a holiday. 
 
 "Those ladies at the Seminary have received a constant 
 stream of children, beginning before I was up this morning. 
 They held a church service, because the regular church was 
 so crowded that the children had to be sent away." 
 
 "Didn't you wish you could be sent away ?" asked Thor- 
 ley. "I saw you. What did you have hidden in your 
 
 67
 
 68 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 handkerchief ? You weren't moved to tears by a Syriac 
 sermon." 
 
 " I did want to cry when I saw those awful people outside 
 the gate and those wretched little children. Mr. Lawrence 
 said they were homeless refugees from Turkey. What is to 
 become of them ? " 
 
 Prescott shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I thought I had seen misery in New York," Jean con- 
 tinued. "It was nothing ! How can you live with all this 
 before you? Is it always as bad?" 
 
 "No, it's worse than ever." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "The wheat crop failed this year in most villages of the 
 Plain failed for lack of rain though it needn't have 
 been so bad," he mused, "if they had known how to use 
 what rain did fall. That brings the country people into the 
 city, destitute. And on top of them we get a mob of Turk- 
 ish and Nestorian mountaineers, chased out by Kurds." 
 
 "What are Kurds?" 
 
 "Wild tribes who wander through the Mountains, living 
 on anything they can steal. Fierce fellows they are. I 
 like 'em better than Nestorians ; but they make us a heap 
 of trouble." 
 
 "What are Nestorians?" 
 
 " Syrians, really the remnants of the old church founded 
 by Nestorius way back in the time of the first 
 heresies." 
 
 "Not Moslems, then?" 
 
 "Oh no ! Staunch Christians sticking to the faith of 
 their fathers like a dog to a root not knowing what they 
 have between their teeth, perhaps, but holding on like grim 
 death through persecutions that would have blotted any 
 other people from the face of the earth." 
 
 "Persecutions?" 
 
 "Certainly. They get it from all sides. Almost all the
 
 TURNING UP A TRUMP 69 
 
 mountaineers are Christians, so the Kurds make a practice 
 of swiping their sheep and harrying their wheat-fields. It 
 saves the Government no end of trouble." 
 
 " Do you mean that the Government likes to have its sub- 
 jects persecuted?" 
 
 "Of course. Keeps up its own end pretty well, too. A 
 Christian's testimony never stands against a Moslem's in a 
 court of law. He can be skinned out of his eye-teeth ; and the 
 judge stands by with righteous approval. Oh, you'll like 
 this country when you know a little more about it. It's a 
 hot place to live in, almost as hot as I'd better change the 
 subject or you'll begin to dread the prospect of spending 
 the whole winter here." His lips were distorted by a most 
 unpleasant smile ; and his eyes, which could be so luminous, 
 were obscured by a thick curtain of gloom. 
 
 Miss Stuart leaned forward eagerly in her chair. "I have 
 been waiting for a chance to appeal to you," she said. 
 "Why must I stay here all winter?" 
 
 "How can you get away?" His expression became a 
 shade more cheerful, as he looked at her. 
 
 "Can't you help me?" 
 
 " No, truly, I can not." A real smile struggled to find its 
 way through the darkness of his look; and Jean saw it 
 coming, with a pleasure she did not stop to define. 
 
 "Your appeal to Constantinople," he went on, "was the 
 last resort. I'm glad it failed. No person with a 
 knowledge of the country would have started across the 
 mountains with a woman as late as this." 
 
 Jean Stuart's eyes were wide open, questioning him with- 
 out a word. He became aware presently that she was 
 waiting for some kind of explanation. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " He shuffled his feet uneasily and 
 wished for his pipe. "Oh!" Light broke upon him. 
 "Dan got me to help decipher your telegrams. He wasn't 
 sure what was meant by their garbled Turkish."
 
 70 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 She acknowledged the explanation by a nod. "Would 
 you be afraid to cross the mountains now?" 
 
 "I? Not alone or with men only." 
 
 "I am as hardy as a man." 
 
 "What are you suggesting ? That 7 shall take you back ? " 
 
 "Having received from you a far greater favor, I venture 
 to cherish the faintest of hopes that you may be willing to 
 escort me as far as Tiflis. The American wife of one of your 
 Nestorians is willing to forsake him and go with me." 
 
 "Oh, Mirsoon. Don't call him ours. The man is a self- 
 righteous beast. I don't wonder his wife longs for the 
 heaven of her old home in Jersey City." 
 
 "I don't, either. Mrs. Lawrence took me yesterday to 
 see the stable she lives in here. How could she have made 
 up her mind to marry him ? She told me with regretful 
 pride that if she had stayed where she belonged, she would have 
 had a good chance to get a place as saleslady at Handmaker's. 
 What made her leave it all?" 
 
 "The glamor of the East. You ought to know what that 
 is." 
 
 " I do ; but I'm beginning to know what it is to hunger for 
 a sight of the New York sky-line. There isn't anything 
 half so beautiful in the whole world ! And you are going 
 to help us get back to it, aren't you ? " 
 
 Miss Stuart herself looked very beautiful as she conde- 
 scended to pleading. She was a woman who could ask a 
 favor and make a man feel that she was conferring one. 
 Thorley Prescott felt his own disappointment far more 
 keenly than hers, as he hesitated long enough to fix in his 
 mind forever the expression of her big gray eyes and the line 
 of her lips. 
 
 "I hate to say no," he faltered at last, "but it can't be 
 done. That puny girl could never cross the mountains 
 alive. Even for a strong woman like you, I wouldn't risk 
 it."
 
 TURNING UP A TRUMP Jl 
 
 "Suppose it were a matter of life and death." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "It isn't." 
 
 "But if I promise to take the very best care of that woman 
 and not to give you the least bit of trouble?" 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "Then there's some other reason that you haven't told 
 me." 
 
 Prescott smiled. "What answer did Miss Trench give 
 you, when you asked her to leave the Moslem girls and visit 
 India and Japan ? " 
 
 "Mercy on us," said Jean. "I thought she would take 
 my head off ! Yet I'm told that she has only ten girls in her 
 school. And that poor thin little Miss Lea looked at me 
 out of her big gray eyes as if -she thought I was a messenger 
 of Satan." 
 
 "Oh, you tried her, did you?" 
 
 "The worst of it is, I believe the child would give the hair 
 off her head to go." 
 
 "Any one else?" 
 
 "Only Dr. MacColl; and of course, even I was certain 
 she was out of the question." 
 
 "So I'm the last resort." 
 
 "And there's no earthly reason why you shouldn't go. 
 We'll take the southern route, if you're afraid of the moun- 
 tains. I'd rather push on to Bushire, anyway, than go back 
 the same way to Constantinople. You know we'd have 
 lots of fun travelling by caravan through southern Persia. 
 You could ride the Fiend to your heart's content ; or if he 
 grew tamer than you like, I'd get you a new wild horse 
 every other day." 
 
 The gleam in Prescott's eyes had encouraged her through 
 the audacity of this speech. Now his white teeth were 
 flashing in a smile as brilliant as any of her own. 
 
 "What do you take me for, anyway?" he said. 
 
 "For a man who wasn't made to be cooped up in a printing-
 
 72 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 office," she replied. "Honestly now, wouldn't you just 
 love to play hookey for awhile ? " 
 
 The white teeth gleamed again; but there was more 
 sternness than merriment in the black eyes. "This is no 
 blooming boarding-school," he said. 
 
 "Oh," she let her laugh ring out merry and unabashed. 
 ''It's Duty and The Work even with you, is it ? Duty with 
 a capital D, THE WORK all capitals, italicized. What do 
 you see in these dirty heathen that should keep you teaching 
 them 'Shakespeare and the musical glasses'? " 
 
 The sternness had left his eyes ; but the smile lingered in 
 them as he continued to gaze at her. "That's right," he 
 said, "get it all out." 
 
 Her face changed suddenly back to playfulness. " You see 
 how dangerous I am, don't you ? It wouldn't do to let me 
 stay in the Mission Station all winter, and it would never, 
 never, never do to risk my poisoning the minds of these 
 superlatively Christian children." 
 
 "Sammy Whiting?" suggested Prescott, and was re- 
 warded by the little sound which he had first heard on the 
 Muramna highway. 
 
 "You understand," Jean asserted. "I couldn't possibly 
 bind myself to teach those youngsters in a way that would 
 please their parents ; and if I didn't and yet had to stay on 
 through the winter, I should die of laziness in the middle of 
 so much zeal." 
 
 "Isn't the salary an inducement?" 
 
 A tiny laugh gurgled in Jean Stuart's throat. Then she 
 turned sober. "Do you know," she said, "I'd hate that 
 worse than anything. I believe just that little tiny salary 
 would represent a pretty big sacrifice for all four families." 
 
 "How clever of you!" said Prescott, but his look was 
 more kindly than his words. Then very quizzically he 
 added, "So you really are considering the job. Do you 
 think you know enough ? "
 
 TURNING UP A TRUMP 73 
 
 She laughed outright. 
 
 "Come," she said imperiously. "Give me an answer. 
 You will take me to Bushire, won't you?" 
 
 "I will not." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 Thorley Prescott rose from his chair and stood before her 
 with his arms folded and his head high. 
 
 " Miss Stuart," he said, "I'm not much of a missionary ; 
 but I hope I'm man enough to stick to my job. Would you 
 care to think of Dan Lawrence doing double duty while we 
 were playing hookey? And somebody ought to be organ- 
 izing relief for the refugees." 
 
 "An industry, you mean?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Would that be difficult?" 
 
 A look both grim and eager accompanied the hopeless 
 tone, "Not if we had money." 
 
 "Won't your Board furnish it?" 
 
 " Hasn't any. Appropriations are sure to be cut, as it is." 
 
 "How much money would you need to begin on?" 
 
 The eagerness and grimness both increased. "With a 
 thousand dollars," he said fiercely, "I could change the look 
 of the whole country-side. We could make these people 
 over new by giving them honest work ; and if I had a thou- 
 sand dollars I could make money besides." 
 
 "You! "laughed Jean. 
 
 "Yes, I," said Thorley Prescott, squaring his shoulders. 
 "I could do it better than any man here ; and the Fiend and 
 I would kick up our heels all winter at Akbar." 
 
 "Well, why don't you?" 
 
 Prescott scowled and sat hopelessly down again. 
 
 Then Jean Stuart shot her last bolt. "Listen," she said. 
 "It's worth a thousand dollars to me to reach Bushire. 
 If you'll get me there, you shall have the money to bring 
 back."
 
 74 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Thorley Prescott, with an incredulous smile, leaned back 
 in his chair. "That sounds perfectly lovely," he said; 
 "but if you have a thousand dollars to blow in, you can just 
 give it, out and out. Who'd boss the job of spending it, with 
 me in Bushire ? And if we're going to carry out that plan 
 of mine, it won't do to waste a single day before the ground 
 freezes hard. I suppose you were joking about that thou- 
 sand dollars." He scrutinized her face. "You wouldn't 
 offer me wages for doing you a favor. But if by any chance 
 you weren't joking, the Station meets to-morrow to discuss 
 relief work." 
 
 He bent forward and looked at her with searching ear- 
 nestness. Her face was inscrutable. She was saying to 
 herself : 
 
 "Oh pshaw ! He's just like the others, after all." 
 
 "I wish you'd speak," he said. "I can't tell anything 
 by your face." 
 
 "Two can play at taciturnity," she answered. 
 
 He scowled, and rising, began to stride up and down the 
 room. 
 
 "When I have a home," he muttered, "it shan't be all 
 full of little tables." 
 
 Just then the door opened and Dan Lawrence walked in. 
 
 "Where is Margaret?" he asked, as he dropped into a 
 chair. 
 
 "Why, she went upstairs," said Miss Stuart, realizing for 
 the first time that her hostess had been away all the 
 evening. 
 
 "I guess I'll go and look her up," said Dan. 
 
 "And I must say 'Good night,' " said Prescott, holding 
 out his hand. 
 
 "Not until you've seen Mrs. Lawrence," Jean answered, 
 putting her hands behind her and looking saucily into his 
 dogged face. "Let's talk about little old New York. Do 
 you know it ? Wouldn't you just love to take a ferry from
 
 TURNING UP A TRUMP 75 
 
 Twenty-third Street and watch the lights come out on the 
 high buildings ? " 
 
 "What about the Chicago sky-line," he rejoined, "from 
 a sail-boat in the middle of Lake Michigan?" 
 
 "There's something to be said even for that," Jean 
 answered. 
 
 "And as for the Golden Gate at sunrise- But Dan 
 Lawrence was coming back. 
 
 "Margaret was asleep in a chair," he said wearily, "so 
 I've sent her to bed. I wish there were some way of making 
 Sunday less laborious." 
 
 "We'll see what we can do," Jean answered briskly. 
 "Meanwhile, let's begin with Monday. Mrs. Lawrence 
 shall not be school-ma'am a single day longer." 
 
 "Do you mean that you will teach the children? And 
 begin to-morrow?" cried Dan, with the smile that Jean so 
 very much liked to provoke. 
 
 "Why, yes, I think I may as well try. You can dis- 
 charge me, you know, if you find I don't know enough." 
 With the meekness she thought suitable for an employee, 
 she managed to combine a daring flash of fun at Thorley 
 Prescott. 
 
 Dan took her hand and gave it a hearty shake. 
 
 "I guess we can run the risk," he said gratefully. 
 "Thorley, you know, vouches for your being an intellect- 
 ual woman." 
 
 Prescott grasped the hand which Dan relinquished. 
 
 "Oh, no I don't," he said, "I can't vouch for your being 
 anything but a regular trump."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A LETTER TO AUNT CORDELIA 
 
 MURAMNA, PERSIA, November 3oth, 1903. 
 (Via Berlin and Tabriz) 
 
 MY DEAREST AUNT CORDELIA, 
 
 This is the first time since reaching Muramna that I 
 have had time to sit down and write you a real letter. Not 
 that it makes any difference; for the mail goes out only 
 once a week, on Tuesday. 
 
 I sent you a cable last Thursday, saying that I was safe in 
 Muramna under the care of American friends ; but I could 
 not, of course, explain who these friends are. I hope you 
 received my letter written at Hamlas. It must have started 
 on its way at least ; for I put it myself into the hands of the 
 landlord. The courier whom I found at the River Aras 
 turned out to be something of a rascal, tampering with my 
 mail and other matters which one prefers to keep in one's 
 own hands. He might have put me to real inconvenience 
 but for a very fortunate combination of circumstances. 
 You may remember my speaking of a Mr. Lawrence whom 
 I once saw in Shiloh while visiting the Rosses of Hartford. 
 I happened to know that this man lived in Muramna. So, 
 when I found that my courier was becoming insubordinate, 
 I sent Mr. Lawrence word ; and he despatched to my help 
 his chum, Mr. Thorley Prescott, who pounced upon the 
 Hadji in the nick of time and sent him about his business 
 with a smarting back. 
 
 76
 
 A LETTER TO AUNT CORDELIA 77 
 
 I am now a guest in the house of Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence, 
 and very comfortably placed. This is fortunate for me, as 
 I am assured by all the members of the American colony 
 that it will be absolutely unsafe for me to leave here before 
 April at the earliest. You may know that I have not left 
 one stone unturned to get away ; for this place is a detest- 
 able Oriental city, full of filth and smells which one takes as 
 part of the fun in travelling but loathes the idea of enduring 
 for an entire winter. Besides, in the words of Uncle Philip, 
 there is nothing doing. It may be there are sights to see, 
 though I hear no rumors of anything more thrilling than 
 Zoroastrian remains; but everybody is too busy to show 
 me around, and it is not safe for me now to go alone, as the 
 gentlemen cannot at this season spare me a perfectly reliable 
 man-servant. So you can see that I should soon be re- 
 duced to a state of thumb-twiddling that would drive me 
 frantic, did I not resort to drastic measures for diversion. 
 To explain these measures, I must go back a little way. 
 And now prepare yourself, my dear Aunt, for a shock. What 
 do you suppose these Americans are, among whom my lot 
 is cast for the next four or five months? 
 
 THEY ARE MISSIONARIES! 
 
 Droll, isn't it? There are twenty-five of them, sixteen 
 adults and nine children, the children being missionaries 
 of a far more proselyting stamp than most of the parents. 
 I encountered the entire aggregation for the first time at 
 Thanksgiving dinner, I having arrived the night before in 
 a state of dirt and discomfort that beggars description. Of 
 course I had intended to go to a hotel and provide myself 
 at once with an eminently respectable maid. But it seems 
 there is no such thing as either a hotel or a maid in this 
 horrible country, the inns being occupied exclusively by 
 beasts and vermin, and the girls being all married by the
 
 78 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 age of nine ! So, in an agony of gratitude, I allowed my- 
 self to be installed in the guest-chamber of Mrs. Lawrence, 
 where I bathed in a tin tub, slept in a heavenly bed, feasted 
 my eyes on the stars and stripes, and was nourished by 
 angels in the shape of two quaint children and their still 
 more quaint mamma. 
 
 All the missionaries are quaint; but, with one or two 
 exceptions, they are gentle-people. Some of them belong to 
 the very best old families, one of these being an admirer 
 of your own. She is Dr. Flora MacColl, whose grandfather, 
 Dugald MacColl, was at Yale with Grandfather Jonathan. 
 The doctor herself was at Miss Vandermeer's with Aunt 
 Jean. She is a short woman with keen, bright eyes. She 
 remembers you with much circumstance, having spent more 
 than one vacation at the old house in Washington Square. 
 She intends to write you herself of my safety and of her re- 
 solve to see that I behave myself ; so you had better tell your 
 secretary to preserve all letters with Persian stamps; for 
 such letters will be worth reading. Dr. MacColl has the 
 fourth volume of the " Compleat Angler " for which I have 
 been looking all these years. It is bound exactly like my set. 
 I saw that she knew a book from a botch of wood-pulp and 
 printer's ink, but that she was innocent of the worth, in 
 dollars and cents, of her collection. So I mentioned in a 
 perfectly discreet and impersonal way, a sum, which I would 
 not have been willing to take for it but would have been 
 more than willing to give. I thought she would scratch my 
 eyes out. She was awfully well bred about it too. You 
 know you have always said that a person who could be rude 
 in an aristocratic way was a person to consider. I must 
 say I am forced to consider Dr. MacColl. She is evidently 
 as poor as skim milk and not at all sensitive about it told 
 me of her own accord that her best silk gown was ten years 
 old, and expected me to admire its wearing qualities. You 
 can imagine how it looked on a perfectly square woman with
 
 A LETTER TO AUNT CORDELIA 79 
 
 no claims to beauty ! But no, you can't ; the looks of it 
 pass your comprehension. It is shiny and rusty and slimpsy 
 beyond words. (The doctor smoothed it complacently, 
 and said she always had liked nice material.) It is, more- 
 over, boggled as to its making (even its proud owner ad- 
 mitted that it would hardly outlive another reconstruction), 
 and as to its trimming, it is decayed, the few threads of 
 garniture left on it giving evidence of having begun life as 
 a species of furniture fringe, of a nauseous purple hue. In 
 this creation the doctor looks a perfect gentlewoman ; and 
 the same thing may be said of Mrs. Lawrence, Mrs. Frank- 
 lin, Miss Oddfellow, and Miss Trench, arrayed, all of them, 
 in garments that came out of Methuselah's Ark. (You see 
 I am already taking to the Bible. Have to, in self-defence.) 
 Mrs. Whiting and Miss Lea are tawdry would like to be 
 fashionable, poor lambs, and can't for obvious reasons, among 
 which their distance from civilization is only one. Mrs. 
 Prescott, surnamed Melissa, in whom I recognize my old 
 friend Medusa, snaky locks and all, would be neither more 
 nor less impressive without any clothes whatever. I don't 
 know what she wore. We have already joined battle, she 
 and I. That is, she has; and so far she has obtained no 
 advantage of me. 
 
 But I set out to explain the curious new diversion which 
 I have found. You see these missionaries have among 
 them nine children, very lovely children, too, though rather 
 more puny than one likes to see. Having shut their children 
 off entirely from all educational advantages, the parents 
 club together and engage the services of a teacher. This 
 young person i? brought out from America to serve three 
 years. They find her generally, I believe, somewhere in 
 central Idaho. In return for teaching, she receives her trav- 
 elling expenses, her living while in Muramna, and a salary 
 too munificent to men don. A full-fledged married mis- 
 sionary here gets about eight hundred and fifty dollars a
 
 80 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 year, with a hundred dollars thrown in for each child. This 
 princely sum is gathered from church-members in America 
 by a thing called the Board. I have heard people at home, 
 after contributing fifty cents or so to Missions, speak as if 
 every missionary on the field were under personal obliga- 
 tions to them; but I never understood before what the 
 weight of the obligation is. Do you realize that these men 
 and women are dependent upon the caprices of the churches 
 at home for their actual living ? Hardly any of them have 
 money of their own. It seems that rich people, even when 
 they believe in Christianity, don't go as missionaries. I 
 always supposed, didn't you, that when they take up col- 
 lections in church to send to the missionaries, it is for the 
 purpose of giving them a little extra money by way of lux- 
 ury? But it seems there is nothing so horrifying to a 
 Christian at home as the idea of a missionary living in 
 luxury ! I see now that I must have supposed, though I 
 never thought about it, that missionaries went out under a 
 kind of impersonal endowment, something like college 
 professors. But it seems the Board has to scrape and pinch 
 every year and send out appeals, even to the missionaries 
 themselves, before it can get enough to keep up the work 
 that has already been started. The things they tell me are 
 very surprising ; and I can't make head or tail of them yet. 
 But this is wandering far from the subject. Uncle Philip, 
 being a business man and a churchman, can explain the 
 whole thing to you, though even he may be a little puzzled 
 because these people are not Episcopalians. 
 
 To return to our teachings, they brought a young school- 
 ma'am out here last year at great expense. Her name I am 
 told was Esther Wilcox and she came from Massachusetts. 
 She was harmless, capable, and pious ; and they were per- 
 fectly satisfied with her services. This earnest young per- 
 son has now gone, by her own wish, with the consent and 
 advice of the bereaved parents, to teach in the Nestorian
 
 A LETTER TO AUNT CORDELIA 8 1 
 
 Girls' School at Tabriz, for the purpose of keeping that in- 
 stitution from going under by reason of the ill-health of those 
 responsible for it. This is boring you, of course; but it 
 brings me to the point. The position thus left vacant by 
 the devotion of Miss Wilcox to a collection of greasy Nes- 
 torians (see Encyclopedia) has been offered by Mr. Lawrence 
 to no less a person than your distinguished and remarkable 
 grand-niece (here regarded in no such rosy light as that). 
 What is more, it has been accepted, and a contract signed to 
 last until April i5th, unless Miss Wilcox can arrange to re- 
 turn before that auspicious date, in which case your grand- 
 niece is to be released from her contract, if she so desires. 
 She is to instruct these nine children, four hours a day, five 
 days in the week, in subjects ranging from mat-weaving to 
 Homer and Solid Geometry ; and she is to receive as com- 
 pensation : her living, consisting of board and lodging at 
 the Lawrences', good but very plain, and the gorgeous sum 
 of one hundred and twenty-five dollars, which, it may be 
 said in passing, she hates like the very devil to accept. 
 
 One entire morning has she already devoted to this task, 
 in consequence of which she aches in every limb as if she 
 had been pounded, and her head feels almost as intelligent 
 as a potato. 
 
 The children are interesting. There are among them : 
 two prodigies, one semi-prodigy, three lambs, two ordinary 
 children, stupid, but not disagreeable, and one Limb of 
 Satan. I like them all. In fact, I find myself, by reason 
 of them and other things, more taken up with life than I 
 have dreamed of being since my little Mary left me. As 
 this was the object for which I started round the world, I 
 count myself lucky to have attained it so soon, and (can I 
 say it without vulgarity?) so cheaply. The missionaries, 
 by the way, were dreadfully shocked at my arriving in their 
 midst without a chaperon (you would like their ideas of 
 propriety), and demanded an explanation of my behavior.
 
 82 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 What's more, I gave it and was glad of the chance to de- 
 fend myself ! Oh, they're not to be sneezed at. You would 
 see it yourself. 
 
 Now, dearest Aunt, please bear in mind that I have my 
 seasons of poignant homesickness. There are moments 
 when I would fervently embrace the toe of the Statue of 
 Liberty if I could get at it. Mrs. Lawrence says she would 
 give anything for a morning's shopping with an ice-cream 
 soda after it ! As for me, I believe I should be willing to go 
 to the dentist's for the sake of riding in the Elevated. Write 
 me everything, and send me all the papers and most of the 
 magazines. I would rather read even that abominable 
 Grown Gossips than visit the remains of the fire-worshippers. 
 And there are others here who would join me in a little harm- 
 less mental dissipation, if not unduly urged. 
 
 Tell all my friends I will never forget it of them if they 
 write me now, particularly Uncle Philip. Tell 
 
 I hear a terrific noise downstairs. I think it has some- 
 thing to do with the Limb of Satan, who is here for the after- 
 noon while his parents attend Station Meeting. (See Re- 
 ports of the W. C. T. F. M., or any other Christian organiza- 
 tion with an equal number of letters.) I can't stand that 
 noise. I must go down and see what it's all about. 
 
 As ever, your devoted niece, 
 
 Jean Stuart. 
 
 Later. Lest any of my letters should have been lost, I will 
 repeat that I wish the suit for the recovery of Delia's money 
 carried on to the bitter end. When the entire sum has been 
 used up in costs, it will be time to stop. I have no intention 
 that Mercer Bryant shall take his ease for the rest of his 
 life by means of the Stuart fortune. Any compromise will 
 be directly contrary to my wishes. To avert such a thing, 
 I should be ready to send for Robert Courtlandt and go 
 meekly home with him in that canal-worthy yacht of his !
 
 A LETTER TO AUNT CORDELIA 83 
 
 And you can hardly know how I feel about that when I tell 
 you that I would rather teach here for two winters than 
 submit to such a thing. You cannot know, because you 
 have never been in Muramna. And since I have incau- 
 tiously suggested the idea, let me warn you that I will not 
 make use of Robert Courtlandt's yacht. I have made up 
 my mind now to stay here for the winter ; I have put my- 
 self under contract to fulfil certain duties ; and stay I will, 
 though all the well-chaperoned steam-yachts in the world 
 should lie at anchor just outside Muramna walls (which 
 they couldn't possibly do). So here I am, let me say in 
 conclusion, and here will I stay to the end of the chapter ; 
 but send me things to read, and above all things, write to 
 your stranded and slightly homesick Jean.
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 THE STATION MEETING 
 
 WHILE Jean Stuart was writing home, the monthly meet- 
 ing of Muramna Station was being held in the lecture-room 
 of Faith Seminary. Dr. Lawrence was in the chair, the 
 gentlemen were seated in a group in front of him, while 
 near the window on two sides of the room the ladies formed 
 a fringe of industry. Miss Oddfellow had appropriated a 
 skirt of Miss Lea's and, under the rapt and unconscious eye 
 of her young colleague, was placidly darning a jagged tear 
 with one of her own long gray hairs. Miss Trench and Mrs. 
 Lawrence were sewing swiftly on the same little dress, with 
 now and then a whispered conference about it. Dr. Mac- 
 Coll was rolling bandages. Mrs. Prescott, with her most 
 martyr-like expression and her crooked glasses astride of 
 her immense nose, was making her weekly attack on the 
 stocking-bag. All these ladies had learned by long practice 
 to occupy their fingers while their minds were concerned 
 with the business of the meeting. It is doubtful, however, 
 whether poor little Mrs. Whiting had, at first, any attention 
 to spare for the relief-work discussion in which her husband 
 was taking so vigorous an interest. She was distressed, to 
 begin with, because George had refused to sit beside her, 
 knowing as he did that one of his ears would be assailed by 
 a steady stream of appeals. George, who had rather a 
 plodding mind, found it very disconcerting to recall his 
 thoughts from a question of tomans and chahis to the decision 
 as to whether his son, who could be seen from the window 
 playing in the Lawrences' back yard, was likely to break 
 
 8 4
 
 THE STATION MEETING 85 
 
 his neck if he fell from the mulberry tree, which must have 
 been at least six feet high. Miss Lea, too, was so absorbed 
 in the famine that she failed to be at all interested in nice 
 distinctions of pink and yellow, the feeling for which formed 
 such a bond between her and Mrs. Whiting. That dis- 
 tracted lady was obliged on this occasion to pour all her 
 whisperings into the ear of Mrs. Prescott who was hard of 
 hearing on that side, and replied only by Jovine nods which 
 she considered an eminently Christian concession to the 
 weak-mindedness of her neighbor. Mrs. Franklin, a little 
 in front of the other ladies, and just behind the gentlemen, 
 was sitting easily in her chair with her hands folded in her 
 lap and her eyes fixed calmly on whatever person was 
 speaking. 
 
 "I never could do two things at once," she always said, 
 when asked why she did not bring her work to Station 
 Meeting. 
 
 Little Miss Lea, as soon as the discussion began, leaned 
 forward in her chair with a look that was almost beautiful 
 in the intensity of its enthusiasm. She was only twenty- 
 one, just out of College; and this was her first winter on 
 the Mission Field. Roger Standish, who was not much 
 older, had turned his chair so that he could watch her. 
 The other men were all intent on the matter in hand ; and 
 Roger would have sworn that he was as intent as any man 
 of them. 
 
 George Whiting was speaking. "I have estimated that 
 there are five hundred families on the Plain and in the city 
 who are without adequate provision for the winter. Of 
 these at least one-fourth are in immediate need of help. 
 There are also an uncounted lot of refugees from Turkey and 
 the Border, mostly men who will soon be a menace to the 
 community, if neglected." 
 
 "How much is there left of the relief fund ?" asked Dan 
 Lawrence.
 
 86 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 The Chair called on Thorley Prescott, the Station Trea- 
 surer, for an answer. 
 
 "Eight dollars and five cents," growled Prescott. 
 
 "Have we any wheat?" asked Mrs. Franklin. 
 
 "Not more than enough to run the schools through the 
 winter," said Thorley. 
 
 "The question arises whether we have any right to hoard 
 that wheat through the winter when people around us are 
 starving. Why not dole it out now," said the generous 
 Miss Oddfellow, "and trust the Lord to provide us with 
 more as we need it ? Surely He will not allow His children 
 to hunger." 
 
 "I bet He will, if their elders have no more sense than 
 that," Thorley muttered to Dan Lawrence. 
 
 "Say so, then, if you can do it without profaning any- 
 body's feelings." 
 
 "I can't. Say it yourself." 
 
 Dan rose slowly and faced them all. 
 
 "Friends," he said, "we are confronted with one of the 
 most serious questions of our missionary life. It is evident 
 that relief work must be done ; and that, if it is to make any 
 impression on the situation, it must be more extensive than 
 anything we have ever undertaken. To dole out the little 
 supply of wheat we have, would only seem to help matters 
 for a very few weeks. Then the people would be just as 
 hungry as they are now ; and their habits of idleness would 
 be confirmed, as well as their daily dependence on us for 
 bread. The only thing to do is to give them work and to 
 pay them for it in money. We have no money now ; but 
 I would rather depend on the Lord to send us what we need 
 for the starting of an industry, than to give away our h'ttle 
 hoard of wheat, which we require for keeping our engage- 
 ments with the young people in the schools, than to give 
 away our honor, I may say, for the sake of supporting these 
 refugees a few days in idleness. I should like to ask
 
 THE STATION MEETING 87 
 
 whether there is any way of getting special sums from 
 America." 
 
 This speech led to a double discussion. Several persons 
 spoke about the difficulty of starting industries in the 
 winter. A number of others dwelt on the impossibility 
 of getting money from America in time to relieve the im- 
 mediate necessities of the people. 
 
 "The upshot of the whole thing is," said Dr. Franklin, 
 "that we ought to have gone at this business months ago 
 in a systematic way; but there is so much to be. done day 
 by day in our regular work, and so few, so abominably few 
 to do it!" The doctor paused to mop his brow with an 
 enormous silk handkerchief, yellow with age and ragged as 
 it could be. Mrs. Prescott, finishing a monumental darn 
 in a sock of her stepson's, reflected that it would be more 
 becoming if Mrs. Franklin mended her husband's clothes 
 instead of sitting like a snow image with her hands in her 
 lap. The doctor, who had that very morning reclaimed 
 that very handkerchief from Harriet, who intended to use 
 it for a paint-rag, stowed it away in his coat-tail pocket, 
 whence the most ragged corner of it jauntily emerged, 
 and went on more cheerfully with his remarks. "My 
 wife, I know, wrote letters in the summer to her church 
 people at home. I presume that at the psychological 
 moment, she will produce rather a handsome sum from 
 one of my old stockings. Why haven't we all been writing 
 letters ?" 
 
 "People in America are tired of relief work." It was 
 Margaret Lawrence who spoke from the back of the room. 
 "They've given to it now for years. You can't make them 
 realize the poverty and the suffering; and they think it's 
 like pouring money into a bottomless sieve." 
 
 "So it is !" said Mrs. Franklin. "That's precisely what 
 it is ! We beg and beg, and give and give ; and what re- 
 turn do we get for it, except an uncertain amount of gratitude
 
 88 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 and a heap of curses from the paupers we have helped to 
 make?" 
 
 "Whew !" whistled the doctor. But the word was lost 
 in a storm of exclamations and protests. The ladies left 
 their handiwork to enter the heart of the fray. The 
 industrial work of past years was praised and defended 
 on all sides. Mr. Freyer spoke of the roads which had been 
 made under the direction of the older Prescott. The road 
 to the College, he declared, was a monument of faithful 
 service ; and countless lives had been saved by the money 
 which had been paid for it. Miss Oddfellow recalled the 
 industries begun among the women by former colleagues. 
 George Whiting called attention to the spirit of self-respect- 
 ing work which had always been encouraged among the 
 young men at the College. Mr. John Prescott praised his 
 students at the Theological Seminary, and challenged any 
 one present to find one pauper among them. Miss Trench 
 declared that even her Moslem girls were beginning to love 
 work for its own sake. 
 
 "Aren't we wandering from the subject?" said Dan 
 Lawrence. "The problem before us does not concern the 
 people whom we have had under our influence in our schools 
 and as our employees. It is simply a question whether 
 we can grapple with this chance to help hundreds of outside 
 people who may die of starvation. If we had means to 
 give them food, it would be easy enough to make them 
 work for it. The great and only question in my mind is, 
 where is that money coming from ?" 
 
 Mrs. Whiting's high voice rose tremulously. 
 
 "Can't we all give up more of our own comforts?" she 
 said. "I'm willing to do without, and so is George, if only 
 the children can have enough to nourish them. (They're 
 growing so fast now, dear little things !) Surely not one of 
 us will refuse to sacrifice every needless luxury." She 
 blushed down at her embroidery, glad to remember that
 
 THE STATION MEETING 89 
 
 the materials had been a present from her sister. "Thanks- 
 giving dinner nearly choked me," she finished with a sob, 
 " because I was thinking about those starving little Mountain 
 children whom Dr. Franklin found that very day." 
 
 George Whiting went over and sat down by his wife, 
 while Mrs. Prescott patted her ponderously on the shoulder. 
 
 "Dear Mrs. Whiting," said Mrs. Franklin, "we had 
 those things, and the Persians don't like them. Could any 
 little children .have been saved by your cranberry sauce ? 
 Yet it strengthened us wonderfully because it was a taste 
 of home." 
 
 "I think Mrs. Whiting is right," cried Amy Lea, "we 
 ought to be willing to give up everything for these people." 
 
 "And so we are," said Miss Trench quietly, "God knows 
 we are." 
 
 "Brethren," said Dr. Lawrence, rising, "at the beginning 
 of this meeting we asked God's blessing on our deliberations. 
 We have come now to a moment of doubt, when our judg- 
 ments, limited as they are, seem to clash one with another. 
 Let us speak again to our Father, asking for His immediate 
 guidance in this matter: that His Spirit may be in us all, 
 and that His purpose may be put clearly into the mind of 
 some one of us." 
 
 He looked around, intending to call on the older Mr. 
 Prescott, but in the search his eye fell on Thorley and in- 
 voluntarily he said, 
 
 "Will you lead us?" 
 
 Thorley Prescott half rose, then he sank back in his chair, 
 saying under his breath, 
 
 "Please ask some one else." 
 
 While Dr. Lawrence hesitated, a pall of embarrassment 
 fell upon the little company. It is impossible to explain 
 how mortified they were that one of their number should 
 refuse to lead them in prayer. They all knew that Thorley 
 Prescott "drew the line" as he himself had once put it "on
 
 QO THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 lifting up his feeble voice in public advice to the Almighty." 
 This remark, drawn out by an exhortation from George 
 Whiting, had been noised abroad in the Station, and since 
 then Thorley Prescott had never been asked to pray in 
 public. The present breaking over of a long-standing rule 
 was thought to be a sign that Dr. Lawrence was growing 
 forgetful. In reality the old gentleman had surprised upon 
 the face of Thorley Prescott an expression which made him 
 feel that his young friend was the one best able to interpret 
 the Lord's will concerning the problem of the refugees. Dr. 
 Lawrence himself was not at all embarrassed by Thorley's 
 refusal to lead in prayer. His hesitation, which was an 
 agony to several of his colleagues, was to him only a 
 moment of reflection before he should make another choice. 
 
 The silence was still unbroken when the door at the back 
 of the lecture-room burst open, and Sammy Whiting, with 
 a mighty roar, threw himself upon his mother, his face 
 streaming with blood. His two sisters followed him, weep- 
 ing lustily; but the other children, excepting Edward 
 Franklin, stood in an awe-stricken group at the door, won- 
 dering how the Whitings could dare to enter a Station meet- 
 ing. Not one of them would have done it on pain of death. 
 
 The two doctors reached the child before his mother could 
 even turn pale. 
 
 "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Whiting," said Dr. Franklin, 
 "it's nothing but nosebleed." He swabbed the child's 
 face vigorously with his handkerchief, and propelled him 
 none too gently toward the door. 
 
 "You come, too," sobbed Mrs. Whiting, laying hold of 
 Dr. MacColl. "I never can get Dr. Franklin to tell me 
 anything. Sammy may be disfigured for life, and he will 
 say it's nothing. What's that, Jane? You say he fell 
 from the tree ? Well, I shan't have a moment's rest until 
 you have both examined every inch of his spine." 
 
 The words were spoken hurriedly, as the two women fol-
 
 THE STATION MEETING 9 1 
 
 lowed Sammy and his guide. The little girls tagged after 
 them, hardly knowing whether or not to go on crying, but 
 the other children promptly scattered to their play. 
 
 At the Lawrences', Dr. Franklin made short work of wash- 
 ing Sammy's face. 
 
 "You see there's nothing the matter," he said, ignoring 
 Mrs. Whiting's tremulous demand for disinfectants. "The 
 skin isn't broken anywhere. Get a wad of paper, Sam, and 
 put it under your upper lip. If your nose begins to bleed 
 again, chew. You see it's stopped bleeding already, Mrs. 
 Whiting. We may as well go back to the meeting. Ted, 
 where were you when this happened? Don't tell me you 
 can't stop nosebleed." 
 
 Edward, who, with his finger closed in the leaves of his 
 book, had been grinning in the background, now looked 
 sober enough. He foresaw that the rest of his afternoon 
 would be spent in keeping Sammy Whiting out of mischief, 
 so with the resignation of necessity he closed his book and 
 proposed a game of dominoes. 
 
 Dr. MacColl had lingered, hoping to take Mrs. Whiting 
 back with her to the meeting. That tremulous parent hav- 
 ing settled her son in an arm-chair, with cushions enough 
 to drive him distracted, was hanging over him ready to 
 pounce on any signs of injury to the back. 
 
 "A mother's first duty is to her child," she declared, and 
 Dr. MacColl hurried for the door lest she should disgrace 
 herself by laughing at the disgusted expression on Sammy's 
 face. 
 
 In the hall she encountered Miss Stuart. 
 
 "Yes," she said, before Jean could speak. "There's been 
 a hubbub ; but it's only Sammy Whiting ; and it would be 
 all over now, if Stella had any sense. Did you mean what 
 you said about those books?" 
 
 Jean gasped. " Those first editions of yours ? You said 
 they were heirlooms."
 
 Q2 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Well, I have to get money if I can," declared Dr. Mac- 
 Coll. " Of course I don't want to urge you ; but if you have 
 any gold to spare, you may take your choice of the books or 
 buy 'em all. I want cash." 
 
 "Relief work, I suppose," said Jean, and wondered at her 
 own impudence. 
 
 "Well, yes. I hear that Thorley Prescott has a plan. 
 If he's allowed to manage it his own way, it'll do as much as 
 anything can. Now of course I don't want to urge you; 
 but you looked as if you wanted that ' Compleat Angler.' 
 Fifty-one pounds would go a long way." 
 
 Jean looked at her in silence until the doctor grew 
 impatient. 
 
 "Come, come," she said, "you know whether you want 
 it or not." 
 
 "Do you suppose," said Jean slowly, "that I would be 
 the means of your parting with one of those precious 
 books?" 
 
 "I'd rather you'd have 'em than an English Earl. I'll 
 never be comfortable with 'em again, now that I know their 
 money value." 
 
 Jean turned her face from the light and cleared her throat. 
 "I suppose you never allow strangers in your meeting," 
 she said; "I'd like to hear those plans for relief." 
 
 "Yes, come along," cried the doctor. "We can haggle 
 afterwards about the books. Thorley may be speaking 
 now."
 
 CHAPTER XIH 
 
 WHILE THEY WERE YET SPEAKING 
 
 DR. MACCOLL opened the door of the lecture-room and 
 stopped short, motioning Jean to remain where she was in 
 the corridor. Over the little lady's shoulder Jean saw that 
 the missionaries were all on their knees - all but one, who sat 
 motionless in his chair. Jean knew that square head and 
 those broad shoulders, though the face was turned away 
 from her; and she noticed that he sat as if he were very 
 tired. She wondered mischievously if it could be that he 
 were worn out with piety. 
 
 Now in all her life before Jean Stuart herself had never 
 listened to so much praying as during her five days in Mur- 
 amna. She had been brought up not to attend church; 
 and though she sometimes went with her friends when it 
 was the courteous thing to do, the services to which they 
 took her had never yet drawn her to go again on her own 
 account. She liked to hear the prayers in the Episcopal 
 liturgy when they were well read, because the language was 
 so beautiful and the ideas so lofty; but the ordinary "long 
 prayer" had no power to hold even her attention. Once 
 or twice she had been impressed with the sincerity of a 
 speaker who seemed to be praying for his audience rather 
 than at them. She remembered, for instance, that in 
 Shiloh she had wondered whether Dan Lawrence actually 
 believed he was speaking to Some One greater than man, Who 
 heard him. Now she was perfectly sure that Dan believed 
 in a God Who heard his prayers. He and Dr. Lawrence 
 spoke to Him as if He were a friend right there in the very 
 
 93
 
 94 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 room with them, interesting Himself in all that concerned 
 their lives. What was stranger still, they seemed to expect 
 Him to answer them. All these previous impressions flashed 
 through her mind as she discovered the voice that was now 
 speaking to be that of Dan Lawrence himself. And now, 
 as his words began to make their way into her mind, she 
 could no longer doubt that he fully expected an answer - 
 that in fact he intended to wait and get it before he made any 
 further plans. There was a thrill of triumph in the way 
 he pronounced the words "for Jesus' sake," and she found 
 herself wondering if he could ever explain to her how it was 
 that he had grown to feel so sure of such a mystery as this 
 idea of God. 
 
 The missionaries were rising from their knees and Dr. 
 MacColl was marching into the room. She walked straight 
 up to Dr. Lawrence, while Jean quietly stepped out of sight 
 into the corridor. She heard Dr. Lawrence put a question 
 to which there was a murmur of assent. Then he himself 
 came down to the door and in his stately way offered her 
 his arm. 
 
 "We are glad to have you with us," he said, "though 
 this has been a time of great perplexity." 
 
 Jean, finding herself in a chair beside Dr. MacColl, smiled 
 at the complete novelty of her position and wondered what 
 Robert Courtlandt would say, if he could see her. She had 
 not glanced at Thorley Prescott as she came in, and she was 
 sitting now with her back to him ; so she was ignorant that 
 since he had known of her presence, every line of his figure 
 and face had changed. 
 
 "Mr. Chairman," he cried, springing to his feet, "I have 
 a plan for relief work. Would you care to hear it ? " 
 
 Dr. MacColl jumped up. "I move that Mr. Thorley 
 Prescott be asked to tell his plan in detail; and be a little 
 generous with your words," she added, with a sharp glance 
 at Thorley as she sat down.
 
 WHILE THEY WERE YET SPEAKING 95 
 
 Thorley gave one suppressed chuckle, as Dan Lawrence 
 seconded the motion ; and he was still smiling when it had 
 been carried and he rose to address the meeting. But the 
 meeting to him just then consisted of one person only ; and 
 he openly shifted his position until he could face her while 
 speaking. 
 
 "If we had a thousand dollars," said Thorley Fresco tt, 
 " we could make water-pipes at Akbar. I found last summer 
 that the clay there is just the thing for pottery, so I had a 
 lot of it put under shelter in the cellars of the old Seminary 
 buildings. It's packed around with hay, and it won't freeze 
 this winter unless the weather is unusually severe. In our 
 three houses on the mountain we could lodge at least fifty 
 men." 
 
 "Fifty men," protested George Whiting, "that's packing 
 them in pretty tight." 
 
 "Natives can sleep on the ground floor, you know," an- 
 swered Thorley, "but we'll say forty. That allows room 
 for a cook-house and a general dining-room. If the mild 
 weather holds (and the ground hasn't even frozen since 
 that one snow-storm), we can easily run up walls to connect 
 the houses. That would give us two more dwellings each 
 about twice as large as the old ones. You can reckon to 
 suit yourselves ; but I make it that we'd have room for one 
 hundred and fifty men. Now for the water-pipes. We'd 
 roof in the old Seminary buildings, very roughly of course, 
 make a lot of wooden moulds, set a few potters' wheels 
 a-going, use the two old brick ovens for kilns, and turn out 
 several hundred pipes a day. Meantime we'd build a small 
 reservoir and save the spring water till warmer weather 
 when we'd dig a trench down to the College, continue it to 
 the city, and have pure, fresh drinking water in every one 
 of our houses." 
 
 The housewives turned to look at each other with expres- 
 sions of joyful bewilderment.
 
 96 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Then the result of this work would be merely a very 
 great luxury for ourselves, obtained at an enormous cost?" 
 The voice was the voice of Mrs. Prescott. 
 
 "A thousand dollars," said George Whiting, "large 
 though it seems, now when we haven't it, would hardly run 
 such an industry all winter." 
 
 "Of course not," said Thorley. "I'm planning to make 
 money. You know that since the last cholera scare, even 
 the Mohammedans have been more careful about drinking 
 the water from the river. It runs in under their houses," 
 he explained turning again to Miss Stuart, "and stands in 
 open receptacles called shakeetas. Of course it's just about 
 as filthy as water can be and flow. They used to laugh at 
 us because we had our drinking water and our cooking water 
 carried from our own springs ; but I find that a good many 
 of the wealthy families have taken to doing the same thing. 
 But it's an awful nuisance, because it makes no end of extra 
 work for the servants. They hate it and substitute con- 
 taminated water whenever they can. I believe I could 
 persuade at least ten men in Muramna to buy water-pipes 
 even before we got our own pipe line into working order. I 
 was talking it over the other day with Hassan Mirza Khan, 
 and he said if we ever did such a thing, he'd want pipes 
 enough to go from his summer home to his palace in the city. 
 Two or three orders like that would keep us going all winter, 
 and pay for our own waterworks." 
 
 "It sounds fine," said Dr. Franklin, "but what's the use 
 of talking about it when we haven't got the thousand dol- 
 lars? I suppose you couldn't get Hassan Mirza Khan to 
 advance the money?" 
 
 "Owe money to a Moslem?" groaned Miss Oddfellow. 
 
 "Not money, only water-pipes," answered the doctor. 
 
 There was a grim smile on Thorley Prescott's face. "I 
 did think one day I had him worked up to just that. But 
 when we came down to details, there was so much pishkesh
 
 WHILE THEY WERE YET SPEAKING 97 
 
 and so many other exactions that I thought I'd rather wait 
 until I was in a position to make terms myself." 
 
 Jean Stuart now spoke. "May I ask a question?" 
 
 "Certainly," said Thorley, without waiting for the Chair. 
 
 "If you started this work, what would become of the 
 wives and children of these men ?" 
 
 "As soon as the men are earning money," Thorley an- 
 swered, "there'll be no trouble in finding lodgings for their 
 families. There's a deserted village on the mountain-side 
 very near our place; and I have it in mind that many of 
 the families will be brought there. Later the men could 
 live with them, if it was more convenient. But lots of fami- 
 lies are still starving in their old homes, while the men have 
 come to forage in the city. Arrangements will have to be 
 made for food to be sent them." 
 
 "You seem to have considered everything," said Jean. 
 
 "Do you like the plan ?" asked Thorley. 
 
 The rest of the Station sat aghast, all but Dr. MacColl. 
 Several of them thought it unseemly that a stranger should 
 have been admitted to a Station meeting. Several more 
 were scandalized at the informal proceedings that were 
 upsetting all their routine. Very few had any hope that 
 Thorley Prescott's plans would ever come to anything. In 
 their amazement at his talking so much, they had little idea 
 of what the plans really were. They only knew that every- 
 thing hinged on the tremendous and non-existent sum of one 
 thousand dollars. 
 
 "I should think," said Jean conversationally to Dr. Mac- 
 Coll, "that you'd vote to adopt these plans in case you can 
 get the thousand dollars. Of course, you'd place Mr. 
 Prescott at the head of the work ; but then who would tend 
 to the Treasury and write that paper?" 
 
 Dan Lawrence heard her. It flashed through his mind 
 that his prayer was being answered then and there. He rose 
 and addressed the Chair :
 
 98 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "I move that Mr. Thorley Prescott's plans for the water- 
 pipe industry at Akbar be carried out as soon as the neces- 
 sary funds can be collected ; that Mr. Thorley Prescott be 
 given full management of all the arrangements; and that 
 his present work, while he is otherwise occupied, be divided 
 among the rest of us." 
 
 "Second the motion," said Dr. MacColl. 
 
 "You have heard the motion, brethren," announced Dr. 
 Lawrence. "Are you ready for the question ?" 
 
 "Question !" shouted Thorley Prescott; and the question 
 was put. 
 
 There were four affirmative votes and none for the 
 negative. 
 
 "The motion is carried," said Dr. Lawrence rather be- 
 wildered. 
 
 Jean Stuart had been whispering to Dr. MacColl ; and 
 the sturdy little doctor now rose, tears filling her keen dark 
 eyes. 
 
 "I am asked to announce," she said, "that the necessary 
 funds have been collected. One thousand dollars in French 
 gold is at the immediate disposal of the Mission Treasurer." 
 
 Half an hour later Thorley Prescott was taking Miss 
 Stuart back to the Lawrence house. 
 
 "Do you know," he said, "I feel ashamed. Dan took 
 the trouble to pray. He knew there was an answer coming 
 and he deserved it ; but look who's getting the lion's share 
 of Dan's answer." 
 
 Miss Stuart looked at him in amazement. "Do you be- 
 lieve that his praying had anything to do with it ?" 
 
 Thorley Prescott smiled in the way she liked to see. " If 
 I don't," he declared, "I'm the only one of the whole bunch 
 that doesn't. You'll see what Dr. Lawrence says to you. 
 Rather hard to give a whopping present, isn't it, and have 
 it all attributed to the Lord ? "
 
 WHILE THEY WERE YET SPEAKING 99 
 
 Jean gratified him by making the little sound as he fol- 
 lowed her into the sitting-room. Dr. Lawrence was there, 
 peering eagerly out of the window. As he heard the door 
 open, he came over to her with both hands out. 
 
 "God answered us," he said, "while we were yet speak- 
 ing ; and you are the answer."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THEIR IDEA OF FUN 
 
 "So you've lived through the week," said Dr. MacColl, 
 stopping Jean Stuart in the passage outside her schoolroom 
 which was in Dr. Franklin's house. "How are you going 
 to like this business of teaching ? " 
 
 "The children are charming; that is, most of them are." 
 Jean smiled a little in answer to the twinkle in the doctor's 
 eye. "But," she added, shrugging her shoulders, "what 
 / don't know!" 
 
 "You know the subjects you're supposed to impart?" 
 
 " Oh yes, at least I know how to get to know them. But 
 how to impart them ! Those children are so different. 
 Some of them soak in knowledge like little sponges. For 
 others, you have to take every bit of information apart and 
 pound in each separate piece like a tack. Some of them 
 are awfully sensitive ; and at the least hint of disapproval, 
 they melt into tears ; one or two are so thick-skinned that 
 nothing but a vigorous application of a competent stick 
 would make the slightest impression. But I mustn't stand 
 here gossiping with you ; Ruth and Danny are waiting for 
 me." 
 
 "I want you to stay and lunch with me." 
 
 "Really ? How nice of you !" 
 
 "You'll come, then?" 
 
 "Indeed I will. Just let me speak to the children. It's 
 all right for them to ride home alone with Hilgar, isn't it ?" 
 
 "Oh, certainly."
 
 THEIR IDEA OF FUN IOI 
 
 "Do you know?" said Jean, sitting back in her chair, 
 "I've eaten two bowls of this sour milk - 
 
 "Do call it mesta" interrupted the doctor. 
 
 " as well as several square feet of bread. What do you 
 call that?" 
 
 "Lawask." 
 
 " It's good, isn't it ? What a relish one has for food when 
 one has to work all the morning, whether or no !" 
 
 Dr. MacColl smiled. "It's rather pathetic that you 
 should have lived so long without finding that out. You 
 should have been put to work at something interesting five 
 years ago at least." 
 
 "This is a place where one is not likely to be hurt by 
 flattery!" 
 
 "Wait until you know the language. The natives will 
 lay it on thick enough. Are you going to begin with Syriac 
 or Turkish?" 
 
 Jean's eyes opened wide. "Why should I learn either? 
 If I were to attack a language, Persian would be more in 
 my line. I like the Classics pretty well, in spite of having 
 been subjected to them in early youth by Grandfather 
 Jonathan." 
 
 " Dry bones ! " exclaimed the doctor. " I refer, of course, 
 to the Classics. What's the use of your learning Persian ? 
 Nobody speaks it now. Whereas, if you understand only 
 a little Turkish, you'll be able to go into Moslem houses 
 and get at the women. I have a notion that you'd be very 
 clever at it. Besides, the natives all consider you a great 
 lady ; and that's one thing we're very much in need of among 
 the Mohammedans, prestige, 'giddy prestige, by Gum.'" 
 
 The doctor stopped short, looking very guilty as a peal 
 of laughter broke from Jean. "Quoting Stalky !" she cried. 
 "That vulgar, delicious Stalky; and in a nefarious attempt 
 to coerce a much-abused fellow-creature into a line of effort 
 for which she has not the slightest taste. I'd be glad to go
 
 102 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 and look at Mohammedan women in their homes (I'm 
 told they're a sight ; and sight-seeing is, after all, the legit- 
 imate sphere of a tourist, which I am) ; but I see myself 
 trying to influence them ! What shall I influence them to ? 
 I haven't as much religion as they have; and if I had, it 
 probably wouldn't be half as helpful to them as their own. 
 Why can't you leave the poor things alone? You can't 
 emancipate them ; and you will only make them discon- 
 tented in their seclusion." 
 
 The doctor shook her head with a look more sorrowful 
 than Jean had ever seen on her keen face. "Ever read 
 the Koran ? " she asked. 
 
 "About as much as I had read the Bible till I came here. 
 I thought that rather interesting at morning prayers as it 
 told about the life of Christ. But now I'm getting an over- 
 dose. I've been to church since I came, I should say, about 
 seventeen times. They give me an English Bible with the 
 places picked out, so I can follow the service. There's 
 nothing else to do, and I read to pass away the time." 
 
 "But always at some other place," interrupted the doctor. 
 
 Jean acknowledged this comment by breaking into one 
 of her most confidential smiles. "Mrs. Prescott offered 
 to prescribe for me a course of daily readings." 
 
 Dr. MacColl scowled, muttering under her breath an 
 ejaculation that ended with the word business, hissed out 
 with a vicious emphasis that made it more distinct than 
 she realized. 
 
 Jean Stuart, with a feeling of gratification, went on, "I 
 told her that when I felt the need of independent daily read- 
 ings, I should reserve the privilege of going to a clergyman. 
 I don't think she liked it very well, but she hasn't talked 
 to me since about reading the Bible. And now the parents 
 say there must always be a portion of it read at the opening 
 of school. I told Mr. Whiting I thought it a waste of time, 
 seeing that the children got so much of it at home. He
 
 THEIR IDEA OF FUN 103 
 
 wasn't pleased, either. I should have loved to fight it out 
 with him; but of course he is a parent and the others all 
 agreed with him ; so I gave in. They said I must have a 
 prayer, too, and Mr. Whiting, busy as he is with that whole 
 College, offered to come and make the prayer every morning, 
 if I felt unequal to the responsibility. I did feel unequal ; 
 but rather than have him poking in every morning, I was 
 going to say I'd do it, when Mr. Lawrence came to my rescue 
 by suggesting that the Lord's prayer, repeated in unison, 
 would be sufficient; and after some discussion the others 
 consented. I should think it would be difficult even for 
 Mrs. Prescott to object when he suggests anything. He is 
 the dearest man !" 
 
 " Isn't he ? " cried Dr. MacColl. " I don't know what we 
 should do without him." 
 
 "Amy Lea told me afterward, with a face as long as the 
 moral law, that Mrs. Whiting feared I was almost as irreli- 
 gious as Mr. Thorley Prescott. She (Miss Lea) wished, 
 as a friend, to give me the opportunity of contradicting 
 it." 
 
 "What did you say?" the doctor leaned forward in her 
 interest. 
 
 "I said I admired Mr. Prescott very much and should 
 not dream of declaring myself superior to him in any way. 
 I presume the little idiot went straight back and told Mrs. 
 Whiting that I am in love with the Thunderer ; for they have 
 both regarded me ever since with a horrified interest, and 
 Mrs. Prescott is more unpleasant than before, if possible. 
 What is the matter with Thorley Prescott, anyway ? Why 
 does he stay here if he's so vitally different from the rest of 
 you ? That man ought to be digging the Big Canal or mak- 
 ing the bridge across Behring Strait, or running the War 
 Department I believe he'd like that best of all, except in 
 times of peace but here he sits frowsting in a two by four 
 treasury, getting out a weekly sheet of drivel on a foot-
 
 104 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 power press twenty years old, and beside himself with joy 
 because he can get out for a few weeks and stand over a 
 handful of ragamuffins while they make mud water-pipes 
 with a homemade wooden mould ! It enrages me to see 
 such a Man with all his splendid powers going to waste !" 
 
 "A sorrowful sight, indeed." 
 
 "Would you be glad, then, if he got a chance to do some- 
 thing different ?" 
 
 "He couldn't take it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "You would like to have me tell you about Thorley Pres- 
 cott, the circumstances that led to his being a missionary 
 here, and that make it impossible for him ever to be anything 
 else?" 
 
 Jean was silent a moment; then she raised her eyes to 
 Doctor MacColTs. "No," she said, "if there is a mystery 
 about his life, I'd rather hear it from him." 
 
 "There is no mystery; and I doubt if he will ever tell 
 you, but oh, well, it is rather like talebearing, isn't it ? " 
 
 Jean laughed. "Mrs. Lawrence started one evening in 
 the kindliest way to tell me about him ; and I stopped her 
 short. Just the same I wish you had told me without wait- 
 ing to ask whether I cared to bend my soul to gossip. I 
 would like to know about him. I find him very interesting ; 
 and as you say, I am not likely to extract many confidences 
 from himself. How he did set me down at Thanksgiving 
 dinner ! And yet, I really think he rather likes me !" 
 
 Dr. MacColl chuckled. "I knew you were made of good 
 stuff," she declared. "I suppose in all your life before, 
 you have never come to the bar of public opinion as a naked 
 soul." 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" said Miss Stuart, "what would my Aunt 
 Cordelia say?" 
 
 "Quite so," the doctor agreed, "she wouldn't like it for 
 you at all; but I say, it's an excellent thing for a human
 
 THEIR IDEA OF FUN 105 
 
 being to be stripped, for once, of all the advantages or dis- 
 advantages of his social position and stand or fall before a 
 jury of his fellow-beings, entirely on his own intrinsic 
 worth." 
 
 "That's a large thought," said Jean, rippling with amuse- 
 ment. "Let me see, am I standing or falling? The Whit- 
 ings are rather cool; but you and the Lawrences and the 
 Franklins are delightfully warm. Miss Oddfellow and Miss 
 Trench are civil ; and little Miss Lea doesn't know as yet 
 which tack to take. As for Mrs. Prescott, she frankly 
 hates me ; but then, I consider one good enemy an invalu- 
 able social asset ; and she, if you will pardon my saying so, 
 is a corker." 
 
 "By the way, if you want help about methods of teaching, 
 Mrs. Prescott is the one to ask. She has read every book 
 on Pedagogy that ever wasted printers' ink; and in spite 
 of it, she's the best teacher I ever saw." 
 
 "That Medusa!" 
 
 "See here, you're not to call names about my colleagues." 
 
 "Look at me." Jean fell on her knees beside the doctor. 
 One arm went over the back of the chair while the other 
 touched the doctor's knee. The gray eyes were so close 
 that the doctor could see the black circle around each iris 
 and the little golden spots that gleamed far below the sur- 
 face with the light that one discovers at the bottom of a 
 mountain brook. Then, under the scrutiny of the black 
 eyes, the pupils of the gray eyes enlarged until one pair of 
 eyes was no blacker than the other and both were full of the 
 light of a good new friendship. Then Jean's face changed 
 again. In an instant it was all mischief, coaxing, bewitching. 
 
 "You don't mind it then, so awfully much, my calling 
 her the Medusa?" 
 
 But the doctor hardened her heart and shook her head. 
 
 In a flash there came another change: the gray eyes 
 saddened, and the white lids shut over them like a curtain
 
 106 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 suddenly drawn to keep from a night-wanderer the glow of 
 a happy home. Bending her head, Jean brushed with her 
 lips the doctor's square, hard-working little hand ; and, as 
 she rose from her knees, she said penitently, "No, after all, 
 I hadn't the right to explode. You are one of them, 
 and I, as you say, am only the naked soul of a stranger 
 standing outside ; and why, after all, should I specially care 
 to come in?" The head lifted itself again with its natural 
 pride; and Dr. Flora MacColl, formerly of Schenectady, 
 saw confronting her for the moment, a personage no other 
 than the Miss Stuart of New York and Bar Harbor. 
 
 Not one whit overawed, the doctor rose and, reaching up, 
 put her hands on the shoulders of Miss Stuart. " My dear," 
 she said, "I was wrong to stop you. With me, if you won't 
 tell that I like it, you may call us all the names you can think 
 of. Melissa shall be the Medusa and Dr. Franklin the 
 Monster. I'll be the Gnome, if you say so. You'll have to 
 do something to let off steam, if you're going to teach all 
 winter under the supervision of George Whiting. And let 
 me tell you," she whispered, mounting a footstool to ap- 
 proach Jean's ear. " I'd need to blow off boilers of steam, 
 if I lived next door to the Medusa and in the bosom of that 
 goldily good Lawrence family. I adore every one of 'em 
 from the Doctor to Danny ; but I can't live up to 'em, can 
 you?" 
 
 Jean laughed merrily. "Oh, the tact of her," she cried. 
 "Who would have thought it of a lady so outspoken ! And 
 that's the heart of your tact, that you've done me the honor 
 to speak out to me. You've divined just how I feel about 
 the Lawrences ; and yet, do you know, sometimes I think 
 that Danny would like to be almost as naughty as I feel ? 
 Even I don't act naughty at the Lawrences', not very ; why, 
 I've learned already not to talk when they want to ask the 
 blessing !" 
 
 She looked like a penitent child ; and Dr. MacColl felt,
 
 THEIR IDEA OF FUN 107 
 
 for the first time in her life, like an indulgent grandmother. 
 "You are good, and as a reward you shall go round my 
 hospital with me." 
 
 "No, no!" cried Jean, hanging back. "I told you I 
 loathed seeing people suffer, especially children ! Are there 
 children ? I can't see them." 
 
 "We-e-ell," said the doctor slowly, "but I thought you 
 would be interested. It's such a wonderful work. They're 
 so comfortable so different from the ones you see on the 
 streets. You'll have to excuse me, then. Wait until I 
 come back, and we'll ride together to the city. Dr. Frank- 
 lin is going, too." 
 
 Jean followed her to the door. "Another day please ask 
 me again," she said wistfully, "I can't get used to so much 
 goodness quite all at once ; you said so yourself, you know." 
 
 "But this work of mine isn't good," declared the doctor, 
 "so much as it's just interesting." 
 
 "Ah, that's it, precisely," said Jean. "It's nuts to you. 
 To me it is the most squalid kind of drudgery. Who was it 
 that 'went about doing good?' Well, that's your idea of 
 fun." 
 
 "It was Jesus Christ," said the doctor, tucking her in- 
 struments under her arm ; and as she turned to trudge away, 
 she added under her breath, " ' whose I am, and whom I 
 serve.' " 
 
 Jean Stuart, watching the square little back until it dis- 
 appeared, was surprised to feel a lump rising hi her throat.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 OUR WORK 
 
 ON her return from the College, Miss Stuart was met at 
 the Lawrences' door by Danny. 
 
 "I knew I'd see you when you came," he exulted. " Ruth 
 said I'd be thinking of something else by that time and for- 
 get to be watching. Uncle Thor is here up in Papa's 
 study; and Papa said when you came, please to ask you 
 please to go up and look at some plans." 
 
 "What kind of plans, and why do they want me ? Come 
 up to my room while I take off my hat, and tell me all you 
 know about it." 
 
 "We-e-ell," said Danny, following her with a droll im- 
 portance in every motion and inflection, and a very laborious 
 pronunciation of the words evidently quoted from his elders, 
 "We-e-ell, I guess it's for quarters at Akbar, 'cause I heard 
 Uncle Thor say something like that. What a good example 
 in 'rithmetic it would make, wouldn't it ? " Danny paused 
 to rub his lips together with a relish he always felt for any 
 product of his active brain. "If a lady gives a thousand 
 dollars, how many quarters does that make ? " 
 
 "Child alive!" cried Miss Stuart, "what do you know 
 about that thousand dollars? One would think it was a 
 million!" 
 
 "Mamma said you gave it; and she pretty near cried 
 when she told me. I asked her what Papa was thanking 
 the Lord for so much at prayers the other morning. I 
 never heard him thank Him so awfully much except after 
 I fell off the roof and wasn't hurt except bumped a little. 
 
 108
 
 OUR WORK 
 
 You look all ready, I should think. I kind of like to see 
 your hair mussed up all the time, now that I'm used to it. 
 But Mamma never puts flour on her face. It seems waste- 
 ful, 'specially when you rub it all off again." 
 
 Jean caught the little fellow up, and stood him on the 
 foot of the bed. "I've a great mind to run off with you," 
 she said. "What do we care for plans or quarters or school 
 or anything? I'll get a camel or two, and we'll just go 
 galumphing over the desert till we come to a place where 
 they fish for pearls, and then 
 
 Danny gave a sudden jerk and let himself fall down 
 backward on the bed, kicking his heels in the air to prolong 
 the bounce. "My, that was fun!" he exclaimed. "I 
 never dared to do it before. But you make me feel all nice 
 and tingly as if I could do most anything. I think 
 myself you're a pretty good teacher." 
 
 Jean's laughter rippled merrily out. "That's the first 
 compliment I've had since I came here. You make me feel 
 as if I were back in dear little old New York." 
 
 "Did you teach school in New York?" 
 
 "Mercy no!" 
 
 "Not even Sunday School?" 
 
 "Still less." 
 
 "That's one queer thing about you," Danny, seated 
 Persian fashion on the bed, surveyed his teacher with the 
 air of a judge in a juvenile court, "you don't seem to know 
 much about Christianity. I should think you were a Mos- 
 lem or something just as niggerent. When we read round 
 at prayers the other day, you looked for John in the Old 
 Testament. I saw you. Mary Freyer thinks we ought to 
 pray for you to be converted." Jean started and opened 
 her mouth, but Danny went right on talking. Jean closed 
 her mouth so that the corners turned down a little and 
 stood before the Court with hands meekly folded and the 
 eyes of a child intent on further mischief. "Mary Freyer
 
 110 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 wanted us to have a prayer-meeting every day at recess; 
 but Edward Franklin got mad, and wouldn't tell us why, and 
 went off saying something, I think it was ' Rot ' ; but I 
 don't know what that means; and Sammy Whiting said 
 he couldn't waste his recess prayin', and he went off ; and 
 Edith Franklin said she didn't think it would be very re- 
 spectful to pray for our teacher behind her back ; and Caro- 
 line said she never prayed except to her mother but that 
 isn't right, 'cause you pray to God, an' I told her so, and 
 she began to cry ; and then the bell rang, and when we came 
 in you said we looked cold, and why hadn't we run around 
 more? and you'd have to come out yourself and show us 
 how to play games, and had we ever played Poison Tag ? 
 We-e-e-11, I s'pose if you're ready, you'd better go along to 
 Papa's study, but you're a nawfully interesting person to 
 talk to. Did anybody else ever tell you that ? " 
 
 Jean nodded. "In New York," she murmured. 
 
 "Well, I'm not the only one that thinks so here. I heard 
 Mamma tell Papa that she never heard Uncle Thor talk so 
 much as he did last Sunday at supper when you asked them 
 about Russia and England. And Papa said, Well, he'd 
 talked a good deal himself, and that it was easy enough to 
 talk when any one listened as you did and kind of egged a 
 fellow on, that's what he said. And Mamma said " 
 
 "There, my boy," said Miss Stuart, coming to herself. 
 "I wouldn't tell any more. You know it's never wise to 
 repeat what people say; and besides, I must go to the 
 study." 
 
 "Well, you did stop me just in time, if you like only com- 
 pliments," said Danny, "for Mamma said 
 
 Jean held up her hand and then ran out of the room to 
 keep from hearing any more. As she knocked at the study 
 door she told herself, "That's the second time to-day that 
 I've been almost more of a lady than the law demands." 
 
 A gruff voice called "Come in," and as Jean entered, a
 
 OUR WORK III 
 
 stalwart person rose from the Morris chair with an energy 
 that caused all its infirm joints to creak. 
 
 "So you've come at last," said the voice with its gruffness 
 not very much diminished. 
 
 "Isn't Mr. Lawrence here ? I understood he wanted me 
 to look at some plans." 
 
 " I wanted you. I've been waiting hours. If I'm scalped 
 on the way back to-night it will be your fault." 
 
 Jean laughed. "That's one thing I do know," she said. 
 "Persians don't scalp. But if you must return to-night, 
 perhaps we had better get to business at once." 
 
 " How do you know it's business ? " said Thorley Prescott, 
 with a kind of smile Miss Stuart had never before seen on 
 his face. "How do you know I didn't ride down just for 
 the pleasure of seeing your face?" 
 
 "Well," said Jean, "I should like to flatter myself, of 
 course, but I happened to hear Mr. Lawrence say at break- 
 fast that he was to help you to-day in the Treasury. Is he 
 always the one that finishes up what the rest can't do ?" 
 
 "That's about it." 
 
 "But what are your workmen doing at Akbar? I hear 
 your old houses are full of them." 
 
 "Thirty- three, up to date. I left Freyer sitting on the 
 lid." 
 
 "Is he good at that sort of thing? I should think he 
 would be of more help in the Treasury." 
 
 A look of amusement spread over Prescott's face. "Got 
 us all labelled and sorted, have you?" 
 
 Jean blushed. "Well, no," she said slowly, "not all of 
 you." 
 
 Prescott laughed. "I'd give my old pipe to see your letters 
 home," he said. 
 
 "That offer puts the climax on an overwhelming day. 
 I have had," she counted them off on her fingers, "an in- 
 vitation to lunch, two compliments from a pupil, and the
 
 112 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 news that a prayer-meeting was all but formed for my ex- 
 clusive benefit." 
 
 "A prayer-meeting ! What in thunder !" 
 
 "No, in the Franklin's garden at recess." 
 
 "Oh, the children. I thought" -he paused, biting at 
 his short mustache. 
 
 "You thought what?" 
 
 "Nothing." 
 
 He dived into his pocket and brought out a paper. "I 
 thought you would like to see how the work is getting on. 
 I told you we had thirty-three men. They are lodged in 
 these old houses which we ourselves use in the summer." 
 He showed her a sketch with three rectangles in a row, 
 separated by spaces about twice the width of one rect- 
 angle. 
 
 "This," he went on, pointing to a rectangle at one end, 
 "we use as a cook-house. The men eat downstairs, and for 
 the present Freyer and I live in the second story. We're 
 building walls to connect the three houses. In a couple of 
 weeks, if the mild weather holds, we'll have lodgings for a 
 hundred and fifty men." He joined the three rectangles 
 with lines along their outer edges so that the whole figure 
 was one large oblong divided into five parts. 
 
 "Then you'll have light and air only in front and back," 
 remarked Jean. "Have you begun to build?" 
 
 "Oh yes, we've been at it since Tuesday morning early. 
 To-morrow we hope to lay the poplar beams that form the 
 second story." 
 
 "On both houses?" cried Jean. "How have you ac- 
 complished so much? How do they build these houses, 
 anyway ? I'd like to see them doing it." 
 
 "Well, you can," said Thorley. "To-morrow is Satur- 
 day. Dan says he and Mrs. Lawrence will bring you up to 
 look over the whole thing. We're making a small reservoir ; 
 and I've got something to show you in the factory. High-
 
 OUR WORK 113 
 
 sounding word, isn't it ? But I like to think of the place as 
 a real plant." 
 
 Jean Stuart looked at the man in astonishment. His 
 eyes glowed. His whole face and figure were alive with 
 enthusiastic energy. It made her realize more than ever 
 how dull his life must be. She could have cried at seeing 
 him so transfigured by a chance to stand over a few vaga- 
 bonds while they constructed a few hundred rough clay 
 water-pipes. Here was a man with ability and ambition. 
 She was sure of it. She would have it out of him why he 
 stayed in this little uncivilized corner, constraining himself 
 to jog at a footpace when he might be using the tremendous 
 voltage of his personality to set thousands of men and mil- 
 lions of wheels in motion. 
 
 "Well," he said impatiently, "will you come up to-mor- 
 row?" 
 
 Jean started. "To see your work? I'd like to come 
 very much. You're sure the Lawrences want to bring me ? 
 Why can't you leave Mr. Freyer sitting on the lid and go up 
 with us yourself in the morning ? Surely it's too dark now 
 for a cautious man like you to venture." 
 
 Dan Lawrence opened the door and came in. 
 
 "Hi, Thorley," he said, "I'm glad you haven't started. 
 It's much too late now." 
 
 Thorley rose and held out his hand to Miss Stuart. "I'll 
 expect you in the morning," he said. "Dan, try to get an 
 early start. Bring my father, if you can, but don't flood the 
 party with females." 
 
 He turned again to Jean. "I wonder how you'll like a 
 real Persian dinner. Well, good-by till to-morrow, and 
 remember what you're coming to see is OUR WORK., all 
 capitals, italicized."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THORLEY'S DIGGINGS 
 
 EVERY one in the Mission Station would have liked to 
 inspect the work at Akbar. It was a little difficult to man- 
 age that those who needed the outing most, should be the 
 ones to go. Not that anybody was selfish about it. On 
 the contrary, with so many people, each wishing to give way 
 to the others, it was difficult to make any arrangements; 
 for nobody would believe that anybody else really wanted to 
 stay at home. 
 
 It was necessary also that a great deal of work should be 
 rearranged or put off. Some chores had actually to be 
 finished Friday night, if Saturday were to be made into a 
 holiday. Jean Stuart herself spent the evening darning 
 the knees of Danny's stockings, though, as she smilingly 
 said to herself, she had never before looked a darning-needle 
 in the eye. 
 
 The sun of Saturday morning was only a little above the 
 horizon when the Lawrences' buckboard started from the 
 Mission Compound in the city. Mrs. Lawrence drove, 
 with Mr. John Prescott beside her. Behind them were 
 Amy Lea and Roger Standish. Dan, on his old gray horse, 
 escorted Miss Stuart, who was delighted to find that Lord 
 Chesterton was recovering all the friskiness he had seemed 
 to leave behind him when he entered Persia. 
 
 At the College they were surprised to be met by Dr. Frank- 
 lin with an outrider. 
 
 "I have to go over to Sawam," explained the doctor. 
 "There's a fellow over there with a broken hip Yedgar, 
 
 114
 
 THORLEY'S DIGGINGS 115 
 
 the son of our old Bible woman. You know him, Dan I 
 thought I might as well ride along with you folks. Per- 
 haps, if urged, I'll come back and join you at dinner." 
 
 It was a merry party that rode to the mountain that day. 
 Their work had been left behind ; the day was beautiful ; 
 their horses were fresh ; the road over which they were travel- 
 ling was the best in that part of Persia ; and they were going 
 to see something perfectly new and very, very comforting. 
 For the beginning of the work at Akbar was relief as much 
 to the spirits of the missionaries as to the bodily needs of the 
 refugees. 
 
 They had crossed the river twice and were about to begin 
 their struggle with the last ford, which was a very treacherous 
 one, when, high up on the mountain before them, they heard 
 a shout. 
 
 "It's Thorley," declared Mr. Prescott. "He may bring 
 down dirt and stones enough to give us a dry crossing." 
 
 "Aren't you afraid to have him ride that way?" asked 
 Amy Lea. 
 
 Mr. Prescott laughed. "Well, I've had nearly thirty 
 years to get used to it. Thorley began to ride almost before 
 he could walk." 
 
 "Good morning," cried the horseman, galloping down to 
 the river, and plunging through it. "Nice day, isn't it? 
 Glad to see you." His glance had taken in the whole party, 
 but as he made the last remark, his eyes rested on Jean 
 Stuart. "Well, aren't you coming across?" he continued. 
 "Come on, Dan, we horsemen will go down to the other 
 ford. I dare you to cross there, Miss Stuart. Your horse 
 may have to swim for a yard or two." 
 
 It was Amy Lea who almost fell into the river in her fear 
 lest the others might get wet ; and when they reached the 
 premises at Akbar Mrs. Lawrence found that the girl's feet 
 were wet because she had forgotten to lift them from the 
 bottom of the buckboard. Margaret Lawrence could not
 
 Il6 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 help wishing that her conscience had allowed her to bring 
 Willie Trench instead of this careless child. Amy had been 
 chosen, because it was her first year on the Mission field and 
 her older colleagues were in the habit of planning for her to 
 have as much diversion as possible. They saw that without 
 it, her intense nature would not be able to resist the melan- 
 choly of the sights and sounds which she was facing for the 
 first time. The making of young missionaries depends far 
 more on their seniors than the youngsters ever know as long 
 as they are youngsters; and it is a process that calls for 
 infinite patience and self-denial on the part of the seniors. 
 So Margaret Lawrence thought as she insisted that Amy's 
 shoes and stockings be thoroughly dried before she ventured 
 outdoors again. And Amy was just as peevish about it as 
 if she had never dreamt of being a missionary. It was Jean 
 Stuart who came to the rescue with extra shoes and stock- 
 ings, which, remembering the exigencies of her journey, she 
 had brought up in her saddle-bags. 
 
 Thorley Prescott, meanwhile, was fuming with impa- 
 tience. He had begun to snort even when Mr. Freyer, meet- 
 ing the party at the door of the cook-house, with his precise 
 New England hospitality, suggested that the ladies might 
 like to go upstairs for a few minutes to adjust them- 
 selves. 
 
 "What are they doing," Thorley demanded of Dan Law- 
 rence, "when they all get together in a room and you can't 
 hear anything but talk ? " 
 
 Dan shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Thorley," he said with his tolerant smile, "you have a 
 lot to learn." 
 
 "Well, you don't seem to have learned much. Don't you 
 know what they do? Is it all talk?" 
 
 "No matter what they do," Dan answered, "or what 
 they don't do, the one thing a fellow has to learn is simply 
 this : to wait."
 
 THORLEY'S DIGGINGS 117 
 
 "Well, I'll be doggoned," said Thorley Prescott, "if any 
 woman will ever teach me that." 
 
 Mr. Freyer looked rather shocked; but Dan heard the 
 outcome of Thorley's speech with relief that it was no 
 more violent. He turned aside to watch the workmen who 
 were building the wall between the cook-house and the 
 dormitory next to it. 
 
 "I planned to have her see those last bricks go into place," 
 grumbled Thorley at his elbow, "but I can't have the work 
 kept back, even for her. Well, you're here at last, are 
 you?" The three ladies were just emerging from the door 
 of the cook-house. It should have been perfectly clear to 
 which of them Thorley's remark was addressed ; but Amy 
 Lea immediately drowned it in a flood of apologies, and Jean 
 Stuart went quickly over to Mr. Freyer, whose meat and 
 drink it was to impart information. She began asking him 
 how the mud bricks were made that were being mortared 
 now into the walls of the dwelling. He showed her the 
 wooden mould into which the mud was poured and mixed 
 with straw. He showed her the large bricks set up on their 
 ends to dry, and was about to point out the poplar beams 
 which would be laid across the walls in a few minutes to 
 form the floor of the second story. 
 
 "Mr. Freyer," said a voice behind him, "Miss Lea would 
 like you to explain to her how brick is made." 
 
 Mr. Freyer jumped a little as he turned around. There 
 was Thorley Prescott with Amy Lea still talking at his 
 elbow. Mr. Freyer, with a glance of regret at the tall 
 stranger whose intelligent listening he was beginning to 
 value, stirred up a fresh puddle of imaginary mud and tried 
 to go with the same enthusiasm into the process of mixing 
 and moulding it. But there was something lacking. The 
 little man began to realize vaguely that the joy of imparting 
 information depended somewhat on the attitude of the 
 recipient. It was easier, for instance, to answer one ques-
 
 Il8 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 tion at a time, and really almost unpleasant to have a care- 
 ful answer cut off by a new and irrelevant question. Mr. 
 Freyer drew a breath of relief when Roger Standish came 
 up with a home-made conundrum which he and Miss Lea 
 found exquisitely funny. 
 
 Meanwhile Thorley Prescott and Jean Stuart were on their 
 way to the "factory." Dan and his wife and Mr. John 
 Prescott followed them. 
 
 "Who protects you from your workmen?" asked Jean, 
 as a fierce-looking fellow passed her, his girdle bristling with 
 knives and daggers. "Really, I'd be afraid to stay 
 here." 
 
 Thorley laughed. "Yet you travelled alone with " 
 
 Jean held up her hand. "That's just why I'm afraid. 
 And don't you ever say his name to me again. I shudder 
 every time I think of him, and I don't want to be reminded. 
 Now tell me, why isn't it dangerous for you to )>e up here 
 practically alone with these perfectly horrible creatures?" 
 
 Thorley laughed again. 
 
 "I intend to ask your father," said Jean. 
 
 "Not now," answered Thorley. "I'm going to show 
 you," his face was lighted with triumph, "I'm going to show 
 you the first closed water-pipe ever made in this part of 
 Persia." 
 
 "It marks a new era, I suppose," said Jean, trying to 
 share his joy. 
 
 "It ought to," declared Thorley, "a pure-water supply, 
 contented workmen, a self-supporting industry. These 
 things aren't as small as they look to a capitalist like you." 
 
 Jean, who had intended him not to see that she con- 
 sidered his affairs small, followed him meekly, as he entered 
 the low shed and crossed the very slippery floor of wet clay. 
 
 "Here," he said, picking up something which he held as 
 tenderly in his arms as if it were alive, "please take off the 
 cloth yourself."
 
 THORLEY'S DIGGINGS 119 
 
 Jean, thinking of her gloves, but scorning to seem gingerly, 
 grasped the damp and not too dainty cloth, and beheld in 
 Thorley's arms a rough, wet, and somewhat crooked water- 
 pipe. 
 
 " You shall be the one to fire it," cried Thorley, and he 
 handed it to her as if it were a new-born infant. It flashed 
 through Jean's mind that it would be a long time before she 
 could replace her riding habit. Moreover, she had no idea 
 what demand the process of firing would make on her 
 powers. 
 
 "Oh, how perfectly lovely," cried a voice behind her. 
 "Do you know how to fire pipes, Miss Stuart, and do you 
 know just how it was made and all about it?" 
 
 "I should say," answered Miss Stuart, "that I know 
 probably just about as much as you do. What would 
 happen to it, Mr. Prescott, if I should hold it off, very care- 
 fully, of course, with my two hands instead of embracing it 
 bodily as you do ?" 
 
 Thorley Prescott shouted with laughter. He put the 
 water-pipe back into its place and covered it up. 
 
 "Aren't you going to fire it?" asked Amy Lea. 
 
 "Not to-day," said Thorley. "Now let's go and see the 
 reservoir." 
 
 "Why do you build a reservoir now?" asked Mr. Pres- 
 cott. "I should think you had enough on your hands." 
 
 "It's now or never," answered Thorley. "The ground 
 may freeze hard any night. If I can get a pipe-line from 
 the springs to the factory, we'll have running water to wet 
 the clay and save hours of carrying." 
 
 "Miss Oddfellow," said Margaret Lawrence, "is praying 
 for a continuance of the warm weather." 
 
 "That shows a beautiful spirit," declared Mr. Prescott. 
 "The dear old lady was heartbroken to have a thousand 
 dollars given outright, and all of it used for what she calls 
 material purposes." He lowered his voice so as not to be
 
 I2O THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 heard by his son or Miss Stuart, who were again leading 
 the way, this time to the reservoir. 
 
 "Great Scott, Thor!" exclaimed Dan Lawrence, when 
 they had climbed the mountain a little way and had reached 
 the place where a gang of men were digging. "I had no 
 idea these springs of ours amounted to so much." 
 
 "Neither had the man that sold them to us," laughed 
 Thorley, "or we never should have gotten them." 
 
 "Just think," added Dan Lawrence hastily, watching 
 Mr. Freyer's expression, "of the good we can do in the city, 
 if only we can get this water down there." 
 
 "This is about the place, Dan," broke in Thorley, "where 
 I thought of setting up a circular shovel. What do you 
 say ? " He jumped into the diggings as he spoke, and Dan 
 Lawrence jumped after him, followed in a moment by Mr. 
 Prescott. The others stood above them on the slippery 
 bank. 
 
 Jean Stuart liked watching the three men. It was easy 
 to see that Thorley Prescott knew just what he was doing 
 when he undertook the tasks of an engineer. His words 
 were few and not very technical. In a minute he had made 
 his whole idea plain, not only to his comrades in the hole, 
 but to his listener on the bank. The rest of the audience 
 dwindled away. Amy Lea and Roger Standish, talking 
 earnestly, wandered together up the mountain. Mr. 
 Freyer, finding that Miss Stuart did not hear the informa- 
 tion he was dispensing, suggested to Mrs. Lawrence that it 
 was cold standing in the mud, and that perhaps some one 
 had better see what the cook was about. 
 
 "Well, Thor," said Dan, "I don't find any flaw in your 
 plans. The next thing is to get that circular shovel work- 
 ing. Let's go at it right off." 
 
 A few pails, some rope, and a pulley or two were collected. 
 The men were sent hither and thither, the gentlemen took 
 off their coats, and worked and shouted and perspired. In
 
 THORLEY S DIGGINGS 121 
 
 an hour or two the workers in the hole were all very muddy, 
 and the spectator on the bank was pretty well chilled 
 through; but the circular shovel was working. 
 
 "Hooray!" yelled Thorley, throwing up his cap; and 
 happening to lift his eyes at the same time, he beheld Jean 
 Stuart still on the bank above him. 
 
 "I'd forgotten all about you, "he cried. " Aren't you cold ?" 
 
 "Well, yes," said Jean, "but it's very entertaining to see 
 modern machinery created out of Oriental chaos." 
 
 Thorley, slipping back at every step, managed to climb 
 out of the hole. 
 
 "It's good of you to be interested," he said, almost 
 humbly. "You deserve a reward. I guess I'll have to take 
 you to the best place in all Persia." 
 
 Mr. Freyer had been picking his way toward them around 
 the reservoir, until he stood on a very insecure stone with 
 Dan Lawrence between him and Miss Stuart. His shrill 
 voice was a surprise to them all ; for they had not seen him 
 coming. 
 
 "Miss Stuart," he said, "it would give me pleasure to 
 show you a very beautiful view which can be reached by a 
 somewhat difficult path. I believe with my assistance you 
 would find it not too fatiguing. May I have the honor of 
 escorting you ? " 
 
 "Miss Stuart is going with me," said Thorley Prescott, 
 barely waiting for the little man's speech to be finished. 
 
 Mr. Freyer, with polite expressions of regret, turned im- 
 mediately away, and was teetering back across the stones 
 before Jean had decided just what she would say to him. 
 
 "Mr. Freyer," she called, but Mr. Freyer was hard of 
 hearing, and went on conscientiously picking his way, 
 though his shoes, which he loved to keep nice, were already 
 as muddy as they could well be. 
 
 Jean stood looking after him, with a comical feeling of 
 hesitation.
 
 122 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Well, are you coming?" said Thorley Prescott. "My 
 path is no path at all, but I guess I can pull you up the 
 worst places. Dan, see if you can keep Freyer away from 
 the cook. The dinner will be better. Miss Stuart, you'll 
 have to jump across this spring." He held out his hand, 
 but Jean, disregarding it, turned to Mr. Lawrence. 
 
 "Please tell your wife," she said, "that because of my 
 'satiable curtiosity' I am turning my back on a manifest 
 duty. This man should be taught that no woman prefers 
 a command to a request. Did I ever say I would go with 
 you to the best place in all Persia?" She smiled teasingly 
 at Thorley. 
 
 "I don't know what you are talking about," said that 
 gentleman. "You can explain it as we go along. Good- 
 by, Dan." 
 
 Miss Stuart jumped across the spring; and Dan Law- 
 rence turned away chuckling.
 
 CHAPTER XVH 
 
 THE BEST PLACE IN ALL PERSIA 
 
 "DiD I say too much?" asked Thorley Prescott. 
 
 Miss Stuart did not speak. She did not even look at him ; 
 but he was satisfied. They were standing on the roof of a 
 little cabin built high up on the side of Mt. Akbar. The 
 cabin was hidden to the roof by a dense growth of low alders. 
 Immediately below, so that it seemed as if a stone could be 
 dropped down on them, were the buildings of the Mission. 
 The premises were outlined by a high mud wall which, far 
 to the right, extended itself in a queer circular formation 
 to enclose a group of little white stones that were shut off 
 from the rest of the premises by a hedge of poplar and a 
 wicket gate. This enclosure contained the graves of the 
 missionaries and their children who had died in the service. 
 Jean turned her eyes away from the little white stones as 
 soon as she could. She found the track which the buck- 
 board had made that morning and followed it from the gate 
 down to that last ford in the river. Then she pursued the 
 windings of the river in and out and around, until sud- 
 denly, her glance swept around a great silver curve and 
 leaped to the city wall. Then all Muramna lay spread 
 before her. She could see the dome of the old church just 
 opposite the gate of the Mission Compound. She found 
 herself looking for the top of the press building, but that she 
 preferred after all not to see on this holiday, and her gaze 
 wandered to the blue waters of the lake which twinkled 
 in the sunlight outside the southern wall of Muramna, 
 stretching eastward and southward as far as the eye could 
 
 123
 
 124 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 see. Up the borders of the lake and on the mountain be- 
 tween the plain and the city were scattered little villages, 
 collections of mud hovels, squalid enough when one was 
 near them, but sightly as they lay with miles of golden sun- 
 shine between them and the eye of the beholder. Jean Stu- 
 art's glance rested happily on each little village ; and Thor- 
 ley Prescott, watching her, was glad that she could not know 
 yet of all the misery that was hidden under that picturesque 
 mud. 
 
 "They shan't tell her the horrors, if I can help it," he 
 growled fiercely to himself. Then, remembering how help- 
 less he was to protect her from the combined tongue and 
 conscience of the Mission circle, he sighed so heavily that 
 she turned on him in astonishment. 
 
 "I want you to see what makes this the best place in all 
 Persia. Turn around, please." He led her to the other 
 side of the roof and made her stand on the very edge. There 
 to the westward, just over the spur of Akbar, he showed her 
 a sight that took away her breath. There, row on row, 
 rank behind rank, stood the purple mountains of Kurdistan, 
 so vivid that the hands of the spirit could reach out and 
 touch their white summits. Yet their splendor made them 
 as awe-inspiring as the thought of heaven, and they seemed 
 as infinitely far away in the enchantment of their color and 
 the majesty of their forms. 
 
 There was a long silence, while Jean looked at the moun- 
 tains and Thorley did not. At last Jean spoke softly. 
 
 "You are good to show me this. I'm glad you have it 
 all for your very own." 
 
 "I have never shown it to any one else," he answered. 
 
 " But the cabin ? Is that yours, too ? " 
 
 "Yes. I built it myself last autumn when I stayed here 
 alone. If the workmen prove trustworthy, I shall live here 
 through the winter." 
 
 "With Mr. Freyer?"
 
 THE BEST PLACE IN ALL PERSIA 125 
 
 "No. Freyer and Standish will be going to their Station 
 soon. They're waiting only for letters from the Board." 
 
 "And will you like to stay here all alone through the 
 bleak winter with the cold sifting in through the pores of 
 this cabin, and never a human being within call, who isn't 
 bristling with hair and daggers?" 
 
 Thorley turned away, saying in a disgusted tone, "You 
 looked as if you liked it." 
 
 " I do like it," said Jean. "Is it safe to sit on this roof ?" 
 
 "Wait a minute," he answered, vanishing down the lad- 
 der, and coming up again instantly with a camp stool. Jean 
 seated herself where she could still see the tops of those de- 
 lectable mountains. Thorley sat on the edge of the roof 
 swinging his feet. 
 
 "This is what I call playing 'hookey,'" he said. "If 
 you had gone walking with Freyer he would have told you 
 the exact height of every one of those peaks." 
 
 "Yes, and you might have been discussing the ethical 
 significance of the modern novel." 
 
 Prescott laughed. "Oh, no," he said, "she doesn't try 
 it on with me." 
 
 " She doesn't dare," said Jean. "You know you're a very 
 alarming person." 
 
 "Then why aren't you afraid of me ?" 
 
 "I am. There's a question I'm dying to ask, but the 
 very thought of facing you with it makes me palpitate with 
 fear." 
 
 "Humph!" said Thorley Prescott. He had seen her 
 when she was really frightened, and he remembered that 
 she had not talked then about being afraid. "Well, go 
 ahead." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Ask your question." 
 
 "You give me full permission, and you promise faithfully 
 not to scowl at me ?"
 
 126 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Go ahead." 
 
 "It's a question that shows me in the most unpleasant 
 light, as just a plain inquisitive female." 
 
 Thorley looked up with a gleam of fun. "Does that call 
 for a pretty speech from me ? " 
 
 "Yes," answered Jean, clapping her hands. "I'll bet 
 you anything you don't know how to make one." 
 
 Thorley looked straight at her, smiling from the very 
 bottom of his eyes. "Are you going to ask that question ? " 
 he demanded. 
 
 "Let's change the subject," said Jean. "I want to tell 
 you something. I started round the world to see if I could 
 find more than one contented man." 
 
 "Had you found one ?" 
 
 "I thought I had, and I wanted to be sure. Now I am 
 sure. Would you like to know who the man is ? " 
 
 "That's easy." 
 
 "You believe, then, that he really loves the life here with 
 all its deprivations? He must be homesick for America 
 at times. He must regret all the comforts that he cannot 
 give his family. He must hate to see his wife working so 
 hard, and later he will have to face the thought of sending 
 his children away. There will be years of separation. 
 Perhaps neither Ruth nor Danny will ever come back to 
 live in his home again. I call it a life of unmitigated self- 
 sacrifice." 
 
 "Did you ever call it so to him ?" 
 
 "Do you know," Jean answered, "I didn't dare. I have 
 an idea he wouldn't like it." 
 
 Prescott chuckled. "I heard some one use that word 
 to him just once." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 "I wish I could tell you. I wish I could even give you 
 an idea how he looked. I tell you there were sparks in 
 those nice gray eyes of his. 'Self -sacrifice,' he said, 'I don't
 
 THE BEST PLACE IN ALL PERSIA 127 
 
 like to hear that word mentioned in connection with a mis- 
 sionary's life. Any one who thinks of it that way had bet- 
 ter stay at home.' He admitted that there were things a 
 missionary had to give up, but and then how his face 
 shone ! Dan isn't much of a talker. He doesn't need to 
 talk. His life says it all, and the way he looks while he is 
 doing his work." 
 
 Jean Stuart had never but once heard so many words to- 
 gether from the lips of Thorley Prescott. It was good to 
 see his face glow as he talked of his friend. 
 
 "Do you know why he feels this way ? " she asked. 
 
 " Why, yes. He believes that the Lord has put him here." 
 
 "Do you?" 
 
 "Do I what?" 
 
 "Do you believe that the Lord puts men in places ?" 
 
 A grim smile twitched at the corners of Thorley 's mouth. 
 "Look here," he said, "if you're inquiring about matters of 
 religion, don't apply to me. Ask Dan." 
 
 " I am asking you. You said I might ask you questions." 
 
 "That's woman all over. She says question and then 
 she says she said questions. Well go ahead. Please re- 
 state Number One." 
 
 "No," said Jean, "now I'm going to ask the real one that 
 I've been driving at all along. You are not contented here, 
 as your friend Mr. Lawrence is. There are splendid big 
 things that you could do out in the world, and you could 
 accomplish more than most men. Why don't you drop all 
 this and get right at the thing you were fitted for ? I know 
 lots of people that could help you and be proud of you after- 
 wards." 
 
 While she was speaking Prescott had risen. Now he stood 
 squarely on his feet looking down at her with an expression 
 which she could not read. He was not angry, she thought, 
 nor contemptuous, nor did he show the faintest sign of grati- 
 fication at her interest in his career. He remained perfectly
 
 128 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 silent through a moment that seemed to her very long. 
 When at last he spoke, his voice was husky and very deep. 
 
 "The answer," he said, "can all be summed up in just 
 two words : My mother ! " 
 
 This tune Jean kept the silence, and after another long 
 moment he went on. "She gave me to the Lord when I 
 was born. Named me Samuel and told me why before I 
 could talk plain. I always said I wanted to be a soldier, and 
 she would answer, 'A soldier of the Cross, dear little Sam- 
 uel.' But I never gave in. Not until she lay dying, and 
 then I couldn't refuse to promise. So here I am." 
 
 As he finished, a very bitter smile distorted his face. "And 
 even you can see at the first glance that I'm a failure." 
 
 Jean Stuart was appalled. There was despair in the face 
 before her despair for which she knew no remedy. It 
 had come over her while the man was speaking, that once 
 he had given his promise, nothing would ever tear him 
 away from keeping it. Yet for the life of her she could 
 not help saying, "But if your mother could see you now, 
 she would not want you to keep that promise." 
 
 He turned on her angrily. " Never say that to me again," 
 he thundered. 
 
 Jean rose and faced him. "I will say it," she insisted. 
 "You have no right to keep a promise that is spoiling your 
 whole life. No other man I know would be so foolish or so 
 wicked." 
 
 Two pairs of fearless eyes glared into each other. Pres- 
 cott's were the first to soften. Impulsively he held out 
 both hands. 
 
 "I like you !" he cried, "and you shall ask me as many 
 questions as you want." 
 
 She put out her right hand and gave his one good hearty 
 grip. "That's a bargain," she said, "and now let's go down 
 to dinner. They've been ringing a bell ever so long from 
 the roof of the cook-house."
 
 CHAPTER XVIH 
 
 A DINNER WITHOUT DESSERT 
 
 IF Prescott and Miss Stuart were late, they were not the 
 only delinquents. Standish and Miss Lea had not been 
 seen since they left the reservoir, when Margaret Lawrence 
 had noticed that they walked off together in the direction 
 of the westward gate; but Dr. Franklin, who had visited 
 his patient in Sawam, declared that when he had ridden 
 through the gate not ten minutes ago, he had seen no sign 
 of any one. Thorley Prescott sent men outside the gate 
 to watch. Then he suggested rather irascibly that those 
 present begin dinner at once. 
 
 "You ordered the meal served native fashion, Thor," 
 said Dan Lawrence, "so, when in your absence Mr. Freyer 
 consulted me, I suggested that the cloth be laid on the floor. 
 There was no table large enough. Besides, Margaret and 
 I thought that the experience of an orthodox Persian dinner 
 might be entertaining to your guests." 
 
 "Much obliged," said Thorley, "more entertaining than 
 comfortable, but she may like it." 
 
 Dan laughed. "I said guests" he remarked ; but Thorley 
 paid no attention. 
 
 "Ladies and gentlemen," he called, "please come out to 
 dinner." 
 
 Miss Stuart was invited to seat herself on the floor between 
 Thorley Prescott and Dan Lawrence. Before her was a 
 somewhat dingy cotton cloth covered with large and gaudy 
 representations of horses, men, altars, bloody sacrifices and 
 other emblems more sacred, perhaps, than appetizing. The 
 
 K I2Q
 
 130 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 cloth, fortunately, was well covered with coarse dishes full 
 of queer concoctions. At each end was a pile of native 
 bread in sheets the size of a dinner plate. It had been made 
 by slapping heated dough on hot stones. 
 
 "Are you going to sit Persian fashion, Miss Stuart?" 
 asked John Prescott across the cloth. He himself had bent 
 his knees and was squatting back on his heels, as were all 
 the others, excepting Mrs. Lawrence, who was more com- 
 fortable with her legs crossed in the Turkish fashion which 
 she had learned as a child in Syria. 
 
 "Better not try it," admonished Dan Lawrence, "or if 
 you do, not for long." 
 
 "Ha, ha," laughed Dr. Franklin, "that's right. First 
 time I sat on my heels through a Persian dinner I fell on my 
 face among the sweetmeats when I tried to get up." 
 
 Miss Stuart had had enough of it already. "It hurts," 
 she remarked, but she found another way to crouch more 
 easily on the floor and refused the cushion which Dan offered 
 her. 
 
 "What are we doing with knives and forks and plates, 
 Thor ? " demanded Mr. Prescott, after the blessing had been 
 asked at some length by Mr. Freyer. 
 
 "I didn't order them," said Thorley. 
 
 "Don't the natives use them?" asked Miss Stuart. 
 "What do they use ? Not chop-sticks ?" 
 
 Every one laughed but Thorley, who said with a genial 
 smile, "What a loss it will be to us all when you lose your 
 ignorance." 
 
 She leaned toward him, murmuring under cover of the 
 renewed burst of hilarity, "Isn't it barely possible that I 
 may have come to the same conclusion?" Then, without 
 waiting for an answer, she called to Mr. Freyer, who sat at 
 the other end of the cloth, " What is this delicious object ? 
 I'm sure you will help me. Up here they are all so busy 
 making fun of me that I don't get any information at all."
 
 A DINNER WITHOUT DESSERT 131 
 
 Mr. Freyer beamed as he replied, "It is dolma 
 d-o-l-m-a. It consists of a cucumber stuffed with force- 
 meat and boiled. The preparation of the forcemeat is, I 
 believe, rather complicated. Perhaps it can best be ex- 
 plained by one of the home-making sex." He turned 
 deferentially to Mrs. Lawrence at his right, but Mr. John 
 Prescott broke in before she could respond, "This is the 
 way the natives eat it." He took up his cucumber in his 
 fingers, dipped it into a boat of white gravy that stood near 
 him, and began eating it as a schoolboy eats an apple. 
 
 Dr. Franklin nudged Dan Lawrence. "John's broken 
 loose," he muttered. "I haven't seen him act like that 
 since he married the present Mrs. P." 
 
 The doctor put one large brown hand on the cloth and, 
 stretching himself across it, insinuated a huge morsel from 
 his own plate into the unreceptive mouth of Thorley Pres- 
 cott. "That should have gone to you as guest of honor, 
 Miss Stuart," he explained, "but I thought you would rather 
 receive it by proxy." He subsided into his place, and 
 Thorley, catching the expression on Miss Stuart's face, 
 burst out laughing. 
 
 "Tell me,"he said, "didyouneverseeyourmuleteers eat?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, but that was on the journey. Sometimes I 
 myself had to eat with my fingers. One does that even at 
 home on a picnic; but the food which the muleteers had 
 was not difficult, like these dolmas ? and they never fed 
 each other. Is it only among p.eople of rank that this 
 pleasing generosity is the custom?" This question was 
 directed to Dr. Franklin. 
 
 "I forbid you to answer her," exclaimed Thorley Prescott. 
 "She'll write down what you say and put it in a book." 
 
 "I write a book on Persia?" Jean's face sparkled, and 
 her merry laugh rang out. 
 
 "A little later, possibly. More likely you have begun 
 already."
 
 132 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Yes. I put down all the hotels and starred them the 
 very night I came ; and I made an awfully interesting foot- 
 note about the language used by missionaries when dis- 
 missing couriers." 
 
 " What's that?" asked Dr. Franklin, while Thorley began 
 somewhat uneasily to search his memory. 
 
 But now the cook stalked proudly in with a dish contain- 
 ing a brown mess, in consistency very much like first-class 
 glue. Another servant followed, bearing on a platter a high 
 mound of white rice. 
 
 "Ph, oh !" cried Jean, "I'm just positive that's the kind 
 of pilau that has eggs hidden in it. Now, let's see how you 
 eat that ! " 
 
 "Thank you," said Prescott. "Haresa is good enough 
 for me," and he helped himself liberally to the brown glue. 
 "I dare you to eat it as I do," he added mockingly. Jean 
 broke off deliberately a piece of her sheet of bread, formed it 
 into a sort of shovel, dipped up with it some of the brown 
 mixture out of the common bowl, moistened the whole with 
 melted butter, also out of a common dish, and, tilting her 
 head far back, dropped the morsel neatly into her mouth 
 which closed as smilingly over it as if it had been introduced 
 by the latest thing in forks. Margaret Lawrence clapped 
 her hands, and was imitated by all the men except Thorley 
 Prescott, who said, "You left out the coriander seed." 
 
 Jean wrinkled up her nose. "That's one thing I know 
 enough to avoid. It may be scriptural, as Mr. Freyer says ; 
 but it's very nasty. I like the glue. How did you say it 
 was made?" 
 
 "Of chicken and wheat," responded Mr. Freyer, hurriedly 
 deciding that this was not the moment to speak of Miss 
 Stuart's light allusion to the Word of God. He promised 
 himself a long and earnest talk with her one of these days 
 and rather regretted that his work would take him so soon 
 away from Muramna. Meanwhile he went on with ex-
 
 A DINNER WITHOUT DESSERT 133 
 
 planations. "The fowl is boiled, together with grains of 
 entire wheat, and without any salt whatever, for forty-eight 
 hours at least." 
 
 "How interesting," said Jean, very graciously. It was 
 borne in upon her by this time that Thorley Prescott scowled 
 whenever she applied for information to the other end of the 
 table; so she was hunting about in her mind for another 
 question when the door from the hall opened suddenly. 
 Roger Standish burst into the room, half carrying Miss Lea, 
 who hung on his arm pale and breathless. When Mrs. 
 Lawrence ran up to her, she promptly fainted. Margaret 
 and Dr. Franklin caught her and laid her on the divan ; 
 while Dan Lawrence wet his handkerchief, giving it to his 
 wife, before he hurried away to get a glass of fresh water. 
 Meanwhile Standish was gasping : 
 
 "Outside the walls up north by those hummocks 
 the bullet grazed my hair I got her home as soon as I 
 could but the fellow you sent after us 
 
 "He shot at you?" said Thorley. "Nonsense !" 
 
 "No, no. Another fellow in a green turban from be- 
 hind the hummock. He ran when he saw your fellow com- 
 ing I'm afraid 
 
 "Whom did you send, Thor ?" 
 
 "Isaac of Arawan, a brave man," said Thorley, catching 
 up his riding- whip and making for the door. "Lead on, 
 Standish. Ready, Dan?" 
 
 "Wait for me," said Mr. Freyer, hunting distractedly for 
 his hat. His beard quivered, but he was afraid only of being 
 left behind. John Prescott was already half-way down the 
 stairs. 
 
 "There, ladies," said Dr. Franklin, catching up the poker, 
 "you know more about this kind of patient than I do. 
 She'll come around ; give her time and water." His last 
 words were shouted from below. 
 
 Jean Stuart went to the window and looked after the five
 
 134 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 men. She could see Dan and Thorley running ahead, with 
 Standish between them. Mr. John Prescott and Mr. 
 Freyer, who had found his hat, were close behind them ; but 
 the doctor, in trying to catch up with them, had already 
 lost his breath and was puffing along several paces in the rear. 
 
 Miss Lea was soon able to give her version of the adven- 
 ture. "We were outside the walls," she said plaintively 
 (Mrs. Lawrence bit her lip and tried not to frown at the 
 girl), "when we heard a gunshot. The bullet came very 
 near ; and the next second we saw a man running away from 
 behind a hummock." 
 
 "What kind of man?" said Miss Stuart. 
 
 "A little, small, brown man in a green turban. That's 
 all I could see of him, I was so frightened." The girl began 
 to whimper. 
 
 "There, never mind," said Jean. "Don't talk any more 
 now. Lie still and let me smooth your hair." 
 
 "He screamed terribly as he ran away," sobbed Amy. 
 "It sounded as if he were saying things to, us in English, 
 bad things, you know." 
 
 "Could you hear any of the words?" asked Mrs. Law- 
 rence. 
 
 "I I don't really know," quavered Miss Lea, "though 
 the last word sounded like," she lowered her voice to a hor- 
 rified whisper, "damn," she breathed, hiding her face in 
 the pillow and shuddering from head to foot. 
 
 Jean Stuart suppressed a smile. When Amy emerged 
 from the cushions, it was to murmur, "Roger was so brave. 
 He brought me right home without once stopping. I should 
 have fainted long before, if he hadn't made me come along. 
 Roger is so brave." Then it came to her that she had called 
 him ''Roger," and she began to blush. 
 
 At this point Thorley Prescott dashed into the room, 
 carrying two of the thin poplar poles that were to be used 
 for the new roofs.
 
 A DINNER WITHOUT DESSERT 13$ 
 
 "I want that cover," he cried, seizing a corner of the Bag- 
 dad which was over the couch. Miss Lea, with Jean's 
 help, removed herself just in time to keep from being de- 
 posited on the floor. " Dan," as Mr. Lawrence came breath- 
 lessly into the room, " double this cloth while I get hammer 
 and nails." 
 
 Thorley then left the room. Dan Lawrence whispered 
 to his wife, as they folded the Bagdad, that Isaac had been 
 found slightly wounded and that he and Thorley were going 
 out to bring him back to the house. Thorley quickly came 
 back with hammer and nails. By tacking the Bagdad to the 
 poplar poles, a rude stretcher was rapidly made, both men 
 working at once, with Margaret and Jean handing them 
 nails. 
 
 "Have you bandages?" asked Jean. 
 
 " In the doctor's case," said Thorley. " Please find it." 
 
 Jean did find it hidden away in the doctor's saddle-bags, 
 which he had thrown behind the door. 
 
 "What bed shall we get ready?" asked Margaret. 
 
 "In that room," said Thorley, pointing with one hand 
 while with the other he grasped an end of the finished 
 stretcher and followed Dan to the door. 
 
 "Oh, tell me," cried Amy Lea, running after them, "is 
 there any more danger ? " 
 
 Jean took hold of her and pushed her into a chair. "You 
 sit there," she said, "and keep still. Now, Mrs. Lawrence, 
 where shall we find the sheets for that bed?" 
 
 The bed was ready by the time the gentlemen returned 
 carrying the wounded man. Hot water was ready also, 
 and absorbent cotton and stimulants, as well as more band- 
 ages, though when and how the two ladies found these 
 things they were never able to tell. 
 
 "I say, Dan," announced Dr. Franklin, when the patient 
 was resting comfortably in his clean bed, "your wife and 
 that girl are a team of thoroughbreds."
 
 136 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "You mean Miss Lea?" said Dan with one eye on 
 Thorley. 
 
 The doctor snorted. "The kindest thing to be said 
 about her," he remarked, "is in Syriac. She is not yet 
 cooked." 
 
 Thorley Prescott growled. "Standish, too," he declared. 
 "What a pair of young fools ! I told 'em to stay inside the 
 walls." 
 
 "By the way," said Dr. Franklin, "you'd better be get- 
 ting these ladies home. Dan, you tell Kate that I'm spend- 
 ing the night. Better not say much about the accident 
 until I get home. Oh, no," in reply to a question from 
 Thorley Prescott, "the injury doesn't amount to much. 
 You and Freyer could look after it as well as I. Clean 
 wound in the fleshy part of the leg. Artery severed, but 
 that's all. Only possible complications might arise from 
 poverty of blood. The man's a skeleton. Plucky beggar, 
 though, which always helps." 
 
 "With your permission," said Dan, "I'll go and tell 
 Margaret. She'll be relieved, and I'll see that they get 
 ready to start for home. You don't think that fellow is 
 likely to waylay us, Thor ?" 
 
 "He ran off up the mountain," said Thorley. "One of 
 the other men I sent out followed him along behind the hum- 
 mocks and watched him enter the trail to Sawam. He 
 can't get back without passing here, and I've set watchmen 
 by the walls." 
 
 "That's all right, then," said Dan, leaving the hall where 
 the three men had been talking, and going to find the ladies. 
 
 Thorley was about to follow Dan when the doctor caught 
 him by the sleeve. 
 
 "Say, Thor," he said, "you want to look out for yourself. 
 That fellow, I judge, was after you." 
 
 Thorley looked uncomfortably at the floor. "Just keep 
 still about it, Doctor."
 
 A DINNER WITHOUT DESSERT 137 
 
 "That's all right," said the doctor. "Keeping still 
 won't mend it." 
 
 "Oh, pshaw!" Thorley impatiently pulled his sleeve 
 away. 
 
 Dr. Franklin took a firmer hold "Now, Thorley," he 
 said, "you have no right to be a fool. You've been cooked 
 this many a year. Standish swears he heard the man say, 
 ' BlackBrescottbedamn ! '" 
 
 Thorley faced the doctor squarely. "You may trust 
 me, Uncle Harry," he said. " I intend to be deucedly prudent, 
 only don't talk before the ladies or my father." 
 
 "Ah, ha," said the doctor, and whatever he meant by 
 that exclamation, he kept it to himself. 
 
 Thorley opened the door into the dining-room. "Ladies, 
 are you ready?" he called. "The cavalcade starts in ten 
 minutes." He went over to Miss Stuart. 
 
 "I'm sorry not to be going back with you," he said. 
 "Your holiday has been spoiled." 
 
 "As if that mattered," she answered quickly. "I'm 
 glad the man is not seriously hurt. Have you any idea who 
 the assailant was and what he wanted ?" 
 
 All who heard the question strained their ears for the 
 answer. But Miss Lea and Roger Standish, conferring 
 together in a corner, their relish for each other's society 
 increased by the feeling that they were both blamed for 
 the late accident, Miss Lea and Roger Standish heard 
 neither Miss Stuart's question nor the answer which 
 Thorley gave promptly with a short laugh. "Oh, just 
 some fellow who wanted a dinner and was taking pot- 
 luck. Pretty good joke, Dan. Pot-luck ! Better write 
 it down in the annals of the Mission." He laughed again, 
 hoping that Dan, at least, would join him. But Dan 
 had left the room ; and a dead silence fell as soon as 
 Thorley had finished. Out of it rose the earnest voice, of 
 Amy Lea.
 
 138 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Hadji Husain !" she exclaimed, "you think it was he? 
 But why? Who is he?" 
 
 Jean Stuart had scarcely time to turn pale, before Prescott 
 had leaped across the room to Standish. 
 
 "You damn liar !" he cried, seizing the boy by the shoul- 
 ders, and shaking him as a big dog shakes a little one, "you 
 promised me not to tell." 
 
 "Take it back !" Standish gasped, trying to use his fists. 
 "No fellow calls me a liar without having his face punched 
 for it." 
 
 Amy Lea dropped into a chair and wondered if she were 
 going to faint again. Margaret Lawrence looked around 
 for her husband, while Mr. Freyer, seeing that his frantic 
 advice had no effect on the assailants, ran to find Dr. 
 Franklin. Then Jean Stuart, still very white, walked up 
 to the two men, and put her hand on Thorley Prescott's arm. 
 
 "Aren't you ashamed?" she said quietly. "You're act- 
 ing like a great big bully." 
 
 Thorley's hands dropped at his sides. He turned to 
 face Jean, his whole face quivering. 
 
 "I wouldn't have had you know this for the world," he 
 said, and he threw back his head and clenched his fists. 
 "Not that there's a word of truth in it," he declared ; "any- 
 body who says so, is a liar ! " 
 
 "How silly you are!" Jean answered. "No one would 
 have paid any attention to this rumor, if you hadn't con- 
 firmed it by getting so excited. I think you said we were 
 to start in ten minutes. Unless you hurry you won't have 
 time to beg Mr. Standish 's pardon." 
 
 "And he swore at him," sobbed Amy Lea; "even if he 
 does beg his pardon, how can a Christian forgive such a thing 
 from a fellow-missionary?" 
 
 A faint smile lit up the gloom of Thorley Prescott's face, 
 and found an answer in the eyes of Roger Standish. The 
 two men stepped toward each other and shook hands.
 
 A DINNER WITHOUT DESSERT 139 
 
 "I apologize," said Thorley, in his gruffest voice, while 
 Roger burst into a torrent of speech in which excuses were 
 very freely mingled with such expressions as, "That's all 
 right, old fellow. Don't say another word about it." 
 
 Now Dan returned with news that the buckboard and 
 horses were ready. He had not heard the quarrel between 
 Prescott and Standish, but he knew as soon as he entered 
 the room that something was the matter. 
 
 "Friends," he said, holding up his hand, "we have to 
 thank our Heavenly Father for a great deliverance. Before 
 we separate, shall we just join in a word of prayer?" and 
 the simple words that followed drove out from every heart 
 all feelings but those of grave thankfulness. Yet the little 
 procession started back to the city in spirits very different 
 from those of the morning. Misfortune had been their 
 host that day, and Foreboding travelled back with them to 
 their homes. 
 
 "Please be careful," said Jean, as Thorley helped her into 
 the saddle. "Prayers for your safety are all very well ; but 
 if you should be imprudent now and anything should happen, 
 I could never forgive myself." 
 
 "Nothing that has happened," he said firmly, "has been 
 your fault in the slightest degree. You have been entirely 
 a blessing to us all especially to me." Again his eyes 
 spoke more eloquently than his tongue, and he held her hand 
 for an instant in both of his. 
 
 "He meant the money," she told herself as she picked her 
 way down the mountain ; but he did not mean the money ; 
 and she knew it even better than he did.
 
 CHAPTER XEX 
 
 DIPLOMACY 
 
 DR. FRANKLIN settled down into the well- worn hollow of 
 his easy-chair, tired out after a most perplexing week. 
 Several days had passed since Isaac of Arawan had been 
 shot. The wound was healing, and the man was both pa- 
 tient and grateful. He was the least of Dr. Franklin's per- 
 plexities. 
 
 Nothing more had been heard of the rascal in the green 
 turban, though Thorley Prescott had ridden out after him 
 as soon as the Lawrence buckboard was out of sight Thor- 
 ley had traced him until his tracks were lost in a mountain 
 brook, then very reluctantly he had been obliged to give it 
 up. When Dr. Franklin scolded him for exposing himself, 
 the Thunderer replied : 
 
 "If it's Husain, I promised him a whipping in case he ever 
 bothered us again. Besides, I took a couple of fellows with 
 me." 
 
 This was the beginning of the worry which had tired Dr. 
 Franklin out. All the week he and the other gentlemen had 
 been working to make the Governor realize that he must 
 protect the American citizens in Muramna against this 
 unknown enemy of theirs. Dr. Lawrence and his son had 
 ridden to the Governor's palace as soon as Dan returned from 
 Akbar on the afternoon of the shooting. But the Governor 
 had retired to his anderoon. It was not until Monday that 
 the Lawrences obtained an audience, and then they came 
 away with very little satisfaction. Dr. Franklin had been 
 present. He shook his head now as he thought over the 
 interview. The Governor had been very agreeable. He 
 
 140
 
 DIPLOMACY 141 
 
 had welcomed his dear Inglesi with many compliments. He 
 was desolated at the thought that danger had come near to 
 them ; indeed, it had made him so ill that he must ask the 
 Hakim Saib to feel his pulse ; but inshallah, what could he 
 do? Kismet. The will of Allah must be accomplished, 
 even though it grieved the affections of the Governor. Oh 
 yes, he could send men after the Hadji, but what would that 
 accomplish? For what reason should he punish him, if 
 caught? No harm had as yet been done. 
 
 Dr. Lawrence reminded His Excellency that one of his 
 subjects, a faithful and innocent man, had been painfully 
 wounded, but the Governor knowing the religion of his 
 faithful subject, shrugged his shoulders and muttered some 
 proverb that had to do with "the blood of a dog." The 
 only bright spot in the interview, Dr. Franklin thought, 
 had been Dan Lawrence's way with the Governor. Dan 
 had the patience which comes only after years of Oriental 
 life. He was not uneasy while the Governor was smoking 
 his narghileh. He could sit quietly with folded hands, the 
 friendly smile deepening from time to time in his gray eyes. 
 His was the charity which extends not only to the humbly 
 unfortunate, but to those in high position whose ignorance 
 of their trust makes them far more pitiable. These quali- 
 ties of patience and tact Dr. Franklin had long admired in 
 Dan's father; but it happened that his opportunities of 
 seeing them in the son had not been many. He almost 
 laughed out loud when he remembered how Dan had turned 
 aside the Governor's suggestion of furnishing guards to live 
 at Akbar. 
 
 "Might as well wear a leech over your heart to keep out 
 the bullets," had been the doctor's thought when this mu- 
 nificent offer was graciously made. It was Dan who had 
 finally lodged in the Governor's mind the idea that he" would 
 issue a proclamation for the future protection of his dear 
 Inglesi. With a sigh, the doctor wondered how much good
 
 142 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 that proclamation with its lurid language could possibly do. 
 Well, this was all they could hope from the Governor ; and 
 there were other perplexities to be settled. 
 
 Of these perhaps the most immediate was Mr. Freyer. 
 This gentleman had absolutely made up his mind that the 
 shooting was a plain indication of Providence. It meant 
 that the Rev. Henry Freyer was to do his winter's work, 
 not at Samarvam, but on Mt. Akbar. One American, he 
 declared, had no business to live alone on the mountain. 
 If the relief work amounted to anything, Prescott would have 
 to spend most of his time there. No one of the regular staff 
 in Muramna could possibly be spared to keep him company ; 
 and Prescott himself ought not to be obliged, by continuing 
 his work at the Treasury, to ride back and forth daily be- 
 tween Akbar and the city. If Mr. Freyer gave up for this 
 winter his work at Samarvam, it would leave Standish free, 
 under the direction of Mr. Dan Lawrence, to fill in at the 
 Treasury and the Press. But Mr. Freyer's greatest argu- 
 ment for staying was that he could accomplish more re- 
 ligious work at Akbar than at Samarvam. The men who 
 were making water-pipes were gathered from all parts of the 
 mountains and the plain. There probably never had been 
 such an opportunity for spreading the Gospel. These 
 men would stay on the mountain all winter. Sabbath 
 after Sabbath, evening after evening, Mr. Freyer could 
 meet with them. In the spring they would go back to 
 their own people, taking with them the Word of Life. 
 Last Monday at Station meeting he had moved that they 
 write to the Board for permission. The motion had been 
 carried and the letter sent, before it was known that Thorley 
 Prescott, who had not come down to the meeting, was ve- 
 hemently opposed to Mr. Freyer's plan. 
 
 When Dr. Franklin thought over the remaining days of 
 the week, he was ready to clutch at his thick grizzled hair. 
 Tuesday his little Harriet had been taken ill. The trouble
 
 DIPLOMACY 143 
 
 seemed to be nothing serious ; but every night her tempera- 
 ture went up, and through the day she was languid and 
 fretful, not at all like herself. Yedgar, over at Sawam, had 
 almost died of ignorant nursing and had to be brought 
 suddenly down to the Hospital at the risk of his life. There 
 were extra Station meetings; there was another audience 
 with the Governor; there were countless interviews with 
 informers who claimed to have news about the man who 
 shot Isaac, but would not for the world testify against him 
 in a Moslem law-court. 
 
 "The worst of it is," thought the doctor, " that the whole 
 Station is up on its ear and everybody seems to expect me 
 to settle the mess. I'd just like to know what's going to 
 happen, anyway !" 
 
 When Mrs. Franklin came into the room a few minutes 
 later, she found her husband bolt upright in a rocking-chair 
 that squeaked. This was a bad sign. Moreover, he was 
 reading an ancient " Commentary on the Book of Job " and 
 was scowling horribly, partly because he had forgotten to 
 put on his glasses. The worst sign of all was that he paid 
 no attention when she came and sat down in her low rocker 
 with its old blue cushion. Being a superlatively wise 
 woman, Mrs. Franklin went one step farther than to say 
 nothing. She forced herself not to go and extract her hus- 
 band's glasses from his pocket and put them on over that tre- 
 mendous scowl. It was better to let him get his headache 
 in such peace as he could extract from the Commentary on 
 Job. She did just reach out and pick up the new copy of 
 "Mr. Dooley," which had come that week by mail from 
 America. She had meant to save this favorite philosopher 
 of the doctor's to put in his Christmas stocking, but in the 
 last week a greater need had arisen, so "Mr. Dooley" was 
 sacrificed. Now he had lain for three days on the doctor's 
 table, his leaves uncut, and his glazed paper wrapping still 
 untouched ; for the doctor loved to crackle this in his hand
 
 144 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 because it was so new and then throw it away. (Needless 
 to say, his wife always smoothed it out and used it; for 
 American waxed paper is at a premium in Persia.) 
 
 No wonder Mrs. Franklin had left off asking questions 
 and preventing headaches. She herself did not care so very 
 much about perusing "Mr. Dooley." She liked to hear 
 it burred out in the doctor's big voice, with shouts of 
 laughter from him and the twins. She loved to listen for 
 little Harriet's trill, which came in tardily after an outburst 
 from the others. She liked to watch Mary Freyer's grave 
 face as her literal mind grappled with the joke before last. 
 But to sit down in cold blood and read "Mr. Dooley" by 
 herself ! Yet something must be done. Mrs. Franklin's 
 head bent lower and lower over the green book, and her de- 
 licious laugh was heard every now and then gurgling in her 
 throat. 
 
 "Mercy on us, Kate! Do hold your head up. What 
 are you laughing about, anyway?" 
 
 "Oh, Harry, listen to this." Mrs. Franklin read out a 
 carefully chosen passage with a brogue that was a blatant 
 departure from the real thing. 
 
 "Here, give it to me. How can I understand it, when 
 you read like a Normal School graduate?" The doctor 
 stretched out his great hand; but Mrs. Franklin put the 
 book behind her. 
 
 "What must you do, Harry, before I can allow you to 
 read any book of mine ? " 
 
 "Any book of yours, hey? I thought those 'Dooleys' 
 belonged to me." 
 
 "This one is mine. See how new it is?" She let the 
 cover stick out from behind her back, and twisting her neck 
 around, began to skim the Table of Contents. The next 
 moment she and the book were transported across the room, 
 and the doctor, with his glasses on and his wife in his lap, 
 was reading aloud from the new "Mr. Dooley."
 
 DIPLOMACY 145 
 
 "Not so very funny, is it?" he said, after the first para- 
 graph ; but in the middle of the next he began to chuckle. 
 At the end of the page he laughed outright ; and the second 
 page was so plentifully besprinkled with Ha-has that the 
 easy-chair creaked under him and Edward and Edith came 
 in from their studying in the next room, clamoring for a 
 share in the joke. 
 
 It was long past their usual bedtime when the twins were 
 sent upstairs. They closed the door behind them so re- 
 luctantly that Edward could be heard saying to Edith, 
 "Say, Ede, isn't Pa a bird?" 
 
 Edith's answer came quickly and clearly. "He's the 
 dearest Father in the whole world, and as for Mother ! 
 Why, Ted, I believe Miss Stuart is right. She says children 
 in America don't have fun with their parents as we do. 
 There isn't time." 
 
 Edward's reply was partly lost in the distance, but Dr. 
 Franklin caught the words, "Bully old Persia," and then 
 something like "good enough for me." 
 
 "Harry," said Mrs. Franklin, laying her cheek against 
 her husband's rough beard, "I think those children of ours 
 are pretty nice." 
 
 "Kate," said the doctor suddenly, "the little tad must be 
 better, or you wouldn't have left her all this time." 
 
 "Sleeping sweetly when I came down," answered Mrs. 
 Franklin. "No temperature at all and a lovely color in her 
 cheeks. Yulea was to call me if she stirred." 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me, before?" asked the doctor. 
 "You know I was worried about her." 
 
 Mrs. Franklin took his head between her hands and 
 rumpled up his hair until he looked like the Wild Man of 
 Borneo. "Last time I found you reading the Book of Job, 
 you wouldn't believe me when I told you I had found my 
 pearl brooch that we thought was stolen by your assistant." 
 Her laugh was low and indulgent as she began to smooth
 
 146 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 his hair down again, with the soft little touches which he 
 loved. 
 
 "Oh, Katie," he cried, "I let you bear all the burdens, 
 your own and mine to boot. What if I should change 
 from now on and be a better man?" 
 
 She nestled closer to whisper in his ear, "Don't, please. 
 I believe I like you best of all just exactly as you are."
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 WAY FOR THE BLACK SAIB 
 
 THE weeks that followed the shooting at Akbar were ac- 
 tually pleasant to one member of the Station only. All 
 the others were more or less upset by the feeling that they 
 had an enemy with an active revolver. The women espe- 
 cially found it hard to get back their tranquillity. The fear 
 that weighed them down was all the more sickening because 
 it was not for themselves. They had to stand by and see 
 their husbands ride out as usual into the villages. Perhaps 
 there was a little more fervor in their good-by kisses, but 
 the lips that gave them tried hard not to quiver and the 
 eyes that watched long from upstairs windows despised the 
 curtain of tears ; and no wife neglected through those anx- 
 ious weeks to say with all her heart in some form the little 
 prayer long since become a part of her daily life : "Lord, if 
 it be Thy will, keep him safe until I see him again." Per- 
 haps the women who were not wives had prayers of their own, 
 not confided to human ears. 
 
 Concerning all this uneasiness, of which he was partly the 
 cause, Thorley Prescott alone was heedless. To him these 
 weeks were a time of exhilaration. He felt that the enmity 
 of Husain was directed toward himself alone. This being 
 so, he drank the wine of danger and rode to and from his 
 work with his black head held high and his eyes looking 
 straight ahead. It would have been a satisfaction, of course, 
 if he could have kept his promise of punishing Husain with 
 his own hands ; but having done his best to catch the rascal 
 redhanded, he was content now to wait another opportunity. 
 
 Besides, he was too busy these days to bother about it. 
 
 147
 
 148 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 There were one or two bothers that had to be given place in 
 his thoughts. One was the body-guard which his workmen 
 insisted upon forming whenever their Black Saib took his 
 rides abroad. They treated him like a general or a prince 
 and would have called him by at least one of these titles, 
 had he permitted it. 
 
 The words of the Black Saib were law to his men, except 
 in this one matter of the body-guard. Six of them at least 
 would go with him whenever he left the shelter of the Mis- 
 sion wall. Sent back to their work, they shuddered at the 
 tone of command, and made as if to obey ; but if the Black 
 Saib deigned to turn his head, he would see behind him at a 
 distance respectful but not too remote, his invariable body- 
 guard. It was an honor much sought after, to ride with the 
 Saib, an honor that was apportioned by the workmen them- 
 selves on principles that were not revealed to the mission- 
 aries. Thorley did notice that none ran with him, except 
 strong men and good fighters. He did try to inquire where 
 they got the three horses whose condition improved so 
 markedly from day to day; but the matter remained a 
 mystery ornamented by a profusion of language and gesticu- 
 lations. Thorley tried to disband the body-guard by threat- 
 ening to dock their wages, though whatever work he laid out 
 for them was always promptly finished. He hardened his 
 heart and gave out that whoever left the premises in work- 
 ing hours except by his permission, should receive no wages 
 for the entire day. 
 
 The next morning he started for the city, chuckling over 
 his prospect of freedom. At the first ford the neigh of a 
 horse made him turn around, and there, at the usual distance, 
 he beheld his body-guard, three riding, as always, and three 
 running. The Black Saib said things under his breath 
 which it was lucky the Fiend could not repeat. He found 
 these incidents hard to explain and talked the whole thing 
 over that day with Dan Lawrence.
 
 WAY FOR THE BLACK SAIB 149 
 
 Perhaps it was through Dan that Jean Stuart came to hear 
 of it. However it was, she made herself mistress of all the 
 facts. Then she sent a note to Thorley, demanding that 
 the body-guard be authorized, and that they be given full 
 wages for all time they spent in riding and running with 
 their chief. The note was peremptory and in the event 
 final ; but it gave occasion for discussions between Thorley 
 and Jean, which were by no means few nor short nor perhaps 
 concerned exclusively with body-guards, wages, and water- 
 pipes. 
 
 It was in those three weeks, however, that Jean Stuart 
 learned the ins and outs of the work at Akbar. She was 
 the first to hear that the roofs of the new dwellings were in 
 place. She learned to dread the rain or snow that would 
 interfere with their being properly rolled. She heard the 
 names of all the new workmen who were taken on when the 
 dormitories were ready. The names of the first thirty-three 
 were already familiar to her ; and with most of the body- 
 guard detail she had a bowing acquaintance. It was she 
 who rejoiced most intelligently when improved moulds of 
 hard wood increased the output of water-pipes by at least 
 one hundred per diem. It was she who clapped her hands 
 when the Governor of Muramna gave his order in writing 
 for three thousand water-pipes. This was a triumph, in- 
 deed, celebrated by the Khanum with the Head of the Rising 
 Sun with many gleeful words and a radiance of face that 
 was fairly dazzling to the one spectator. 
 
 Thorley Prescott basked in the sunshine of Jean's sym- 
 pathy. Every glance from the golden depths of her gray 
 eyes gave him greater confidence in 1 his own powers. 
 Every sparkle of light in the ruddy crinkles of her hair gave 
 him one more glimpse into the joy of his new work. There 
 were moments when his bitterness all melted away and the 
 future gleamed before him full of ruddiness and sunshine. 
 At such a moment it would have been a hazard to remind
 
 150 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 the Thunderer of what he used to say about women with 
 red hair. Even the difficulty with Mr. Freyer grew to seem 
 a thing of no importance. If the little man wanted to 
 spend the winter puttering around on the mountain, why 
 not let him ? After all, it would be a saving of labor for the 
 Black Saib. Prescott knew that if he were left alone with 
 his workmen, he would have to think out ways of teaching 
 them to become so different that the difference would go 
 back with them in the end to their old homes. The part 
 that surprised him was to find that there were already many 
 ways which he would like to explain to them, if he could do 
 so without danger of being overheard by any one who called 
 himself an orthodox missionary. Unconsciously he had been 
 looking forward through his first weeks at Akbar to the time 
 when he would be alone with his men. When, therefore, 
 Mr. Freyer announced his intention of staying all winter, 
 it was in a rage of disappointment that Thorley declared 
 the plan needless and wasteful of working force. The good 
 little man with his quivering beard and middle-aged fussi- 
 ness, irritated the nerves of his "young brother." Mr. 
 Freyer never could learn anything about the industry which 
 was the reason for forming a colony at Akbar. The busi- 
 ness purpose in itself was to him anathema. It was fitting, 
 he owned, that the men should spend a part of each day in 
 laboring with their hands. Otherwise it might not be for 
 their good to give them money ; but water-pipes, reservoirs, 
 and even roofs over their heads were of no importance what- 
 ever as compared with the opportunities given them of hear- 
 ing the Gospel from the lips of the Rev. Henry Freyer. It 
 was hard to keep him from talking with the men, even while 
 they were at work. It was impossible to explain any theory 
 which made faithful labor an article of religion and strove 
 to correct the life of a lazy man who had wallowed in dirt 
 and ignorance, by making him first of all industrious and 
 clean. Mr. Freyer and Thorley Prescott approached the
 
 WAY FOR THE BLACK SAIB 151 
 
 subject from opposite ends of parallel lines. Even Dan 
 Lawrence shook his head and dared not hope that the double 
 solitude of a winter together would bring them to a common 
 point. He wished he had been at the meeting which au- 
 thorized Mr. Freyer's letter to the Board. When he said 
 so to Dr. Franklin, that much harassed gentleman very 
 nearly lost his temper. He stood and breathed hard through 
 his mouth like an engine letting off steam. This was a 
 peculiar habit which the doctor had cultivated since leaving 
 Milwaukee. 
 
 "Drat it!" he said at last, drooping his big shoulders 
 and spreading his hands helplessly, "what are we going to 
 do ?" They were in Dan's study, and a knock at the door 
 interrupted the answer that Dan did not know how to give. 
 
 "It's the telephone, Papa," said Danny. "I think some 
 one wants Dr. Franklin." 
 
 The doctor took himself downstairs, dragging his feet and 
 grumbling a little into his beard. Three minutes later he 
 shouted from the foot of the stairs: "Dan, Mr. Freyer's 
 got a severe attack of rheumatism. He's laid up at our 
 house. I guess that'll fix us, won't it ? " 
 
 Ruth Lawrence, very much shocked, confided to her 
 mother that it sounded as if Uncle Harry was pleased to 
 hear that Mr. Freyer was sick. 
 
 The fact is that Dr. Franklin was pleased and did not hesi- 
 tate to say so within bounds. Mr. Freyer's attack was 
 severe enough to settle the question of his going to Samar- 
 vam. He would have to stay in Muramna that winter. 
 Moreover, it was easy to decree that the life at Akbar was 
 too exposed for him. He had brought on this very attack 
 while sleeping one night on the ground floor when the new 
 houses were in building. Dr. Franklin put down his huge 
 foot and declared that the place for Henry Freyer that win- 
 ter was unquestionably in the Franklin household. And 
 oh, how happy was Mary Freyer ! She made milk toast
 
 152 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 and simmered broth and garnished trays to her heart's 
 content. All her hours now were shining, except the ones 
 she spent in school or, much to her disgust, outdoors. Mr. 
 Freyer, who thought her a perfect nurse, made haste to 
 reward her by getting well. He resigned himself to the 
 doctor's decree, looking forward submissively to a winter 
 of Treasury and Press work. 
 
 "Funny," said Dr. Franklin to his wife, late on Christmas 
 Eve, while they sat looking at the row of stockings hung up 
 around the stove, "funny, isn't it, how the Lord lets us fuss 
 and fume, trying to figure out the answer to a problem, and 
 all the time He has it ready to give, and it all comes out 
 just as even !" 
 
 "Do you call Mr. Freyer's rheumatic fever an answer 
 from the Lord?" asked Mrs. Franklin. 
 
 "Well, what do you call it ? Hasn't it just settled every- 
 thing without a remainder or a flaw ? " 
 
 Mrs. Franklin, resting her tired head against the back of 
 her chair, only smiled.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 JEAN STUART was amazed to find herself completely under 
 the spell of a really Merry Christmas. It began at the 
 Lawrences' with the Christmas Eve supper where Danny 
 appeared, his eyes dancing and his lips held together with 
 both hands, "for fear," Ruth gravely explained, "that the 
 secrets should burst out of him before the tree is ready." 
 
 It had already been conveyed to Jean that day by many 
 signs and mysteries that a Tree was being trimmed and 
 loaded in Dan's study upstairs. Knowing that evergreens 
 did not grow in Persia, Jean wondered how the Lawrences 
 could get a Christmas Tree ; but, though she managed to 
 smuggle a pile of gay parcels into the sacred room, she asked 
 no questions, and even refused Danny's invitation to "Take 
 a peek with us children, since you don't seem to be helping 
 the 'grown-ups.' ' 
 
 After supper there was an unusual kind of family prayers. 
 The children recited Christmas hymns, the grown-ups said 
 verses around; they all sang "While Shepherds Watched," 
 the servants joining, with friendly but inharmonious results 
 by means of the Syriac version. Then Grandpa "prayed 
 short." "But I think," Danny whispered to Miss Stuart, 
 "that Mamma ast him to." 
 
 This confidence took place when prayers were over and 
 the gentlemen had vanished up the stairs "to light the 
 Tree," as Danny further explained, with his ear to the crack 
 of the door. "Now, Ruth," he added severely, "you better 
 keep puffeckly still, or we can't hear the music when it 
 sounds."
 
 154 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Music !" cried Jean, "what kind of music?" 
 
 "Oh, any kind/' said Danny carelessly, "if there isn't a 
 mouth-organ or a horn, there's uzhally a bell, at least. You 
 just wait." 
 
 So Jean just waited, and presently she did hear an extraor- 
 dinary mixture of sounds coming down from above. 
 
 "Come, Ruth," cried Danny, "take hold of my hand, 
 quick. Is the percession ready, Mamma? Do make the 
 servants hurry." 
 
 "You may start, dear," said Mrs. Lawrence, offering her 
 arm to Jean, and leading her to a place behind the children. 
 "We let the youngest go first on this occasion," she ex- 
 plained as they went upstairs, followed by a group of ser- 
 vants giggling with delight and curiosity. 
 
 Jean could not help pausing for an instant in the sacred 
 doorway as she took in the fact that the object around which 
 the children were already dancing was not more than three 
 feet high, made of metal, and sparsely bedight with artificial 
 green needles. Yet the Tree, set on a high pedestal and 
 blazing with candles and tinsel, flaunted its sparse green 
 needles on its geometrical green branches as proudly as if 
 it knew itself to be the realest Christmas Tree that had ever 
 been set up in Persia. 
 
 "Wait until you have hung your presents for thirty years 
 on the bare branches of a cherry tree," said Dan Lawrence 
 in Miss Stuart's ear, "then you will appreciate the splendor 
 of this makeshift." 
 
 "I really think," declared Margaret, joining them, "that 
 there's nothing important missing except the smell. Last 
 year I burned my old pine pillow in the stove and that was 
 lovely, but 
 
 Jean Stuart vanished from the room and came back in- 
 stantly with the pine pillow which had been her most faith- 
 ful travelling companion. 
 
 "Have you a knife, Mr. Lawrence?" she cried. "I
 
 THE TREE 155 
 
 couldn't wait to hunt for scissors. There now ! " as she 
 flung a generous handful of needles into the stove, "who 
 says this isn't the genuine Christmas smell, warranted to 
 cause and cure homesickness before you have time to wipe 
 your eyes?" 
 
 "You'll have to keep on wiping them, if you leave that 
 stove door open," said Dan. 
 
 But Jean and Margaret continued to dole out the needles 
 sparingly while the old stove, which had been raised hi the 
 State of Maine, showed its gratitude by smoking very little. 
 
 "Papa," whispered Danny, plucking his parent by the 
 sleeve, "aren't we ever going to have the presents? I sh'd 
 think you grown-ups could do your smelling afterwards." 
 
 Dan laughed and looked at his wife, jerking his head 
 questioningly toward the presents heaped up under the 
 Tree. 
 
 "Yes, yes, by all means," answered Margaret; and Dan, 
 going over to the Tree, began to read the labels. 
 
 The rule was that when a person's name was called, 
 he rushed up to get his present, said a vague but hearty 
 ''Thank you," and retired to open his package, after which 
 he indulged in fervent ejaculations and made for himself 
 the path of a whirlwind until he had seized and kissed the 
 giver of the gift. When several whirlwinds were let loose 
 at once in the little room, the result was all that could be 
 desired in the way of a thrill. 
 
 Never were there such presents ! 
 
 Dan Lawrence cried, "Just what I wanted ! " as he slipped 
 his arms into the dressing-gown made by his wife from a piano- 
 cover brought out in the eighteen sixties by her mother-in- 
 law. Dan was echoed by Grandpa Lawrence, who took off 
 his glasses to wipe them on the cleaner Ruth had made 
 from the tops of her mother's wedding-gloves. Miss Stuart 
 hugged Danny nearly in two when she found that he had 
 given her the Persian box which she had often admired on
 
 156 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 his bureau ; and he returned the hug with interest after he 
 came upon a pair of rubber boots, abundantly large for his 
 feet, it is true, but suited exactly to his ambitions as a pirate, 
 and to his needs as a small boy shuffling in mud puddles. 
 
 Jean's treasures grew too bulky at last to be easily carried 
 around. So she sat down near the gangway door to gloat 
 over them as she spread them in her lap : Danny's box, 
 Ruth's needle-case, the beautiful old saddle-bag to hold her 
 books and lunch when she rode to the College. This was 
 from Dr. Lawrence, who had used it for many years in his 
 village work. The Franklin twins had sent her home-made 
 candy in a gorgeous box, and little Harriet had tied together 
 two pieces of blotting-paper and lettered on the outside in 
 crooked capitals, I LUV U. Dr. MacColl had given her 
 an old book with an inscription in it "From Jonathan 
 Stuart to his faithful friend Dugald MacColl"; Margaret 
 Lawrence had sacrificed her last copy of a picture of the 
 children which Jean particularly liked; and Dan himself 
 had made a frame for it from an old piece of pearl inlay. 
 
 Altogether no lapful of gifts had ever caused Jean Stuart 
 to feel so rich, though, taken all together, excepting the 
 doctor's book, they could not compare in money value with 
 one box of American Beauty roses. And Miss Stuart of 
 New York had been known to receive more than one such 
 box at Christmas. With the thought of roses, it occurred 
 to her how queer it would be to pass a holiday season free 
 from the tribute of male admirers. At which psychological 
 moment she heard on the gangway leading to the Prescott's 
 house, a decided and hasty step. The next instant there 
 came a thundering knock at the outer door. Danny, who 
 was prancing about in his new boots, made haste to open 
 the door, and was confronted by no less a personage than 
 Santa Claus with white beard and apple-red cheeks, coat 
 and cap of dark sheepskin powdered with snow, and arms 
 full of bundles.
 
 THE TREE 157 
 
 Danny fell back in amazement, the servants crowded 
 toward the hall-door, Ruth took refuge behind her mother, 
 who looked helplessly at Dan, who, in turn, stared at the 
 stranger. Santa Claus, meanwhile, peered around the 
 room until his eyes rested on Miss Stuart, who sat a little 
 behind him against the wall. Then he smiled ; after which 
 his identity was no longer a question with Jean Stuart. 
 
 Santa Claus advanced a step and, after clearing his throat, 
 said, in a high nasal voice, ''Merry Christmas, good people. 
 I have brought you a few small gifts." 
 
 "Why did he clear his throat?" thought Jean. "They 
 must recognize him now, though he does the voice part well 
 enough." 
 
 But apparently he was not recognized ; for the Lawrences 
 continued to stand speechless, and for the most part open- 
 mouthed, while Santa, with remarks more or less appro- 
 priate, distributed a gift to each person. The servants, 
 meanwhile, had huddled out into the hall, and could be heard 
 falling over each other down the stairs. Dan went out to 
 quiet them, assuring them that the stranger was a friend 
 from Mr. Prescott's, and if they came back they would soon 
 see that he was not to be feared. Santa's gift to him of a 
 silver-mounted riding-whip with the second half of the in- 
 scription more roughly engraved than the first, had revealed 
 to Dan who their benefactor was. The servants were 
 further reassured by the gift of a large parcel of sweetmeats. 
 Then Santa, turning to Miss Stuart, and going down on one 
 knee, laid at her feet a small parcel. Jean smiled at him. 
 
 "I'm sorry I can't pick it up. You see how full my lap is. 
 Besides, you must make me a speech, too." 
 
 Santa humbly picked up the parcel and laid it in her hand. 
 
 "You'll find the speech written," he said in his natural 
 voice. Then, turning around, he snatched off his cap, 
 making a low bow, which showed off a head of coal-black 
 hair.
 
 158 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "I hoped if I came as Santa Claus," he said, "that you 
 might let me stay awhile." 
 
 The children flung themselves on him, tore off his beard, 
 and tried to rub the color from his cheeks. 
 
 Meanwhile, Jean read her speech. "For an intellectual 
 woman whom I find it impossible to hate." 
 
 When she opened the parcel she came on a seal exactly 
 like the one of the Thanksgiving dinner-table. But she 
 knew very well that Roger Standish had not sent it to her. 
 
 "Why !" said Dan Lawrence, when the hubbub had sub- 
 sided a little, "here's one more present which I overlooked. 
 It's addressed to Miss Jean Stuart, but it doesn't say from 
 where." 
 
 Because Dan knew the precise handwriting, he smiled a 
 little as he gave the parcel to Santa, who stood between him 
 and Miss Stuart. Santa also knew the handwriting; but 
 he scowled as he delivered the parcel. 
 
 Miss Stuart unwrapped a beautiful filagree brass vase 
 which she held up for admiration before she read the card 
 that was tied around its neck. Then she saw how Santa 
 was scowling. The card read, "Compliments and heartfelt 
 best wishes from Henry Freyer." After reading it, she 
 looked again at Santa and then she blushed. 
 
 Meanwhile, Dan had been called away by a commotion 
 downstairs. He came back presently with a paper which 
 he handed to Miss Stuart. 
 
 " Since you came," he said, "we are growing so important 
 that they get out a Governor's guard to send us cable mes- 
 sages in the evening." 
 
 " Read it for me, please," she said, handing it back. " It's 
 in Turkish." 
 
 "No, it isn't," said Dan. "It's English, but it's written 
 queerly." 
 
 "Well, what is it?" said Jean. "7 can't read it." 
 
 "You help me, Thor," said Dan. The two men puzzled
 
 THE TREE 159 
 
 over it for some moments, then Thorley turned impatiently 
 away. 
 
 "I can't read the thing, and I don't want to," he said, 
 with one fierce glare at Jean before he crossed the room. 
 
 "I have it now," cried Dan, "but I hope you won't like 
 it any better than we do. It's dated Calcutta, India, De- 
 cember 23. 'Have just heard your dilemma. Am start- 
 ing for Bushire and will escort you home by southern route. 
 
 ' Robert Courtlandt.' " 
 
 "Good night, Mrs. Lawrence," said Santa Claus. "I 
 beg your pardon for my intrusion." 
 
 When the door had slammed behind a Saint whose fare- 
 wells were more curt than sanctified, Jean Stuart turned to 
 Dan. 
 
 "I wonder how it will be possible to make Mr. Courtlandt 
 understand by cable the inviolability of my contract to 
 stay here until spring. I doubt if he has ever signed a con- 
 tract in his life." 
 
 "Then you won't go !" cried Margaret. 
 
 Jean stooped to put her arms around Ruth. "Go!" 
 she cried. "I wouldn't go now, if you offered me another 
 year's salary !"
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 AND STRIFE THEREWITH 
 
 CHRISTMAS DAY was by no means a complete vacation 
 for the missionaries. At nine o'clock, there was in the city 
 church a service conducted by Dr. Lawrence. At the same 
 time Dan was preaching to the girls at Faith Seminary, 
 the children of the neighborhood being gathered in to fill 
 up the extra room. George Whiting and Mr. John Prescott 
 held early prayer-meetings for their respective students 
 and then marshalled them into the city to hear Dr. Law- 
 rence. As for Thorley Prescott, he rose long before day- 
 light and, escaping his body-guard, who were spending the 
 night in the guest-house, made his way back to the moun- 
 tain. There he closeted himself with such of his men as 
 had not gone away to their families. What he said to the 
 men was not known even by Roger Standish, who had been 
 sent up for a few days to help him. Prescott had curtly 
 asked his new assistant to stay away from the meeting ; and 
 the boy had time to get awfully homesick before it was over 
 and the horses were brought around. As they went to the 
 College, it was all he could do to keep within sight of Thorley 
 Prescott, who rode the Fiend at a pace even more furious 
 than usual. The fact was that Thorley was cursing him- 
 self all the way because he had promised his father to be 
 present at Christmas dinner. 
 
 Though they rode very fast, they did not arrive in time 
 for the short English service with which the missionaries 
 regaled themselves on holidays especially connected with 
 
 1 60
 
 AND STRIFE THEREWITH l6l 
 
 Home. By the time the two men had changed their clothes 
 at the Seminary and had thrown a few snowballs at Ed- 
 ward's snow-man, the procession of the devout filed out of 
 Dr. Franklin's house. Roger hailed it with shouts of 
 "Merry Christmas" and challenged all who were men 
 enough to join in a snowball fight. Thorley quickly backed 
 up the challenge with one or two missiles that broke on the 
 ground near enough to frighten some of the ladies. Ed- 
 ward, Sam, and Danny immediately hurled themselves and 
 their best clothes into the fray, while their mothers besought 
 their fathers to make them wait until after dinner when suit- 
 able garments might be found for them. Mrs. Whiting 
 added in her most querulous tones that if they once got to 
 fighting, they would never leave off, and dinner would be 
 spoiled. The fight had already reached a point where it 
 could not be stopped by mere words ; so the three husbands 
 bestirred themselves not too unwillingly, and each capturing 
 a son, deposited him on the steps of the Whiting house with 
 orders to "stay there now and not get your feet any wetter." 
 This sortie having taken place under a galling fire of snow- 
 balls, the three fathers now looked at each other and, each 
 turning up his collar and pulling down his hat, rushed with 
 one accord upon the enemy, nor did they rest until with 
 every face freshly washed and every hair where it ought not 
 to have been, they returned in high good humor to hunt for 
 clean collars. It would not do to swear that in the mean- 
 time the boys had refrained from gathering up what snow 
 could be reached from the steps. Sammy Whiting may 
 even have ventured out upon the lawn, and the other two, 
 though without doubt they stayed where they were told, 
 may not have disdained to take away what they could of 
 Sam's illicitly gotten ammunition. 
 
 The champions were much too hungry to keep the dinner 
 waiting long. Before Mrs. Whiting had time to get uneasy, 
 she found it possible to seat her guests in order around
 
 1 62 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 the festive board. As Mrs. Prescott had helped her in the 
 arrangement of the table, some of the guests found them- 
 selves where they would rather not have been. Miss 
 Trench, for instance, sat next to Mr. Freyer, who never had 
 anything to say to her since she had refused to marry him 
 six months before. Thorley Prescott, whose dejection had 
 returned as soon as the fight was fairly over, sat between 
 Miss Oddfellow and Miss Lea, with his stepmother where 
 she could keep an eye on him across the table, and Miss 
 Stuart so far away on the same side that he could not even 
 catch a glimpse of her profile or an echo of her voice. Miss 
 Stuart, however, fared better than her hostess intended. 
 She had been carefully segregated from all the unmarried 
 men ; but, as she had been placed between the two doctors, 
 both of whom she liked immensely, it did not occur to her 
 to be discontented. She found it easy enough to evade 
 Mr. Freyer's efforts at gaining her attention by craning his 
 rheumatic neck around the enormous mound of fruit in the 
 middle of the table. It was the first time since his illness 
 that Mr. Freyer had left the Franklin's house, and the din- 
 ner had been appointed at the College so that he might 
 safely be present. It was evident very soon to Miss Trench 
 and Margaret Lawrence that he intended not to waste any 
 opportunities the holiday might offer. But Miss Stuart 
 continued blandly oblivious of him, until she happened to 
 surprise Mrs. Whiting and Mrs. Prescott both looking at 
 her and then exchanging a glance of congratulation. Jean 
 instantly pricked her faculties to discover a reason for 
 this. 
 
 "What can I be doing," she murmured to Dr. MacColl, 
 "that actually gratifies the Medusa? Help me to find out 
 what it is, and I'll stop at once." 
 
 "Nonsense," said the doctor, shortly. 
 
 "I know it sounds that way," said Jean, with a meekness 
 of tone, which her face belied; "she never has been pleased
 
 AND STRIFE THEREWITH 163 
 
 with me before, not for one single moment. I'm going to 
 ask her." 
 
 She leaned forward with eyes and lips brimful of mischief. 
 Dr. MacColl laid a peremptory hand on her arm ; and Miss 
 Stuart, checked also by the fact that Mrs. Prescott was now 
 talking to her host, found herself face to face with Mr. 
 Freyer, and obliged to answer a stream of questions from 
 him. Promptly enough this brought back to her the atten- 
 tion of Mrs. Prescott. Thorley also took advantage of her 
 leaning forward to get a good look at her. And Roger 
 Standish broke off his sober talk with Miss Lea to laugh at 
 the mild jest with which Miss Stuart answered an elaborate 
 compliment from Mr. Freyer. One Jovian frown from over 
 the crooked glasses of the Medusa swept her and the three 
 men with a petrifying glare and explained everything. Jean 
 neatly turned over to Mrs. Lawrence the answering of Mr. 
 Freyer's last question and leaned back in her chair with a 
 silent chuckle. 
 
 "Dear me, dear me," she murmured gleefully; "is that 
 all I have to do ! I had no idea she would take notice of 
 anything so far removed from her sphere. I think I must 
 manage to inch a little nearer." 
 
 At this moment Mr. Freyer's face peered at her again 
 from around the fruit. "Oh, Mr. Freyer," she cried in a 
 voice pitched for Mrs. Prescott's ear, "don't let me forget 
 that there is something I must say to you after dinner." 
 
 "Is it something that can't be told now?" said Mr. 
 Freyer with a fatuous smile. 
 
 "I am sure," broke in Mrs. Prescott, "that anything of 
 real interest to Mr. Freyer will be of interest to us all." 
 
 "Oh, it's nothing to tell," said Jean, "just something to 
 say, and I couldn't think of causing Mr. Freyer to sit in 
 that strained position any longer after all that he has suf- 
 fered. Au revoir." 
 
 She came very near kissing her hand to the obedient little
 
 164 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 gentleman as his beaming countenance disappeared behind 
 the fruit ; but she turned the gesture just in time to a grace- 
 ful wave of the hand. 
 
 "Here, here," said Dr. Franklin. "I can't let you have 
 any secrets with my patients. Don't you know that noth- 
 ing is so bad for the health as a craving for the 
 unattainable ? " 
 
 " On the other hand is anything a better tonic than 
 anticipation?" 
 
 "The question is, though," said the doctor, rather gravely, 
 "what comes after he's taken the trouble to anticipate?" 
 
 " My prettiest ' Thank you, ' " said Jean. " He sent me a 
 beautiful Christmas present." 
 
 "Ah, so ! I wondered where you got that seal." 
 
 Jean was wearing the Sassanian seal on a platinum and 
 pearl chain which she had passed through the hole in the 
 wedge-shaped upper end of the stone. She dangled it 
 toward the doctor as he finished speaking. 
 
 "Don't you remember this?" she said. "Mr. Freyer 
 didn't give it to me." 
 
 "Ha, ha," the doctor burst out after a short scrutiny, 
 "to the victor belong the spoils. Good for you, Standish. 
 We all owe you a vote of thanks." 
 
 "What for?" asked Roger, returning not too unwillingly 
 from a discussion of Pragmatism, in which he was floundering 
 beyond his depth. 
 
 "Why, for giving this seal to the person who deserves it. 
 I wish I could have given it to her myself." 
 
 Miss Lea smiled patiently as Standish craned his neck to 
 look at the seal. "But I didn't give it to her," he cried. 
 "I traded it off to Prescott for a perfectly dandy horse," 
 and he turned back hastily to see what Amy thought of his 
 being accused of giving things to other girls when she had 
 refused so far to let him give her anything more than a 
 book.
 
 AND STRIFE THEREWITH 165 
 
 "Young man, you shall pay for that," thought Jean 
 Stuart ; but she gave herself up for the rest of the meal to 
 an educational discussion that would have made a high place 
 for her in an American Woman's Club. 
 
 Time would fail us to tell of all Jean Stuart did afte* 
 dinner, how she brought Mr. Freyer to the gates of Heaven 
 and kept him from going any farther. How she detached 
 Roger Standish from his pragmatic discussion and estab- 
 lished him in frivolous contentment at her other side. How 
 she led the applause for the children's pieces and incited 
 the grown people to bring out long-forgotten stunts. How 
 she intoxicated more than one sober-minded person to the 
 point where he was proud to let himself be as funny as he 
 had been in his college days. How she let Thorley Prescott 
 sit glowering over against her until she thought he had 
 glowered enough, when she sent Edward Franklin to tell 
 him she would like to speak to him. How he intended to 
 say he would not come, but caught her eye and came as fast 
 as he could. How she scolded him for going away the 
 previous evening before she had thanked him for his gift. 
 How Thorley's answer was very little more than a growl. 
 How Jean had the face to ask him what made him so cross 
 on Christmas Day, and he had the face to say that he could 
 not be jolly, because she was going away, and she asked him 
 very saucily how he knew that when she didn't, and he an- 
 swered that he supposed she would jump at the chance of 
 being rescued by that Courtlandt fellow. Then Jean 
 laughed in his face and said he didn't deserve to be told 
 anything, but that if he would urge Mr. Standish to sing, he 
 might go and ask Dan Lawrence what she had said over 
 the cable about the inviolability of a contract. "And very 
 expensive it is, I can tell you, to explain one's principles 
 by cable." The result was that Thorley did urge Stand- 
 ish to sing, that he in fact escorted him forcibly to the 
 piano, and returning, captured Roger's seat by Miss Stuart,
 
 1 66 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 whose side he never left for a moment all the rest of the 
 evening. 
 
 Finally Miss Stuart's pupils came in a body to ask for 
 a song from her. "Sing to the grown people," they begged, 
 "as you do for us. We know they would like it." 
 
 "I know it, too," pleaded Mrs. Franklin ; "you see I often 
 listen outside the door." 
 
 Then all the little hands laid hold of Jean and pulled her 
 to the piano ; and she went laughing and sang a song or two 
 that the children loved. And then Thorley, who was not 
 far off, asked if she knew Schubert's " Widmung" and she 
 said Yes, but it was impossible to play that accompaniment 
 and sing into the wall. 
 
 "Stand up and sing it, then," he answered, and she stood 
 up and sang it, and he played for her ; and while the others 
 held their breath at her singing, she marvelled no less at 
 Thorley's playing. \ 
 
 After Jean Stuart had sung "Widmung" she found her- 
 self in a different mood. When Roger Standish would have 
 fallen at her feet, she sent him straight back to Miss Lea. 
 She talked very sweetly to Mr. Freyer about Mary's talent 
 for music, saying that she would like to take the child back to 
 America and give her a thorough musical education. When 
 Mr. Freyer hinted that there were those who thought the 
 gifts of Miss Stuart more needed in Persia than in America, 
 she laughingly but decidedly told him that nothing would 
 induce her to stay in Persia longer than was required by 
 her contract to teach. She turned him over then to the 
 tender mercies of Mrs. Prescott, who was ready enough to 
 keep him plied with questions and advice. 
 
 Jean then joined a game of crokinole to which she was 
 invited by Edward, and she played so very badly under the 
 fixed regard of Thorley Prescott that she was glad when 
 Dr. MacColl came and said it was time for rounds at the 
 Hospital ; did Jean care to go now, or would she follow later ?
 
 AND STRIFE THEREWITH 167 
 
 The game having just ended, Jean said she would go. The 
 children protested and Thorley offered his escort later, if she 
 would stay ; but Jean was firm. 
 
 "Then let me go with you now," begged Thorley, and 
 the doctor, very much amazed, said they would be delighted 
 to have him. 
 
 The three walked in silence across the Compound until 
 they reached the doctor's door. Then Thorley said " Good- 
 night," and the doctor said, "Won't you come in?" And 
 Thorley, knowing that when the doctor had gone on her 
 rounds, he would be alone with Jean, refused. 
 
 Miss Stuart held out her hand to him as she stood on 
 the step above him ; and after a perceptible pause, he took 
 it. "We must sing together often," she said; "you play 
 for me gloriously." 
 
 "Never again," he answered fervently. "Good-by."
 
 CHAPTER XXin 
 
 MISS ODDFELLOW'S INSPIRATION 
 
 IT was on Christmas evening that Miss Oddfellow con- 
 ceived the idea of pressing Jean Stuart into service. Miss 
 Oddfellow's vocation was Faith Seminary, where she had 
 the entire responsibility of one hundred girls and five na- 
 tive teachers, to say nothing of a young American colleague 
 whose impulses led her as often as not into mischief. 
 
 One might think that Miss Oddfellow would have had 
 little or no time for diversion. Yet the dear lady had a pet 
 recreation in which she managed to indulge herself once or 
 twice a week at least. This indulgence was the visiting of 
 Moslem women in their homes ; and Miss Oddfellow carried 
 her love for it to such an extreme that her colleagues de- 
 clared she would rather go calling than read her letters from 
 home ! The gratification of this taste was not always con- 
 venient for the female friends of Miss Oddfellow; as it 
 meant that one of them had to mount guard at the Seminary 
 in her absence and that another had to go with her. It 
 is not possible for a housekeeper to leave her home 
 and children to the mercy of native servants. Yet Miss 
 Oddfellow very much preferred that her companion be a 
 married lady, because a pair of spinsters, though welcomed 
 for once as a curiosity by their Persian hostesses, did not 
 command the honor which Miss Oddfellow thought essential 
 to the progress of her plans. Evidently it was no selfish 
 dream of social prestige that drove her forth on these ex- 
 peditions ; for, in whatever household she appeared with 
 
 168
 
 MISS ODDFELLOW'S INSPIRATION 169 
 
 married ladies, she was never given any seat but the lowest, 
 and the women would at first listen to any of the others 
 rather than to her. There had been times when Miss 
 Oddfellow, communing with her own heart, had wished that 
 it were possible to be a married lady without the embarrass- 
 ment of maintaining a husband. 
 
 But these regrets had once for all been cast aside, when 
 she discovered that even an old maid could master the art 
 of rousing and strengthening a new interest in the mind of 
 a Moslem woman. Childishness, ennui, curiosity, dis- 
 content, and suffering, all these were strings on which Miss 
 Oddfellow, after years of practice, had learned to play. 
 And now she strove to produce, not the discord of an igno- 
 rant striving for an unattainable freedom, but the simple 
 melody that comes when a human heart is tuned to love 
 and forgiveness and the joy of helping others. 
 
 Miss Oddfellow had acquired such insight into the minds 
 of her Moslem friends that she knew at once whether any- 
 thing she saw or heard would please them. She had been 
 wondering ever since Jean Stuart's arrival how she could 
 turn to account that young person's evident attractions, 
 but until she heard Jean sing she had been a little afraid 
 that the Khanum of the Rising Sun might cause the atten- 
 tion of almost any anderoon to wander from the ideas it was 
 most desirable to introduce. And yet it worried Miss Odd- 
 fellow greatly that she could not immediately extract for 
 her Moslem women a spiritual value from Jean Stuart's 
 presence in Muramna. It made her feel that she must be 
 growing old, and she lay awake more than once to wonder 
 how soon it would be due to the Board that she should re- 
 sign and go Home. Perhaps a tear or two sank into her 
 pillow as she reflected that Home now stood for nothing 
 more intimate than the Missionaries' Rest Room at the 
 Board Rooms and the half-open door of her only relative, 
 a grandniece. It would have been pleasant, she thought,
 
 170 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 if she could have saved up one or two hundred dollars to 
 assure her reception into an Old Ladies' Home ; but she 
 had never been one to save, and two hundred dollars was 
 not a sum which one could expect to have fall from the 
 skies. 
 
 "After all, it may be that the Lord will be so gracious as 
 to let me die in the harness. At any rate, I must not shame 
 His tender mercy by anxious thought for the morrow." 
 
 An arrow of trust sent upward through the dark, brought 
 down a wonderful plan for the telling of a certain story in 
 words that would bring it home to the heart of no less a per- 
 son than the Governor's favorite wife. 
 
 "And if I can have such ideas," was the afterthought, 
 "perhaps I am still fit for a few years of service." 
 
 Then she chid herself that there should be any thought 
 of her own advantage mingled with holier desires, and 
 she put herself to sleep at last by murmuring the dear old 
 hymn that ends : 
 
 "Teach us in every state 
 
 To make Thy will our own ; 
 And when the joys of sense depart, 
 To live by faith alone." 
 
 And the very next day she heard Jean Stuart sing. Now 
 when the singing began, it was Miss Oddfellow's impulse 
 to rush headlong upon the Khanum of the Rising Sun and 
 demand her aid for an anderoon expedition the next day. 
 But in her impulsive nature, the wisdom of the serpent had 
 long since been added to her other virtues and stood her in 
 very good stead, except on occasions when she had no time 
 to think or when she deliberately put the maintenance of 
 principle before the attainment of her immediate ends. 
 
 Therefore, by the time the singing ended, she thought it 
 better to approach Mrs. Lawrence, and her she begged most 
 earnestly to intercede with Miss Stuart.
 
 MISS ODDFELLOW'S INSPIRATION 171 
 
 "But Miss Oddfellow, she doesn't know Turkish," cried 
 Margaret, "and I'm not perfectly sure that she would care 
 to put herself in the position of singing Christian hymns 
 when she professes not to have any religion." 
 
 "And very unsuitable it would be, I am sure," said Mrs. 
 Prescott, "to ask her to do such a thing." 
 
 "I did not seek your opinion, Melissa," said Miss Odd- 
 fellow gently, "and my mind is quite made up. We get 
 the women themselves to help us before they know what 
 they are doing. They repeat Bible verses of which they 
 have not the slightest comprehension. I mean to get Miss 
 Stuart to sing the English words of some good hymn, and I 
 will interpret them." 
 
 "I doubt if she will have the decency to consent," said 
 Mrs. Prescott. "At all events, your course does not meet 
 with my approval ; and I refuse to countenance you in any 
 way." 
 
 "It will not be the first time I have worked without your 
 countenance, Melissa," Miss Oddfellow's voice was still 
 gentle ; her glance was still kindly as she turned decidedly 
 away. 
 
 The next person approached was Miss Trench. That 
 lady approved the plan, if it could be carried out, but did not 
 consider herself the one to broach it. 
 
 " Get Dr. MacColl to ask her, if you won't do it yourself," 
 she suggested. "The doctor will put it in such a way that 
 Miss Stuart will see in it an opportunity to go sight-seeing. 
 I am told that she is always eager for adventure." 
 
 "Indeed, I will not have her invited in any such manner," 
 declared Miss Oddfellow. "On the whole, I believe it is 
 best that I do it myself, and I will make haste to address her 
 now before my courage gives out." 
 
 Upon which she looked around for Miss Stuart, who was 
 discovered just going away with Dr. MacColl and Thorley 
 Prescott. At the same time Dan Lawrence came to tell
 
 172 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 her that if she wished to return that evening to the Seminary, 
 they must start at once, so, very reluctantly, she went in 
 search of her circular and her rubber overshoes. 
 
 The next morning she woke with an eagerness that took 
 her to the Lawrences' before they had finished breakfast. 
 She had forgotten that Miss Stuart would still be out at 
 the College. Seeing her crestfallen look, Margaret sug- 
 gested calling Jean to the telephone (for a private wire, 
 the only one at that time in Persia, ran between the Law- 
 rences' house and the Franklins'). Miss Oddfellow's 
 consternation at this proposal was so extreme that Dan 
 Lawrence came to her rescue by offering to take her message 
 straight to Miss Stuart. He was going to the villages for 
 a day's visiting and could stop at the College just as well 
 as not. So Miss Oddfellow went into minute explanations, 
 and they all agreed with her that it would have been very 
 difficult to say all she wanted over the telephone. Dan was 
 to say it for her as well as he could ; and Jean was either to 
 telephone her denial to Mrs. Lawrence, or to ride back to 
 the city herself in token of her assent. For Miss Oddfellow 
 longed, if possible, to make her first calls with the Khanum 
 of the Rising Sun that very afternoon. 
 
 On his way to the College, Dan Lawrence smiled more 
 than once under his long mustache. His mission to Jean 
 Stuart aroused his humor as well as his hope, and he intended 
 to make a success of it if he could. He had taken along 
 Jean's hostler in order that she might have an escort to the 
 city, and this he told her when he had set forth very briefly 
 Miss Oddfellow's request. 
 
 "Do you mean that you banked on my doing as she 
 asks ? " Jean's eyes twinkled as she put the question. 
 
 His own eyes twinkled in reply, "Some one told me the 
 other day," he said, "that she wished Miss Oddfellow was 
 her great-grandaunt so that she could make her a real lace 
 cap with pink ribbons, and feel whether her cheek is as soft
 
 MISS ODDFELLOW'S INSPIRATION 173 
 
 as it looks. When I want anything from you myself," he 
 added, "I shall ask my Father to speak for it or Danny." 
 
 Jean's laughter rippled merrily out. "Tell Tomas to 
 see that Lord Chesterton is saddled. I'll be ready in fifteen 
 minutes." 
 
 Dan Lawrence beamed at her as he turned to go. "/ 
 won't presume to thank you," he said. 
 
 "No ? " answered Jean. "I'd like to see you ask or thank 
 me more eloquently, if the favor were for yourself."
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 MAKING MELODY 
 
 IT was barely two o'clock when Miss Oddfellow, Miss 
 Stuart, and Mrs. Lawrence, with two men-servants, set out 
 on foot from the gate of the Compound. All the ladies 
 wore thick veils and loose cloaks, as well as rubbers which 
 they could take of! at the door of the anderoon so that they 
 might not seem to enter the house in their out-door shoes. 
 
 Jean Stuart had been persuaded to unearth a white gown 
 from the bottom of a trunk. "Because, my dear," Miss 
 Oddfellow had said, "the Persians are not interested in 
 black. And couldn't you wear a bow or two of some bright 
 color? I don't want to ask too much; but these little 
 things make such a difference to ladies who seldom see any- 
 thing of the outer world." 
 
 "But you know, Miss Oddfellow," said Margaret Law- 
 rence, hastily, " Miss Stuart is not wearing colors, and 
 
 "I know, I know," said Miss Oddfellow kindly, "but 
 these Mohammedan ladies do not know Miss Stuart; her 
 wearing a color would convey no disrespect to the memory 
 of her dear one; and if she could bring herself to put on 
 some bright thing such as she was accustomed to deck her- 
 self with for the eyes of - 
 
 Jean Stuart abruptly left the room ; and Margaret Law- 
 rence gazed in consternation at Miss Oddfellow. But that 
 lady devoted herself to narrowing the sock she was knitting 
 as if it were the most natural thing to be interrupted in the 
 middle of a sentence. 
 
 When Jean Stuart came back presently, dressed all in 
 
 174
 
 MAKING MELODY 175 
 
 white, she wore a necklace of gold, curiously wrought ; and 
 depending from it were many jewels of colors that glowed 
 and sparkled in the light. 
 
 "Oh, my dear," cried Miss Oddfellow, jumping to her 
 feet and holding up both hands while her ball of yarn rolled 
 briskly across the floor. 
 
 "Why, my dear," she cried, "I never saw anything so 
 splendid It's as beautiful as as as beautiful almost 
 as you are ! " 
 
 Jean Stuart laughed very softly as she went toward the 
 little old lady. Her eyes were unusually bright, and she 
 held something in each of her hands. 
 
 "Now," she said, "I've done something to please you; 
 and I shall expect an immediate reward. Please try on this 
 cap and this bonnet which I made to give you at Christmas, 
 and then I hadn't the courage !" 
 
 Miss Oddfellow's soft cheek flushed a deeper pink, and 
 her fingers trembled as she took off the bonnet that had 
 outlived the memory of an entire missionary generation. 
 Under it was the cap of black thread lace which she had in- 
 herited from her mother. 
 
 "Here, let me help," cried Jean, removing the cap with 
 deft fingers and putting in its place the daintiest little con- 
 coction of real rosepoint, trimmed with one or two knots 
 of pale pink ribbon. As if by accident, she fluffed out the 
 thin grey hair underneath the cap and then crowned the 
 whole with a black velvet bonnet made from one of her own 
 hats. 
 
 "Hoy a brukhta," l cried Margaret Lawrence, clapping her 
 hands. "Why didn't you show them to me?" she de- 
 manded. "I would have screwed your courage to the stick- 
 ing-point long before this !" 
 
 "But, my dear," fluttered Miss Oddfellow, "they are 
 very handsome, and I thank you heartily." She stood on 
 
 1 May it be blessed.
 
 176 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 tiptoe to salute Jean's cheek. "But really really " 
 She turned back for another look into the mirror "what 
 will become of me and my old circular underneath all this ?" 
 
 "You will be just where you ought to be," cried Jean, 
 "and as for your circular " she darted out of the room 
 again, returning almost instantly with a handsome silk 
 cloak that reached her own knees. This she threw around 
 Miss Oddfellow, who was so tiny that the cloak reached 
 her ankles. Yet it fitted her very well around the shoulders 
 and the neck. 
 
 "Now you look like a Duchess," cried Miss Stuart. 
 "You will wear them, won't you?" 
 
 "Oh, my dear," wailed Miss Oddfellow with the utmost 
 consternation, "I couldn't wear these to the Khanum's. 
 Why, I shouldn't know what I was saying. If I could have 
 seen them for a week or two before I put them on, they 
 might have But no, my dear, I cannot think that any- 
 thing so handsome is suitable for me." Miss Oddfellow 
 smoothed the silk respectfully as she laid the cloak on a 
 chair, having noticed with awe that its lining was brocaded 
 satin, faintly tinged with rose. 
 
 "If she does insist on my accepting it," thought this in- 
 corrigible giver, "that lining will make a handsome basque 
 for one of the younger ladies." 
 
 She took off the velvet bonnet then and hung it carefully 
 on a chair ; but the little white cap she could not bring her- 
 self to relinquish ; and when she found that the old bonnet 
 would crush the new cap she consented to be recrowned. 
 
 "After all, though very rich, it is not at all ostentatious," 
 she announced, "and since it is on my head where I cannot 
 see it, I shall not need to think of it while I am talking. 
 Besides Fatima Khanum told me only the last time I visited 
 her that she wished I would sometimes appear in more 
 novel garments, and she is to be present to-day at Shukepha 
 Khanum's home." So saying, with a final glance toward
 
 MAKING MELODY 177 
 
 the mirror, the good lady donned her circular and over- 
 shoes and led the way to the door. 
 
 Arrived at the house of Hassan Mirza Khan the three 
 ladies knocked at the outer door of the anderoon, which was 
 presently opened by a eunuch. Having received word in 
 the morning that the foreigners would visit them, the Per- 
 sian ladies had ordered them to be admitted at once to the 
 largest room in the anderoon, where the wives of the prince, 
 their grown daughters, their favorite slaves, and one or 
 two of their neighbors were gathered in state to receive the 
 Inglesi. The Americans waited only to remove their 
 rubbers before they followed the eunuch through the intricate 
 passage that led to the heart of the anderoon. 
 
 Jean Stuart, entering the receiving-room behind Miss 
 Oddfellow, who in her role of "girl " followed Mrs. Law- 
 rence, never forgot her first impression of the persons as- 
 sembled there. A farmer's daughter whose social life had 
 been bounded entirely by church activities, could hardly 
 have been more taken aback by the shock of seeing her first 
 ballet. The indoor dress of a high-born Persian lady con- 
 sists of a number of stiff skirts reaching barely to the knees. 
 Gay stockings meet or fail to meet the petticoats, except when 
 trousers extending to the feet are worn underneath. The 
 upper part of the body does not even pretend to be covered 
 by a scanty zouave jacket, heavily embroidered, which is 
 worn over a thin chemise. (The higher the rank of the 
 lady, the more diaphanous is her chemise.) The hair is 
 stained red with henna and braided in countless little braids ; 
 the eyebrows are blackened and extended, if necessary, to 
 meet across the brows. The cheeks are painted, and every 
 attempt is made by artificial means to brighten the large 
 black eyes which centuries of seclusion and ignorance have 
 left so dull so very, very dull. 
 
 But now, at sight of the strange foreigner the dull eyes 
 of the Persians were brightened by their favorite cosmetic
 
 178 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 curiosity. Jean Stuart seemed more akin to them than 
 the other Inglesi because she, too, had evidently dyed her 
 hair with henna. The hair was, to be sure, somewhat curly ; 
 but that defect could be removed by means of bear's grease. 
 When they found that the Khanum could not understand 
 them, they begged Miss Oddfellow to explain that if the 
 stranger had no means of getting bear's grease, they would 
 gladly make her a present, also blackening for her eyebrows, 
 which would make a great difference in her beauty if they 
 met across her nose. They inquired of Miss Oddfellow, 
 first of all, the name of Miss Stuart's husband (for surely 
 so well-ornamented and so good-looking a lady, though la- 
 mentably thin, must be able to get a husband). When told 
 that Miss Stuart was single, they could have wept for pity, 
 but they restrained themselves because they were eager 
 to ask her age. This Miss Oddfellow said she did not know, 
 and was promptly implored to ask the Khanum herself. 
 She explained that among the Inglesi it was not customary 
 to ask a lady's age; so they fell to figuring it out among 
 themselves. A number of them, meanwhile, hovered over 
 Jean, all but fingering her clothes and asking the price of 
 everything they saw. Several of them had laid hold of her 
 cloak which she had taken off, and it never afterwards dis- 
 played its full complement of jet beads ! 
 
 Soon tea was brought in little glasses, and sweetmeats 
 of many kinds were handed around. Several wide-eyed 
 houris stood over Jean to see for themselves that she par- 
 took of everything. Then water-pipes as well as cigarettes 
 were passed, and great disappointment was expressed when 
 Jean declared through Miss Oddfellow that she never 
 smoked. "She uses henna," they said, "and yet she does 
 not smoke." Miss Oddfellow explained that the Khanum's 
 hair was by nature the color which they saw, and that in 
 America ladies did not smoke, which latter statement might 
 have made Jean smile, if she had understood it. And now
 
 MAKING MELODY 179 
 
 Miss Oddfellow announced that she had brought the pic- 
 tures of which they had heard from Fatima Khanum, and 
 that if they pleased, she was ready to show them. They 
 all crowded around her as she drew out a roll of cheap colored 
 prints such as infant class teachers use to illustrate the Sun- 
 day School lesson. The pictures were all of the Life of 
 Christ, and Miss Oddfellow told stories about them for half 
 an hour, Margaret Lawrence answering what questions she 
 could, for the women who sat near her. The questions of 
 the women showed the utmost ignorance not only of 
 Christianity, but of common morality and of the principles 
 and history of their own religion. It seemed impossible 
 that any of them could ever be roused to anything outside 
 of their purely animal existence. Jean watched the stupid 
 faces searchingly ; and she did not see a ray of promise in 
 any one of them. The Moslem doctrine that women have 
 no souls, had evidently worked through all these centuries 
 as a suggestion. Yet they listened and looked at the pictures 
 as long as Miss Oddfellow would show them ; and when 
 she put away the roll, they all protested. But she said she 
 had asked the strange Khanum to sing them a hymn about 
 the birth of Christ. Christians liked to sing such hymns 
 at their feast of Christmas, which they had celebrated yes- 
 terday. So Jean Stuart sang " While Shepherds Watched 
 Their Flocks by Night" ; and then Miss Oddfellow explained 
 the words. 
 
 After this, the chief Khanum begged for something amus- 
 ing ; and Miss Oddfellow hopelessly told Jean what she had 
 said. Whereupon Jean asked for a guitar which she saw 
 hanging upon the wall, and, striking an attitude, gave them 
 "Funiculi Funicula." And they laughed until the tears 
 made furrows down their fat cheeks. 
 
 Then tea was brought in again, and afterwards Miss 
 Oddfellow said she and her friends must be going ; but they 
 would like a visit in return from the Khanum and her ladies,
 
 l8o THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 and if word were sent the day before, there should be no 
 gentlemen in the house to embarrass them. 
 
 Then with many salutations and much talk, the Ameri- 
 cans were allowed to go, bearing with them as many sweet- 
 meats as could be pressed into their hands. And the air 
 of the outer world, though it swept through the dirty 
 street of an Oriental city, seemed good in their nostrils 
 after the hot and scented breathlessness of the anderoon. 
 
 Jean Stuart carried home a thankful heart under her 
 many-colored necklace. She asked Dan Lawrence that very 
 evening if he could find her a Turkish teacher. 
 
 "Perhaps you are catching the fever?" said Dr. Law- 
 rence kindly. 
 
 "Not the missionary fever, if that's what you mean, sir, 
 but I don't care to be in a place where I can't make myself 
 understood." 
 
 "This is not to be your last anderoon visit, I take it?" 
 The old gentleman smiled at her over his glasses. 
 
 "Well, sir, I saw a girl making a kind of embroidery that 
 I should like to learn." 
 
 "Ah," said Dr. Lawrence, subsiding into his Review of 
 Reviews. It was he who told his son later where to find 
 the best Turkish teacher for Jean Stuart. 
 
 But Miss Oddfellow went home feeling that her afternoon 
 had been a failure because the women had liked the song so 
 much better than the hymn. 
 
 "I liked it myself," she thought, as she packed away her 
 new bonnet in the band-box she had brought out from 
 America before the Civil War.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 AN EXTRAORDINARY EVENING 
 
 MR. JOHN PRESCOTT was ushered into the Lawrence sit- 
 ting-room one evening late in January. There was a change 
 in him which every one began to realize even before he spoke. 
 His figure, which was tall and spare, had begun some time 
 ago to stoop a little ; but since the shooting at Akbar more 
 than one of his friends had noticed that he walked as if 
 bowing under a very heavy load. Now he stood erect, and 
 his blue eyes sparkled almost as Dan Lawrence remembered 
 to have seen them when he and Thorley Prescott were boys 
 together. 
 
 "Good evening," said Mr. Prescott genially, shaking 
 hands all around, and adding to Jean Stuart, " I am glad to 
 find you at home." 
 
 Jean smiled sweetly, wondering in her own mind where 
 else the man could expect to find her of an evening. She 
 was not in the habit of making social calls on the Medusa, 
 nor did she find it exhilarating to spend more than one even- 
 ing a week with the single ladies at the Seminary ; and even 
 that dissipation, enlivened by a fourhanded game of Halma, 
 had been known to pall on her. Her greatest pleasure of an 
 evening was a romp with the Lawrence children, and she 
 had come to a pass where she secretly regretted the earliness 
 of their bedtime. It took a great deal of self-control not to 
 swell their lamentations by joining in the plea, "Can't we 
 stay up just a few minutes longer ? " 
 
 She was engaged now, from necessity, in the hateful occu- 
 pation of putting a braid on her walking-skirt, and she felt 
 it rather wonderful that she could smile at all sweetly when 
 
 181
 
 1 82 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 congratulated on being found at home. The next moment 
 she sat up straight in her chair, her work falling to the ground, 
 forgotten with all her other grievances. Mr. Prescott was 
 saying : 
 
 "Well, friends, I have news for you. There is reason to 
 be almost certain that Hadji Husain was killed three weeks 
 ago by his own men." 
 
 "Killed?" echoed Margaret Lawrence. 
 
 "By his own men !" exclaimed Dan. 
 
 "Is it possible?" Dr. Lawrence brought the words out 
 slowly, holding up both his fine old hands, and divided in 
 his mind between a feeling of glad relief and instant sorrow 
 over the death of any sinner unreached by the Word of Life. 
 
 Jean Stuart said nothing. There was too much going 
 on in her mind. 
 
 "How direct is the news ?" Dan asked. 
 
 "Thorley has been hearing it for at least two weeks," 
 answered Mr. Prescott. "At first he gave no credence to 
 the tidings, but within the last week he has spoken directly 
 to one of the Hadji's men. The fellow claimed to have had 
 no part in the murder, but he described it with details that 
 seemed authentic. Standish mentioned the matter when 
 I was up on the mountain yesterday, and on my questioning 
 him, Thorley admitted what he had heard." Jean Stuart's 
 cheeks, which had been exceedingly pale, flamed suddenly 
 very red. She started to speak, but checked herself as 
 Mr. Prescott continued. 
 
 "Of course, I made it my business to go directly to the 
 Governor. Dr. Franklin went with me. We had rather 
 a hard time getting at His Excellency ; but finally, late in 
 the afternoon, he granted an audience. Dr. Franklin and 
 I agree that he knows all about the matter and that it is 
 probably safe to believe the reports of Husain's death." 
 
 Then Jean Stuart snapped out a few of the words that 
 were seething in her.
 
 AN EXTRAORDINARY EVENING 183 
 
 "How unkind of Mr. Thorley Fresco tt to conceal all this 
 from the rest of us." Her voice sounded high and unnat- 
 ural ; and when Mr. Prescott turned to look at her, he saw 
 that her eyes were blazing. 
 
 "Thorley did not mean to be unkind," he made haste to 
 say, rather taken aback. "You know he was never much 
 alarmed over the shooting, and living up at the mountain 
 as he does, he perhaps underestimated the anxiety felt by 
 some of us." 
 
 "It's unreasonable, of course," Jean said angrily, "for 
 a father to be anxious about his son. I am not surprised 
 that Mr. Prescott disregarded a possibility so essentially 
 human. As for my part in the matter, I suppose it never 
 even occurred to him that I had a part." 
 
 "I suggested to him," ventured Mr. Prescott, "that you 
 should have been told at once, and he said," the speaker's 
 hesitation was broken in upon by Jean, 
 
 "Well, what did he say?" 
 
 "He said, pardon me for repeating his somewhat informal 
 language, he said you were a ' dead game sport ' and that he 
 was certain you at least had never bothered your head again 
 about that silly shooting." 
 
 Jean rose to her feet, glittering with rage to the very ends 
 of her hair. "A 'dead game sport,' " she said, choking, "is 
 one who, by carelessness, brings the possibility of death 
 upon another, and then sits back to enjoy the spectacle? 
 I thank Mr. Thorley Prescott sincerely. You will excuse 
 me now? Good evening." 
 
 She swept toward the door, leaving her sewing materials 
 and her walking-skirt with its trailing braid wherever they 
 happened to lie. The Lawrences and Mr. Prescott heard 
 her going up the stairs. Suddenly she stopped and ran 
 down again. The door opened ; and she came in, a very 
 different Jean from the Fury who had just left the room. 
 
 "Mr. Prescott," she said, holding out her hand to that
 
 184 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 gentleman, who stood bewildered and silent, "please let me 
 thank you for understanding me so well." She smiled 
 charmingly at him, without one trace of any emotion more 
 ardent than that which accompanies the acknowledgment 
 of a social favor. "I begin to feel flattered," she added, 
 ''because every one did not realize what a terrible funk I 
 have had ever since I first beheld that greasy green turban 
 on the head of Hadji Husain." She shuddered a little as 
 she said the name. "I believe I have not slept straight 
 through one night since we left the River Aras, and now," 
 she straightened her shoulders and threw back her head, 
 "I suppose you Christians have something that keeps you 
 from feeling as triumphantly glad as I do." 
 
 As she spoke, she distributed a mischievous glance that 
 covered a keen look into every one of the four faces. 
 
 "I hope you will allow your anger against my son to 
 diminish." Mr. Fresco tt was always a man of mild per- 
 sistence. " I assure you " 
 
 Jean Stuart held up her hand. "When did I ever dare 
 to say I was angry at your son ? " she challenged him. " It's 
 my Turkish teacher who will be angry at me, if I don't go 
 right away and study my lesson ; so I must say ' Good even- 
 ing' and another hearty ' Thank you.' " 
 
 Later in the evening, when Dan and his wife were left 
 alone in the sitting-room, Margaret said : 
 
 "I can't help wondering, Dan, whether Miss Stuart would 
 have been quite as angry to-night if Thorley Prescott had 
 been coming to see her lately as often as he did before 
 Christmas." 
 
 "Why, what difference would that have made?" asked 
 Dan. 
 
 "Don't pretend to be stupid," answered his wife. "You 
 know you're not." 
 
 Pan's face creased into a smile, but he turned away to 
 his book. Presently Margaret Lawrence began again,
 
 AN EXTRAORDINARY EVENING 185 
 
 "I do think Mr. Prescott is more to be pitied than any one 
 I know. He's lonelier than ever, now that Thorley stays 
 on the mountain." 
 
 Dan looked up. "Can you call a man lonely when his 
 lot is overflowing with conversation ?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," answered Margaret emphatically. "Let's see," 
 she went on, "he has been married four years. Do you sup- 
 pose it would have happened, if Thorley had been out here 
 to keep him company?" 
 
 Dan laid down his book, took off his gold-bowed glasses, 
 and stretched himself. "Well, no, I suppose it wouldn't. 
 In the old days Thor and his father were all the world to 
 each other. Then Thor went to America and delayed his 
 coming back year after year ; but I think it was that last 
 extra year in Germany that did the business. I never saw 
 a man so disappointed as Mr. Prescott." 
 
 "He had malaria that next summer," Margaret went on. 
 
 "'And broke both his pairs of glasses," Dan added. "She 
 read to him every day all through his vacation." 
 
 "And that settled it," finished Margaret. 
 
 "It's very strange," mused Dan. "I never thought she 
 was so so 
 
 "Objectionable," suggested Margaret. 
 
 "Well, yes," Dan consented meditatively. "I might 
 perhaps have said obnoxious, or even outrageous." 
 
 "Why, Dan!" 
 
 "Why wasn't she that way when she was Miss Little of 
 the Seminary ? She seemed pleasant enough then. I used 
 to think she rather went out of her way to be agreeable." 
 
 Margaret smiled wisely. " I must say," she agreed, " that 
 her stepson doesn't make it easy for her to be amiable." 
 
 "I sometimes think," said Dan, "that it's almost a relief 
 to Mr. Prescott, now that Thor's away. He can go up and 
 see him peaceably on the mountain. Don't you remember 
 how genial he was that day at dinner ? "
 
 1 86 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "He's awfully proud of Thor." 
 
 "Yes, and he has a right to be. That relief work is a 
 magnificent thing. If only it can be kept up, it will do more 
 good than any amount of preaching." 
 
 "Oh, Dan, do you really think so?" 
 
 "Of course I do. What's the use of preaching to men 
 unless you can find them scope for the preaching to act itself 
 out in their lives ; and how can they act as they ought when 
 every moment is a struggle for daily bread, when they're 
 afraid to be industrious and frugal because the results of 
 their work are sure to be snatched from them ? Those men 
 working under our protection are learning lessons which a 
 thousand Sundays of church services could never teach 
 them. And as for Thor," Dan's face broke into its most 
 radiant smile, "I used to be afraid that the boy would never 
 learn how to be contented in this work. In the Treasury 
 he never would have learned, but now, thank God, he's 
 getting his chance. I told you about his Sunday School in 
 the village, didn't I ? Dear me, I have to laugh now, when 
 I remember how ashamed he was to have me hear what the 
 children said to him ! He must have been teaching them 
 ever since those families settled in the deserted houses." 
 
 "I wish he wouldn't be so secret about it," said Margaret. 
 "He ought to let his light shine." 
 
 "Give him time, give him time. It's shining brightly 
 enough on the mountain. Roger Standish told me he con- 
 sidered the Black Saib a perfectly great missionary." 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence wrinkled her forehead. "I'd give any- 
 thing," she said, "if I dared to give Jean Stuart a little ad- 
 vice. Amy Lea has lost seven pounds in the last month, and 
 honestly, Dan, it is not fair. He's ages younger than Miss 
 Stuart, anyway ; and there's Mr. Freyer, too. Perhaps she 
 doesn't mean to be so fascinating, but it really seems some- 
 times as if she did. Do you suppose it would do any good 
 if I spoke?"
 
 AN EXTRAORDINARY EVENING 187 
 
 "I must say," Dan admitted rather sadly, "that I am 
 disappointed in Miss Stuart. I didn't think she was a 
 flirt, yet Roger The door into the hall which had 
 been left unlatched, was suddenly pushed open. Miss 
 Stuart appeared in the doorway, her cheeks very red and 
 her eyes sparkling mischievously. 
 
 "I couldn't help hearing," she said, "from 'disappointed' 
 onward. Excuse me just a minute while I gather up my 
 goods and my chattels and don't look at me ; for I verily 
 believe ' my face is black. ' Go on with the next person, 
 though, if you will. I should love to hear you. Truly I 
 never heard you gossip before, except through Danny!" 
 
 She shook her head demurely at Dan and vanished with 
 the skirt and her workbag heaped up in her arms. 
 
 "I like that girl," declared Dan. "She has a temper, 
 but she knows when not to use it. I have an idea that 
 after this, she'll send Standish about his business."
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 ANOTHER LETTER HOME 
 
 MURAMNA, PERSIA, 
 February 28, 1904. 
 
 MY DEAR AUNT CORDELIA, 
 
 Your last letter with the account of Uncle Philip's new 
 Rembrandt, gave me the best laugh I have had for many 
 a long day. I chuckled over it for half an hour at least and 
 have been snickering since whenever I thought of it. That 
 Uncle Phil, of all people, should have been so outrageously 
 swindled ! I wonder which was more disgusted, you or he ! 
 
 I rode way out to the College to share the joke with Dr. 
 MacColl, she being the only one of my friends here, who 
 would know a Rembrandt from a hole in the wall. But she 
 was so much taken up with a scheme of her own that she 
 paid no attention to my story ; and when I found out what 
 the scheme was and that it could be stretched to include me, 
 I forgot that there was anything in the world as civilized 
 as a fake painting. 
 
 Dr. MacColPs scheme is for a trip to Kurdistan. She has 
 been summoned by a special messenger to go and see the 
 wife of a Kurdish chief, who lives in a mountain village 
 about five days' journey from here. Dr. MacColl is anxious 
 to obey the summons for two reasons. One is that the 
 missionaries may thus find access to these wildest of all wild 
 people, whom it has hitherto been impossible to reach by 
 any form of missionary strategy. The other reason is that 
 
 188
 
 ANOTHER LETTER HOME 189 
 
 the doctor thinks this woman has a well-developed case of 
 an interesting disease which she is anxious to track in the 
 cause of Science. 
 
 Now there are only two men who would care to risk taking 
 the doctor on this wild-goose chase into the Kurdish moun- 
 tains. One is Dan Lawrence, who has to go in that direction 
 on his way to a place in Turkey, where he has mission busi- 
 ness. The other is ThorleyPrescott, who has a special affinity 
 for Kurds, having collogued with them on every possible 
 occasion from his infancy until now, and having gradually 
 collected a knowledge of their dialects, which are like no 
 other language in the world. I verily believe he is more 
 akin to these ferocious tribes than to his own mild, blue-eyed 
 father, who is a parson and a theological professor to the 
 very backbone. It happens that the work on the mountain, 
 which Mr. Prescott, the younger, is superintending, can be 
 left just now in charge of the native foreman. There is 
 little for the men to do up there, until the ground softens so 
 that they can get fresh clay for pipe-making and begin to 
 dig the ditches for laying the waterway to the city. So 
 most of the men have gone to look after their families, and the 
 remnant can be trusted to behave themselves. 
 
 I don't know why I write all this to you, since you have 
 shown no interest in my industrial schemes, except when you 
 warned me to leave them alone for the good of my pocket- 
 book. But I'm coming to that later. Let me finish the 
 subject in hand by informing you that the expedition to 
 Kurdistan is to start day after to-morrow under the guidance 
 of the chief whose wife is ill, that Dr. MacColl is to be 
 escorted by Thorley Prescott, that Dan Lawrence is to 
 travel with them as far as his way lies with theirs ; and that 
 they have unanimously appointed as tent-guest and travel- 
 ling companion, no less a person than your niece ! You 
 don't know how pleased I am with this invitation, nor with 
 how much alacrity I have accepted it. I will now admit
 
 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 to you a truth which I have hitherto attempted (vainly, 
 I fear) to exclude from my epistolary communications. For 
 the last two months, I have been bored to extinction. I pass 
 lightly over the very obvious reasons for this sad state of 
 things. You yourself, in your late letters, have shown a 
 realizing sense of certain very tiresome features in my situa- 
 tion. Of others, you can never have any conception; nor 
 would I wish you to have. The one fact, that you pick out 
 as the worst feature of my hard lot, the only thing that has 
 offered me any satisfaction or amusement, shows that your 
 sympathy for me is only rudimentary. My teaching is all 
 that keeps me from setting off alone across the mountains 
 toward HOME. Imagine yourself set down among a few 
 perfectly virtuous people who have no desire in life except 
 to better the condition of an evil-smelling multitude by 
 means of beliefs which you could never bring yourself to 
 swallow. Imagine yourself compelled often to sit down at 
 table with Nestorian persons of a very doubtful cleanliness 
 and a fixed aversion to eating with anything but their fingers. 
 Imagine yourself restricted as concerns social life to the 
 company of fifteen missionaries, all of whom are so busy 
 saving souls that they have no time to bother with you. 
 Why, Aunt Cordelia, if it wasn't, for the children, I should 
 die! Imagine me considering it a holiday treat of the very 
 most dissipated kind when I am asked to visit an anderoon 
 where I behold a lot of undressed and highly painted fe- 
 males, each of whom asks me the same impertinent questions 
 with exactly the same degree of curiosity in her large dull 
 eyes. Imagine me restricted to riding alone because no one 
 has time to go with me. (Of course I take a servant or two. 
 I should not be safe without.) 
 
 You are indebted for these details hitherto withheld, to 
 the fact that by the time this letter reaches you, my contract 
 will have expired, and I shall be preparing to start HOME. 
 How I shall go, who will attend me, what will be my route
 
 ANOTHER LETTER HOME 19! 
 
 and what my means of conveyance, I know not ; but on 
 April 1 5th, I start. 
 
 To speak seriously, Aunt Cordelia, I have a plan at last. 
 The mail this week brought me a letter from Bertha Court- 
 landt Mullins. She is on her way to join Robert, who is still 
 kicking his heels in the neighborhood of Bushire on the 
 Persian Gulf. Bertha expects to reach Bushire (by way of 
 the Suez Canal) in about two weeks. She says that a tele- 
 gram from me will bring them overland to my rescue as fast 
 as a caravan can travel. Now I call that mighty kind of 
 Bertha and of Robert. Of Mr. Mullins I say nothing, be- 
 cause I fancy that he has nothing to say. 
 
 I expect to be away on this Kurdish trip for about two 
 weeks (the spring vacation makes it possible for me to 
 leave my Duties). After that, if I am still of the same 
 mind, I shall telegraph Bertha to come. It will take them 
 at least a month to get here, and then Good-by, Mu- 
 ramna ! 
 
 All this should answer the questions about the gossip you 
 have evidently been hearing. How on earth gossip can 
 have reached you from this mammon-forsaken place,/ don't 
 know. Let me tell you, without further ado, that there isn't 
 a word of truth in any of it. There is no widower with three 
 children here. Let me inform you outright that since I left 
 school, I have never passed so long a time without an offer 
 of marriage. As for the money I am supposed to have 
 spent for aqueducts and cathedrals, why didn't you just 
 ease your mind by speaking to Mr. Erskine? He would 
 have told you that my expenses since I reached here, have 
 all been covered by the rental of my New York house. Even 
 my Lakewood rent I have not touched, and what I have 
 spent of my regular income has been for the lawsuit and a 
 few other things that have nothing to do with my life here. 
 You are the only one to whom I would make these explana- 
 tions, but you and Uncle Philip have a right to know that
 
 1 92 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 I am not doing anything foolish. Of course, I have given 
 some money to help along the work here because that was 
 the only way I could acknowledge my great obligations to 
 these people who rescued me from a grave predicament, and 
 then forced upon me the hospitality of their own homes. I 
 would not have you think I am ungrateful to them because 
 I have passed so many undiverted hours in their midst. 
 Most of them are charming people, whose acquaintance I 
 should like to cultivate, if they weren't so infernally busy. 
 Do excuse me. I could not help it. 
 
 And now I must bring this long epistle to a close. Let 
 it make up, please, for the letters you are not likely to get 
 next week or the week after. And don't worry about my 
 trip ; for if anything should happen to me (which it can't 
 when I am doubly protected by the Kurdish Chief and the 
 Black Saib), you will have heard about it by cable long be- 
 fore this letter reaches you. 
 
 Don't think for the world that I am ungrateful to the 
 Lawrences or the Franklins or Dr. MacColl. They are the 
 dearest people I ever met. Miss Oddfellow and Miss Trench 
 are dears, too ; but I don't know them so well. And I like 
 Mr. Prescott immensely the older one, I mean with 
 the younger I have not unproved my acquaintance, as I have 
 not seen him to speak to since Christmas. Dan Lawrence 
 brings me his questions about the work at Akbar ; and I let 
 him settle them to suit himself. I'm proud of that work at 
 Akbar. It's been paying expenses for some time, and it has 
 made over a band of ruffians into a community of self-re- 
 specting artisans. You needn't tell me it hasn't paid for 
 itself many times over. 
 
 After all, even I, who am blind, I suppose, to the spiritual 
 side of the work these missionaries are doing, even I can't 
 help seeing that they are doing something, that it makes a 
 change in this wicked place for them just to be here, and that 
 no one can ever be quite the same again who has passed under
 
 ANOTHER LETTER HOME 193 
 
 the influence of their lives. I may not go to church any 
 more when I come home ; but the world will be a different 
 place to me all my life because I have lived for a whole win- 
 ter in the same house with Grandpa Lawrence and Dan and 
 Margaret and Ruth and Danny, and because I've seen them 
 living Christ. You may think that's a strange thing for me 
 to say ; but I've seen it and felt it and known it and won- 
 dered at it. Perhaps that's one big reason why I feel so 
 awfully lonely 
 
 If the mail wasn't just going out, you'd never get this 
 letter as it is. My pen has run on in spite of me, and now 
 I find Mr. L. is waiting. 
 
 In great haste, 
 
 Your ever loving JEAN.
 
 CHAPTER XXVH 
 
 THORLEY SURPRISES HIS FATHER 
 
 THORLEY PRESCOTT scowled as he finished reading the 
 note his father had brought up to him at Akbar. When he 
 had read it twice through, he flung it savagely down on 
 the table. 
 
 "What right had Dr. MacColl," he demanded, "to invite 
 anybody, without consulting me?" 
 
 "The doctor came to me as soon as it developed that 
 Miss Stuart would like to be her companion on this journey. 
 The doctor, of course, would not be averse to going alone, if 
 it were necessary ; but the trip will be much more agreeable 
 if another lady shares it with her. We both felt and Dan 
 agreed that you would have no objection to taking Miss 
 Stuart. Can you tell me why her going is so displeasing to 
 you ? I thought you had come to like her very well." 
 
 ''Like her !" said Thorley angrily. He had been fidget- 
 ing and fuming all through his father's speech, getting ready 
 to interrupt as soon as he could think of the right thing to 
 say. But his father finished speaking before anything 
 suitable had developed; so Thorley snatched desperately 
 at an opinion which he had long since put aside. 
 
 "What has liking to do with it?" he growled. "She's 
 rash and ignorant, and she doesn't know how to travel in 
 Persia." 
 
 "Oh, pshaw," said Mr. Prescott, with unusual impatience. 
 "She knows enough. Very few women would have been as 
 brave as she was on her journey out here. It wasn't her 
 
 194
 
 THORLEY SURPRISES HIS FATHER 195 
 
 fault that things happened as they did. Besides, you and 
 Dan will be in control of this expedition; and a woman 
 doesn't need to know anything, when there are men to look 
 after her." 
 
 Thorley muttered that he didn't care to be responsible 
 for running people into danger. 
 
 "Danger!" cried Mr. Prescott. "Have you reason to 
 suppose that you are liable to attack? Isn't the Hadji 
 dead?" 
 
 Thorley shrugged his shoulders. "Even as to that," he 
 said dryly, "I have never been sure; but there are more 
 rascals in the Kurdish Mountains than Hadji Husain." 
 
 Mr. Prescott regarded his son for some moments with a 
 perplexity that was almost comical. 
 
 At last he said, " My dear son, I have never before known 
 you to err on the side of caution. What is the matter with 
 you, anyway ? " 
 
 Thorley laughed sardonically. "The matter is that I do 
 not wish to go on a camping party with Miss Jean Stuart ; 
 and," he added, planting his feet and squaring his jaw, 
 "nothing that you can say, will make me go." 
 
 Mr. Prescott sat down in the nearest chair and made a 
 helpless gesture with his hands. "What are we to do?" 
 he asked plaintively. "Miss Stuart has been invited to 
 go, and she accepted the invitation with a pleasure that was 
 almost pathetic." 
 
 Thorley 's face changed, and he stood uneasily on one foot. 
 "Does she care about going?" he demanded. 
 
 "She's wild with joy at the prospect. She met me last 
 night with her face all aglow, and begged me to be sure to 
 tell you how delighted she is about the camping trip. She 
 seemed to think you knew about her being of the party 
 and perhaps I was wrong, Thor I hadn't the heart to 
 undeceive her." 
 
 Thorley's expression during these remarks had changed
 
 196 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 again and again : from perplexity to pain, from pain to grati- 
 tude, from gratitude to joy and back again to perplexity. 
 He sat down now and rubbed one hand over his forehead 
 while the other lay clenched on the table. 
 
 "If she wants to go," he said slowly, "of course it must be 
 managed. She must have whatever she wants, if we can 
 give it to her." Then, after a moment of perplexed thought, 
 "I don't see why she should care so much about it." 
 
 "The winter has been pretty dull for her," ventured John 
 Fresco tt. "I fancy she has never before been confined to a 
 regular round of duties. And she is very fond of an out- 
 door life. She told me that she spends the better part of 
 her winters in Lakewood where she can be all the time in 
 the fresh air. There is no form of exercise that she can take 
 here, except an occasional horseback ride." 
 
 Thorley had been looking more and more dejected. "I 
 never thought of that," he said very meekly. "Of course 
 it has been as dull as a funeral procession. It's no wonder 
 she wants to get away ; and she must go on this trip at any 
 cost." 
 
 He sank again into thought. Presently he looked up with 
 a new idea which relieved him, evidently, but did not please 
 him much. 
 
 "Why should 7 be the man to go, Father? You need a 
 change more than I do. The Seminary will be having 
 vacation why not go in my place ? Yes, that will fix 
 every thing." 
 
 Thorley rose and began pacing the room. Mr. Prescott's 
 eyes followed the motions of his son. It was evident that 
 something of importance lay behind Thorley's behavior. 
 Mr. Prescott was neither suspicious nor observant. He had 
 not seen anything particular, as he himself would have 
 phrased it, in Thorley's behavior toward Miss Stuart. He 
 had overheard two servants speculating as to whether his son 
 would not soon declare himself to Miss Stuart's host as "an
 
 THORLEY SURPRISES HIS FATHER 197 
 
 eager one." Then, too, Mrs. Prescott had called his atten- 
 tion to something that happened at the Christmas party. 
 He had been so very bold as to tell her that her imagination 
 was running away with her ; she had retorted that he would 
 see, and he was now very sure that if there had been any- 
 thing since to see, she would long ago have pointed it out 
 to him with details that might have thrown light on the 
 present obscurity. As it was, he had nothing to guide him, 
 except a feeling that he must find some way of helping Thor. 
 It was impossible for him, as head of the Seminary, to go on 
 the Kurdish trip. That, at least, was a settled fact; and 
 he roused himself finally to say so. Thorley argued the 
 matter point by point, and at last accepted the impossi- 
 bility with a grimness that seemed to cover a gleam of sat- 
 isfaction. 
 
 " It may be, however," said Mr. Prescott, feeling his way 
 very slowly, "that Freyer, who is perfectly well now, could 
 be induced to go in your place." 
 
 "That old maid !" cried Thorley. 
 
 "He knows the mountains perfectly, and his acquaintance 
 with Kurdish dialects is almost equal to your own." 
 
 "The Kurds have no use for him. He's nothing more 
 to them than a Nestorian." 
 
 "Besides, it might be doing him a favor. The ladies say 
 he would like to induce Miss Stuart to remain here as his 
 wife." 
 
 "His wife ! Is the man a fool ?" Thorley gave the wall 
 a kick that brought down a bushel or so of plaster. 
 
 "Of course we all are aware that Miss Stuart is not just 
 the person for a missionary's wife, but 
 
 "For God's sake, Father, if you can't talk sense, keep 
 still." Thorley roared the last words in a tone that made 
 his father wince. " I beg your pardon," the Thunderer 
 added, less vehemently. Then he turned away and sat 
 down at the table with his back to his father.
 
 198 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Mr. Prescott went over to him and put his hand on the 
 broad shoulder. "Sammy," he said, "can't you tell your 
 old Dad about it?" 
 
 Thorley look up, startled, into the kind blue eyes. Never 
 since his mother's death had his father called him Sammy. 
 Never since his return to Persia had either of them spoken 
 the old nickname, Dad. Thorley had looked up, ready to 
 resent this return to the old intimacy. But it was not in 
 him, angry and sullen though he was, to withstand the love 
 in his father's face. Down went the proud black head 
 until his face was hidden in his arms that rested on the table. 
 
 "You love her, my son?" said John Prescott, very 
 gently. "A noble love will make a better man of you; and 
 I congratulate you, even if she has said 'No.' ' 
 
 Thorley squirmed under his father's hand, as if every 
 word were a blow. At the last one, he jumped from his 
 chair with his face aflame. 
 
 "Do you suppose I would ask her," he cried, "even if I 
 could?" 
 
 "Why not?" demanded Mr. Prescott, with a quiet em- 
 phasis that was more than a match for the violence of his 
 son. "You have everything good to give her the love 
 of a strong man, and a share in the greatest work on earth. 
 What more can any woman ask ? If that is not enough for 
 her, if that is not more to her than everything else, she is no 
 mate for your mother's son." 
 
 "Oh, Father," said Thorley. 
 
 John Prescott, who was the taller man, looked down into 
 the dark eyes that squarely met his own. He had nothing 
 more to say. 
 
 Thorley turned away very soon and began pacing up and 
 down the room, quickly and with restless strides. His father 
 sat down again helplessly in the chair by the table. At 
 last Thorley came to a standstill at the side of the 
 table.
 
 THORLEY SURPRISES HIS FATHER 199 
 
 "Father," he said abruptly, "I'm going to tell you some- 
 thing. I'm engaged to marry Esther Wilcox." 
 
 Mr. Prescott started from his chair with an expression 
 of extreme astonishment. "Upon my word, Thor," he 
 said lamely, "I had no idea of that." 
 
 Thorley laughed. 
 
 "Don't do that, my boy," said Mr. Prescott. 
 
 "Shall I cry ?" said Thorley. 
 
 Mr. Prescott made a deprecating gesture. "Are you 
 going to tell me anything more?" he asked. 
 
 "Why yes," said Thorley, jauntily. "I may as well. 
 She wrote me only last week that she wished I would tell 
 you of our engagement." 
 
 "You correspond?" said Mr. Prescott weakly. 
 
 "I believe that is considered the thing to do when one is 
 engaged. Circumstances forbid our writing every day, 
 but" 
 
 " But how when why ? " 
 
 "How do we get the letters into the mail-bag ? When do 
 we remove them ? Why are they not seen by all the mem- 
 bers of both Stations ? It is a wonder." 
 
 "Thorley, I beg - 
 
 "Well, I'm explaining as fast as I can." 
 
 " I don't mean " 
 
 " I know you don't ; but for once I want to talk. I want 
 you to know that I send my letters under cover to Mr. Smith, 
 and that hers come to me with the address typewritten on 
 envelopes that have Smith's name printed in the corner. I 
 want you to know that I asked her to marry me when I was 
 taking her to Tabriz in the fall. It seems she hated to 
 leave here, she didn't know the Smiths, with whom she was 
 going to live. She was lonely and homesick and miserable. 
 I could hear her crying nights when Miss Trotter was 
 asleep. (Miss Trotter of Takresht was with us, you re- 
 member.) Well, one day she cried while I was trying to
 
 200 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 cheer her up a bit, and the first thing I knew we were en- 
 gaged." 
 
 Mr. Prescott had been nodding very gravely all through 
 the last part of this account. 
 
 "Do you love her at all, Thorley?" he asked. 
 
 "Why yes, I suppose I did," said Thorley slowly. "I 
 always enjoyed being with her. She was quiet and sensible 
 and and sweet. I like her now, very much, and I'd 
 do anything I could to make her happy, but " he paused 
 and a very different look came into his face, " the sun, moon, 
 and stars don't rise and set for me in her smile." 
 
 " Thorley," said Mr. Prescott decidedly, "you have no 
 business to marry a woman unless you love her supremely. 
 With your temperament, you would both be wretched, and 
 it would be worse for her than for you. You know, my son, 
 that I am not one who regards a promise lightly ; but if I 
 were you, I would write and tell this young woman how things 
 are with you. It would cost her less pain now, than to find 
 later that she does not possess your best love." 
 
 Thorley regarded his father for some time. Once he 
 smiled in a manner that made the older man turn away with 
 a groan. Then he laughed discordantly, "Father," he 
 said, "if you were engaged to a woman and found that you 
 loved another woman, what would you do?" 
 
 "I would try, if possible, to kill the second love, and re- 
 store the first." 
 
 "But if absence and work and will power did not help you, 
 what then?" 
 
 " I would tell the truth to Number One and leave myself 
 in her hands," said his father. "If she were a true woman, 
 that would be enough." 
 
 Thorley laughed again. 
 
 "Don't do that, Thorley," cried John Prescott, "please 
 don't." 
 
 "I won't again," said Thorley. "Well, suppose that you
 
 THORLEY SURPRISES HIS FATHER 2OI 
 
 had left yourself in the hands of Number One, and suppose 
 that Number One had been kind enough to keep her hands 
 upon you, what then?" 
 
 "You have!" cried Mr. Prescott. "She has! How 
 could she?" 
 
 Thorley shrugged his shoulders. "I wrote her," he said 
 grimly, "in. full. In her answer she made no mention of my 
 confession, except to say that she loved me too much to take 
 anything amiss that I did or omitted to do, and that she was 
 sure all would yet turn out well for both of us, if we stood by 
 our old trust in each other. That's all she has ever 
 said." 
 
 John Prescott bowed his head over the table and was silent 
 a long time. "Sammy," he said at last, "let me write and 
 tell her she must release you." 
 
 "You, Father!" said Thorley. The father, looking up 
 swiftly, at the changed voice, saw that his son was smiling 
 steadily and lovingly at him. "Who taught me to keep my 
 promises, Dad ? " said the young man softly. 
 
 The tears came into John Prescott's eyes, and into his 
 mind came many images a little, black-haired, stubborn 
 boy was one of them, and a lady with dark ringlets and laugh- 
 ing eyes, and a man, blue-eyed and brown-haired, straight as 
 an arrow and sure as an archer that the target he aimed at 
 was the only right one. Yes, he, John Prescott, had taught 
 that little black-haired boy to keep his promises ; and the 
 lady with ringlets had helped him. John Prescott had been 
 effectually silenced. But there was one thing more that he 
 must ask his son before he went his way down the mountain, 
 and presently he summoned his courage to ask it. 
 
 "Thor," he said, "what are you going to do about the 
 trip?" 
 
 "Go on it, of course," said Thorley, promptly, "and you 
 will say nothing to any one about my hesitation, not to any 
 one, Father, please."
 
 202 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Mr. Prescott looked dreadfully hurt; but he answered 
 with great dignity, "I should not think of mentioning it, 
 my son." 
 
 Thorley went ruthlessly on. "If Mrs. Prescott 
 
 John Prescott held up his hand. " That will do, Thorley, ' ' 
 he said, and Thorley became in an instant the little black- 
 haired boy, stubborn, but amenable to discipline. It was 
 many a long day since he had heard such a tone in his father's 
 voice. 
 
 With new resolve, Mr. Prescott went on. "Would it not 
 be safer to let Miss Stuart know of your engagement, since 
 she is to be so intimately associated with you ?" 
 
 "Why safer ? I hope I can be trusted to hold my tongue 
 without her help." 
 
 "But" 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 "Words are not always needed to call out an answer from 
 the heart of a woman." 
 
 "Wkitt" 
 
 "She might find herself in danger " 
 
 "Stop, Father," said Thorley, very quietly, "there is no 
 danger for Jean Stuart in my love. She, thank God, is 
 peerless. How could I hope to win her, even if I worked 
 with all my might ? " 
 
 "Stranger things have happened, Thor," said Mr. Pres- 
 cott with a smile. "She might do worse than to love you, 
 my boy." 
 
 "Don't talk like that," cried Thorley. "Come, we've 
 said enough. Let's go down to the factory." 
 
 But Mr. Prescott sent for his horse and went home. Of 
 his thoughts as he rode away, many were sad. He shook 
 his head often as he pondered over Thorley's future ; but 
 around his mouth there lingered a little smile of great hap- 
 piness, when he remembered that once more, his Marty's 
 little Sammy had called him "Dad."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 POLITENESS DEFERRED 
 
 Miss STUART was on her knees packing her saddle-bags for 
 the journey, Mrs. Lawrence helping her with muscle and 
 advice. At the critical moment, when a pair of shoes was 
 threatening to crowd out a looking-glass and a bottle of 
 brandy, there was a knock at the door, and Ruth came quietly 
 in. 
 
 "I'm sorry to disturve you," she said quaintly, "but Mr. 
 Freyer is downstairs, and he says he must see Miss Stuart 
 right off on some very important penvate business." Her 
 eyes dilated when she came to the word private, for Ruth 
 loved a secret even more than most children. 
 
 Miss Stuart looked up, rather annoyed. "Why couldn't 
 he have come at some other time?" she exclaimed. "I 
 suppose he wants to talk about Mary's music, and it'll take 
 him the rest of the afternoon. Go down, Ruthie, please, 
 and tell him I'm dreadfully busy packing, and I'm not fit to 
 be seen, and ask him if he can't come back in an hour." 
 
 "But Miss Stuart, he said it was important, and he seems 
 in a nawf ul hurry. / think you look very nice, and I'll help 
 Mamma finish packing." 
 
 Miss Stuart pulled the sides of the saddle-bag together 
 with an ostentatious groan and looked up under her eye- 
 lashes to see what the Lawrences thought of her misbehavior. 
 She jerked the strap through the buckle while Margaret 
 pushed on the bulging contents of the saddle-bag. When 
 the tongue had skipped into its hole, Jean rose very slowly 
 
 203
 
 204 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 from her knees, dusted off her hands and the front of her 
 skirt, and looked into the glass to see what had become of 
 her hair. 
 
 "Ruth," she said, "you may tell Mr. Freyer with my 
 compliments, that if he has time to wait, I'll be down pres- 
 ently." 
 
 "Yes, I will," said Ruth, "and then shall I come back and 
 help you ? " 
 
 Miss Stuart went over to her desk and began in a leisurely 
 way to fold up important-looking documents that lay scat- 
 tered about. "Well, what do you think, my lamb?" she 
 said, half shutting her eyes as she surveyed what she could 
 of the not immaculate garments she was wearing. "Is it 
 worth while to change my clothes, or shall I go down just as 
 I am, after having washed my hands, perhaps, as a sop to 
 Cerberus." 
 
 "I don't know who that is," said Ruth, very solemnly, 
 "but I should think Mr. Freyer might be s'prised to see you 
 with your hands quite so dirty ; and now I look at it, there's 
 a good deal of dust on your skirt still, but I think I could 
 brush it off for you." 
 
 Jean gave her skirt a kick and squinted under her arm at 
 the back of it. "It is shocking !" she said. "I suppose I 
 may as well change into something decent. Why couldn't 
 the man choose some other time?" 
 
 "I'll go down and entertain him," said Mrs. Lawrence, 
 "and then you come when you are ready. Let Ruth help 
 you all she can." 
 
 "Thank you," said Jean, "don't entertain him too well, 
 or he'll forget what he has to tell me." 
 
 "No danger of that, I wager," Mrs. Lawrence threw back 
 a saucy glance at her guest as she left the room. 
 
 "Now I wonder what your mother means by that ?" said 
 Miss Stuart, stepping out of the dusty skirt and giving it a 
 little kick as she glanced around the room littered with things
 
 POLITENESS DEFERRED 
 
 she had decided not to take. There were times when Jean 
 Stuart heartily disliked being her own lady's maid, and this 
 was one of them. 
 
 "Whatever Mamma says," answered Ruth, picking up 
 the skirt and laying it carefully across a chair, "I'm always 
 sure she means something polite. I sometimes think," she 
 added, surveying Miss Stuart with her head on one side, 
 "that Mamma is a little politer even than you." 
 
 Miss Stuart threw back her head with a laugh so merry 
 that it brought Danny running to knock at her door. 
 
 "I heard you laugh," he said, when admitted, "and I 
 thought I'd come and see what the fun was. What you 
 doing, Ruth, with Miss Stuart's things?" 
 
 "Helping her get ready," said Ruth, proudly. "Mr. 
 Freyer is waiting downstairs to see her on very important 
 perc'vate business." 
 
 "Huh," said Danny decidedly. "I wouldn't fix up much 
 for him. He's always having secrets ; and I can't see that 
 they ever amount to much." 
 
 Miss Stuart stopped scrubbing her hands to look at the 
 child. "What makes you say that, Danny ?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh," said Danny, with great impatience, "he's always 
 coming here to talk with Papa, and he's always very secret 
 about it and has to come up to Papa's study, and once when 
 he had been here a long time and Papa was very busy, too 
 after he had gone away, Papa said " Danny paused 
 to lick his lips with the keenest relish of what he was about 
 to impart ; but the virtue of his sister had come to the fore, 
 and she interrupted him relentlessly. 
 
 "Danny," she said, "you know Mamma doesn't like us 
 to tell what people say. You ought to stop." 
 
 "It's all right to do it when a grown-up asks you ques- 
 tions," said Danny. " They all do it even Mamma when 
 she talks in a whisper to Papa and doesn't know we can hear 
 her."
 
 206 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 " We-ell, it is all right to do to your husband," said Ruth. 
 "Mamma told me so once; but she doesn't allow even 
 grown-ups to do it to her, hardly at all; because once I 
 heard Uncle Thorley Prescott begin to tell something that 
 Mrs. Whiting had said. It was when Mrs. Whiting had 
 scolded Miss Wilcox for shaking Sammy when Sammy had 
 made her spill red ink on her new dress that just came from 
 America, and Uncle Thor talked a good deal about it one 
 evening 
 
 "He hardly ever talks much," interrupted Danny. 
 
 "Well, that evening he talked a lot," said Ruth, with 
 emphasis, "and finely, Mamma told him not to cast aspara- 
 gus that meant to stop, I guess ; anyway he did stop just 
 when he was going to tell what Mrs. Whiting said to Miss 
 Wilcox. And 7 was sorry," Ruth finished, with a frank 
 regret that nearly convulsed Jean. 
 
 "What time of year was it?" inquired Danny, judicially. 
 
 "I don't remember. Why, Danny? Oh, yes I do. 
 There was snow, because Uncle Thor had been taking Miss 
 Wilcox in a sleigh, and there was plenty of room but they 
 wouldn't let us go ; and you cried. Don't you remember, 
 Danny?" 
 
 "There was snow, was there ?" said Danny triumphantly, 
 he being so intent on his own point that he would not be 
 allured, even into this enticing side-track of ancient griev- 
 ance. "Then if there was snow, there couldn't be aspara- 
 gus, because that only grows in summer." 
 
 "Danny Lawrence, that's what Mamma said to him, and 
 I guess if you can't believe what Mamma says 
 
 Ruth stopped in horror, as if that were a point beyond 
 which she had no words to take her. 
 
 "Of course I believe her," said Danny complacently, 
 "but even Mamma makes mistakes sometimes. Don't 
 you remember last week about my cannon that she said 
 was not in her closet and it was? You have to look for
 
 POLITENESS DEFERRED 207 
 
 things yourself sometimes, even when you are small, and I 
 s'pose you have to do the same in later life. Isn't that so, 
 Miss Stuart?" 
 
 None of them had accomplished any work for some time, 
 the discussion having absorbed them all; but now Miss 
 Stuart thought best to call back the general attention from 
 philosophy to manual labor. 
 
 "It's always good to keep your eyes open, Danny," she 
 replied. ''Suppose you see if you can fish out the mate to 
 this side-comb from under the bureau." 
 
 "Not always, Miss Stuart," said Danny mischievously, 
 11 you don't think so always." 
 
 "Well, not at bedtime," said Miss Stuart, carelessly, 
 "here, take this umbrella and poke; but don't break the 
 comb." 
 
 Danny did as he was told ; but after a cursory and ut- 
 terly fruitless brandishrhg of the umbrella, he bobbed up 
 again very red in the face, and far more eager in his pursuit 
 of ideas than of side-combs. 
 
 "Miss Stuart," he persisted, "do you mean that it's al- 
 ways good to keep your eyes open all through the day ?" 
 
 "Why, certainly, Danny. Why do you ask me that so 
 many times ? " 
 
 Danny's face radiated triumph. "Then how about 
 Sammy Whiting," he demanded, "when we're saying the 
 Lord's Prayer in school?" 
 
 Miss Stuart threw back her head in a laugh that would 
 have brought Danny running from the ends of the earth. 
 He threw back his head and laughed too ; and there was in 
 both their voices the same ring of invincible merriment. 
 Then she sat down and opened her arms to him and he ran 
 into them, and they laughed together until the tears ran 
 down both their faces. Ruth laughed too ; but in a puz- 
 zled way that showed she was laughing only because they 
 did. At last Miss Stuart loosened her hold on Danny and
 
 208 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 began to wipe her eyes. He groped for his handkerchief 
 but stopped groping suddenly to hug her and to say in his 
 most affectionate tones : 
 
 "Oh, Miss Stuart, I do love you ! You are funny your- 
 self and you laugh at my fun. I wish you were my aunt or 
 at least my mother-in-law ! " 
 
 This sent Miss Stuart off again, while Ruth said gravely, 
 "Why, Danny, you have to be married to have a mother- 
 in-law!" 
 
 "Do you?" said Danny. "Well, I don't want to wait 
 until then. Why can't you be our aunt now ? Aunt Kate 
 is, and so is Uncle Thorley." 
 
 Ruth set up a shout at this; and they all laughed 
 together until Mrs. Lawrence appeared at the door, inquiring 
 with a twinkle in her eyes whether the children were not 
 hindering Miss Stuart. 
 
 Jean rose, wiped her eyes again, and meekly hooked up 
 her collar. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Lawrence," she said, making for the stairs with- 
 out even stopping to look in the glass, "if only I could be as 
 polite as you are !"
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 MISS STUART DISPOSES 
 
 WHEN at last Jean Stuart entered the sitting-room, Mr. 
 Freyer was standing over by the piano nervously fingering 
 some music that stood on the rack. This confirmed Jean 
 in her idea that he had come to talk about Mary's music ; 
 and as soon as she had greeted him, she began to tell him 
 how much Mary was improving in her playing and what 
 a good voice she was likely to have, if she took care not to 
 strain it now. 
 
 To her surprise, Mr. Freyer's reply was rather impatient. 
 "Yes, yes," he said, "that is all very gratifying," at this 
 point he made a stiff bow, "and many thanks are due for 
 your helpful interest in Mary, but I had come here with 
 my mind made up to talk with you very seriously on an- 
 other subject. May I ask for a few moments of your best 
 attention?" 
 
 "Why, yes," said Jean, considerably mystified by his be- 
 havior. It had some of the signs preliminary to a proposal 
 of marriage ; but Mr. Freyer had only a day or two before 
 this, honored Jean through the better part of an evening, 
 with a disquisition on the qualities essential to a missionary's 
 wife; and having found herself deficient in every one of 
 these qualities, with the possible exception of a cheerful 
 temper, she could not now believe that he had so far lost 
 sight of his ideals as to have chosen her for his wife. 
 
 So she looked at him with wide-open gray eyes from which 
 the laughter had not entirely disappeared, and settled her- 
 self with some deliberation in the chair he placed for her. 
 p 209
 
 2IO THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Mr. Freyer, not forgetful of his coat tails, even at this 
 evidently crucial moment, seated himself opposite Jean, 
 and with great solemnity cleared his throat. 
 
 "My dear young lady," he said in his best pulpit voice, 
 and as he said it, he leaned forward and possessed himself 
 reverently but firmly of Jean's hand. 
 
 "Good heavens!" thought Miss Stuart, "the man is 
 going to propose, and what shall I do ? " 
 
 Now Miss Stuart of New York, Lakewood, and Bar Har- 
 bor had dealt in the course of the last decade with more 
 than one proposal of marriage. She was not the woman to 
 lead a man on deliberately to his undoing ; nor was she the 
 one to deny herself the incense of a certain amount of homage 
 when she was reasonably sure that the paying of it would 
 not permanently injure the worshipper. To her, the pre- 
 liminaries to marriage had come to seem like a game. You 
 made your way peacefully toward your own goal until some- 
 body came and gave the ball a whack in the other direction. 
 You got the ball back if you could. If not, you had to let 
 your enemy keep it and win the game ; but it was not your 
 fault if, while you were winning, the adversary fell off his 
 horse and smashed a bone or two. Jean Stuart remembered 
 a number of riders who had come to grief and croppers in 
 her field. The accident had never been fatal nor even dis- 
 figuring to any one of them ; and in a little more than nine 
 cases out of ten, she had very soon enjoyed the ironic privi- 
 lege of seeing those same riders busily at play again in some 
 one's else field ! 
 
 Now Jean had no reason to think that the rigor of the 
 game would be more injurious to Mr. Freyer than it had 
 been in the past to her other opponents. And yet it gave 
 her a very unpleasant feeling when she saw his mallet swing- 
 ing toward her ball. Perhaps she was only out of training. 
 Perhaps her ideas of sport had changed a little in the past 
 few months. At any rate she exerted herself to do some
 
 MISS STUART DISPOSES 211 
 
 very rapid thinking while his hand reached out to take 
 hers. 
 
 "My dear young lady," he repeated and cleared his 
 throat again. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Freyer, I know what you have come for, and 
 I don't intend that you shall say a word about it to-day. 
 I'm not at all in the mood." 
 
 Mr. Fjeyer's mouth, which had been open to speak, stayed 
 open until Jean had finished. Then it closed while Mr. 
 Freyer reflected for a moment. 
 
 "But, my dear young lady," he began again, and Jean, 
 having taken advantage of his amazement to draw away 
 her hand, saw that it would be safe now to let him go on for 
 a sentence or two. 
 
 "How is it possible," he continued, "for you to know what 
 I have to say ? I made up my mind last night only after 
 much prayer that I would speak conditionally to you. I 
 have not given you that warning, I know, to which the deli- 
 cate sensibilities of a lady are entitled ; but you were going 
 away, and I wished before your departure to lodge in your 
 mind a thought which might bear fruit against your return." 
 
 "Yes, I know, Mr. Freyer," said Jean, "your wishes for 
 my welfare are exceedingly kind. Let me say once for all 
 that I thank you sincerely." 
 
 Mr. Freyer deprecatingly held up both hands. To have 
 the words taken out of his mouth in this way was almost 
 more than the little man could bear. He felt that Miss 
 Stuart was not showing quite the delicacy of mind for which 
 he had given her credit ; and he began to be really irritated 
 when she went on after her sincere thanks without giving 
 him a chance to put in a word. 
 
 "But," Jean Stuart continued, and as she said the words 
 she could not help feeling that they were a master-stroke, 
 "but I am sure that my mind is not the soil in which your 
 religious counsels are most likely to flourish."
 
 212 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "That may be," said Mr. Freyer, seriously, "that may 
 be unfortunately only too true, but," he paused long enough 
 to possess himself again of her hand, and she, very much 
 bewildered at having apparently helped rather than hin- 
 dered his cause, let it lie for a moment in his, "but I am 
 willing to take the risk that the work of grace which has in- 
 clined you to help our Cause by material agencies, will at 
 last so work in your heart that you will be fitted for the 
 spiritual labors and joys of a missionary's 
 
 Jean Stuart snatched her hand away and cut off his con- 
 clusion so promptly that she never knew whether he intended 
 to say "life" or "wife." 
 
 "Mr. Freyer," she exclaimed impatiently, "excuse my 
 interrupting you, but I cannot tell you too promptly or too 
 conclusively that I have no desire to fit myself for anything 
 that begins or ends with the word missionary. What I 
 have done for the people here has been done entirely for 
 the purpose of relieving and pleasing myself. When I go 
 away, I shall take pains to forget the misery of Moham- 
 medans, Nestorians, and Kurds as fast as ever I can. And 
 before so very long I shall be going away." 
 
 "I had hoped," said Mr. Freyer, doubtfully. 
 
 "Yes," said Jean, "I know that more than one of you 
 had hoped that I would come around to your way of think- 
 ing. To you it is the only way. I am of a different mind. 
 I have my own opinions, which I change only for reasons 
 that seem to me valid. But I have also a great respect 
 for the opinions of others. I have nothing whatever to say 
 against what you believe. I have never engaged with any 
 of you in controversy or argument. May I ask that you 
 will extend to me the same courtesy?" 
 
 "But, Miss Stuart," protested Mr. Freyer, completely 
 thrown off his train of thought, "we consider it our duty as 
 Christians to influence the religious life of those about us." 
 
 "The religious life" said Jean, more quietly, "ah, that is
 
 MISS STUART DISPOSES 213 
 
 a different matter, is it not ? Some of you are bringing in- 
 fluence to bear on lives all the time by the way you live your 
 own lives ; and in the end I suppose that changed lives make 
 changed opinions ; but let me warn you again, please, in all 
 courtesy, that neither my life nor my opinions will ever be 
 changed by argument." 
 
 "But I didn't come here to argue," said Mr. Freyer feebly. 
 "I came because because 
 
 " Because you wished to give me a pleasant thought to 
 carry away on my journey," said Jean, very sweetly, hold- 
 ing out her hand to him, "and I shall think very happily, 
 if you will allow me, that I have left behind me a good friend 
 in Mr. Freyer ; and now I am so glad to have this chance 
 of talking with you about Mary's music." She withdrew 
 her hand again and entered into an eminently practical 
 discussion of piano method and voice culture, wherein Mr. 
 Freyer found himself taking part apparently without voli- 
 tion. When at last he bethought himself that it was high 
 time for him to be riding back to the College, he tried to 
 infuse into his farewell some of the intention with which 
 his call had begun. But some power not his own, mysteri- 
 ously prevented his appearing in relation to Miss Stuart 
 like anything more interesting than an elderly friend and 
 the father of a promising pupil. 
 
 "However," thought Mr. Freyer, as he betook himself 
 to the College, "it is perhaps fortunate that I did not com- 
 mit myself even to a conditional proposition ; for it is evi- 
 dent from all she said that she is not yet in a frame of mind 
 to embrace the essential doctrines. And for a missionary's 
 wife - Mr. Freyer shook his head sadly. Then there 
 returned to his mind the picture of Jean holding out her 
 hand and calling him friend ; and the heart of the little man 
 gave a thump which his conscience made haste to rebuke. 
 
 "If she will not believe," said Conscience to Heart, "she is 
 the enemy to your soul ; and you have no right to love her."
 
 214 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 But Heart, even in the little preacher, got the last word. 
 
 "Even so," said Heart, valiantly, "we are commanded to 
 love our enemies." 
 
 And then perhaps it was Mind that added sotto wee, 
 "But really, it is very strange, that with all my efforts, I 
 could not seem to tell her so."
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 AMONG THE PROPHETS 
 
 BY four o'clock on the morning of Wednesday, March 
 2nd, the Lawrence household was astir ; and it was not yet 
 six o'clock when a party on horseback left the gate of the 
 city Compound. Miss Stuart was attended by her own 
 hostler; Dan Lawrence had with him his faithful servant, 
 Hilgar ; and Mr. John Prescott was riding out with them 
 to meet his son and "pour him on the road" as the Persian 
 idiom has it. Roger Standish would have been glad to go 
 as far as Mr. Prescott ; but when in the course of his fare- 
 well call he mentioned this desire to Miss Stuart, the dis- 
 couragement he received was both decided and unflatter- 
 ing. The boy went to bed thanking his stars that there 
 was at least one girl in the Mission whose hair was not red ; 
 and he woke up in the morning just long enough to turn 
 over in his warm bed with a feeling of comfortable resent- 
 ment against the cavalcade which he heard riding out of 
 the Compound. 
 
 They stopped at the College to pick up Dr. MacColl and 
 her servant. Thorley Prescott, who met them on the road 
 to the river, brought up the last reinforcements in the per- 
 sons of the Kurdish Chief and two younger Kurds, one of 
 whom was to act as cook and the other as commissary. 
 Three mules, carrying tents, bedding, cooking utensils, 
 and food, were driven along by the servants. As Miss 
 Stuart heard the cries of the mule-drivers and looked back 
 at the caravan, she thought it rather an important escort. 
 For, owing to the wildness of the country into which they 
 
 215
 
 2l6 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 were going, it had been thought best that the party should 
 be large enough to command respect. 
 
 Jean Stuart was glad of something to attract her outward 
 attention; for, to her great disgust, she found herself not 
 in possession of her usual inner poise. In fact, it had made 
 her very angry that her heart began beating ever so much 
 faster the minute she caught sight of Thorley Prescott rid- 
 ing toward her on the Fiend. And when he had come up 
 to shake hands with her, she had pretended that Lord 
 Chesterton would not stand still long enough. 
 
 "Chesty as ever, isn't he ?" said Thorley, eying the horse 
 and his rider with an approbation which he did not try to 
 hide. He had made up his mind that since he had been 
 obliged to take this journey, he would enjoy it to the full, 
 not allowing his pleasure to be marred by thoughts of the 
 future. There could be no evil results, he had concluded, 
 except a little additional suffering which he was strong 
 enough, surely, to bear without wincing. And now his 
 heart beat high at the sight of Jean Stuart and at the knowl- 
 edge that she would be near him day and night for two long, 
 glorious weeks. She, however, made an excuse to send him 
 away for a moment ; and when he came back, she was rid- 
 ing between Dan Lawrence and Dr. MacColl. Her anger 
 at herself had abated as soon as she heard the perfectly nat- 
 ural tone in which she answered Thorley's greeting. Per- 
 haps, also, the homage of his eyes had helped to appease her 
 mortification. But she had no intention of letting him 
 think that the place at her right hand was one to be easily 
 secured. She wondered for an instant whether it could be 
 disappointment that she felt when he fell behind very cheer- 
 fully to ride with his father ; and she made haste to conclude 
 that it could not be anything so foolish. 
 
 Dan Lawrence was speaking. "I suppose the country 
 through which we are to pass, looks about as it did in the 
 days of Xenophon, and I doubt whether its inhabitants have
 
 AMONG THE PROPHETS 217 
 
 progressed very much since then. Some few of them cling 
 to a form of nominal Christianity, others think they are 
 Moslems; but there are a good many of the old fire- wor- 
 shippers and plenty of tribes that can't be called anything 
 but Pagans. As for civilization, they live exactly as their 
 forefathers did in the days I was going to say of Noah ! 
 I can't see that they have made any changes in their ways 
 of dressing, eating, tenting, tilling the soil, or fighting, except 
 that now and then one of the chiefs has gotten hold of an 
 old blunderbuss or flintlock. That man is a king, I assure 
 you." 
 
 "It's hard to believe," said Jean Stuart, with a great show 
 of interest, "that any part of the world can be so backward. 
 Don't you suppose that some day there will be a great and 
 sudden change ? " 
 
 "In Persia, yes," said Dan, "but not very readily in the 
 minds of these mountain races. Some day before so very 
 many years have passed, Persia will come back into history. 
 For many years now, she has been tacitly ignored while 
 Russia has been working quietly to gain an overwhelming 
 interest, and England has seen to it just as quietly that the 
 overland route to India is not endangered. Germany, too, 
 has her eye on building railroads ; and little Belgium has 
 more than one finger in the pie by means of the telegraph 
 system which she controls. Some day it will be worth while 
 for one or more of these nations to see that Persia wakes 
 up; and some day the Persians themselves will wake up 
 and want for themselves and their children the things that 
 other nations have." 
 
 "We're helping them toward that day," said Dr. MacColl 
 energetically, "just as fast as we can." She prodded her 
 horse as if he were a Persian whom she was forcing into the 
 van of progress. 
 
 "You !" said Jean Stuart. "I didn't know that you had 
 any political aspirations."
 
 2l8 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Not for ourselves," said Dan, quickly. "Don't mistake 
 us in this. Only that when the time comes for the great 
 change, we hope there will have been a leaven working 
 among the people, giving some of them, at any rate, sane 
 ideas of political freedom and its responsibilities, industrial 
 freedom and its opportunities, freedom of the press and edu- 
 cation; and I do believe," he added, "that a few, even of 
 the men in power, will have some notion of the motives that 
 make a man work for others rather than for himself." 
 
 "Your hopes are high," remarked Jean. 
 
 "Surely," answered Dan. "Could we have lived so 
 happily in Persia all these years without hope ? " 
 
 They stopped for lunch near a village whose inhabitants 
 promptly gathered themselves in an eager and inconvenient 
 ring around the foreigners. Word got about that one of 
 the party was a Hakim ; whereupon all sore eyes, mutilated 
 limbs and other infirmities capable of display were immedi- 
 ately presented to public view. The sight of them made 
 Jean Stuart sick. She turned away in disgust and walked 
 to a little distance, while the doctor and Dan Lawrence got 
 out their medicine cases and began to grapple as well as they 
 could with the problems before them. Mr. John Prescott 
 stayed a little while to help them ; but it was necessary for 
 him to leave soon in order to reach the city before nightfall. 
 
 After Thorley had seen his father started, he went over 
 to Jean. She, wrapped in a fur-lined cloak, was sitting 
 huddled up on a heap of saddle-bags. Her hostler was try- 
 ing to keep the village children at a respectful distance; 
 and she, in limited, but forcible Turkish, was urging him 
 to his work. Jean was rather tired and rather cold and, 
 it must be admitted, very cross. 
 
 "I thought we were going to escape Missions," she re- 
 marked, as Thorley came up, "for two entire weeks; and 
 here," she pointed over her shoulder toward the outdoor 
 dispensary, "we are at 'em again worse than ever."
 
 AMONG THE PROPHETS 219 
 
 "We?" said Thorley, seating himself, cross-legged on 
 the ground at her feet. He looked quizzically at Jean and 
 then at her hostler, who was laying about him rather vigor- 
 ously with the flat of a frying-pan. "We'll have Dan Law- 
 rence down on us in a minute, if we let that chap lamm those 
 children." 
 
 In Turkish he commanded the hostler to stop, and in a 
 mixture of languages he persuaded the children to sit down 
 where they were, so that he might tell them a story. 
 
 "If you'll let me," he said to Jean, while the children were 
 struggling for a place in the front rank, "I'll talk to them, 
 and then they'll be glad enough to go away." 
 
 The story was told in Syriac; and the children listened 
 with their mouths and eyes wide open. Thorley illustrated 
 his remarks by means of certain treasures which he took 
 from his pockets. When he had finished speaking, the 
 treasures were awarded to the best listeners; after which 
 he sent the children away, and they retreated to long-range 
 staring distance. 
 
 "I didn't know you could do that sort of thing," said 
 Jean. "I suppose you told them a Bible story." 
 
 Thorley threw his head back and treated himself to a good 
 long look at her. " I believe you're cross," he remarked with 
 great relish. "It's the first time I've ever seen you so. 
 Tell me, has the winter played the mischief with your 
 temper ? " 
 
 "You certainly have not helped to make it less dull for 
 me." Jean could have bitten her tongue out the moment 
 the words were said. 
 
 Thorley wagged his head in an abandon of mischievous 
 glee. "I bet it's been dull," he assented. 
 
 "Aren't you sorry?" asked Jean, recovering a fragment 
 of her temper. 
 
 "Awfully!" declared Thorley. "But I can't see that 
 the dullness has impaired your health or " He was look-
 
 220 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 ing at her very eloquently all the time, but here he 
 stopped. 
 
 "Or what?" she demanded. 
 
 "Look here," he said suddenly, "you're cold. Get on 
 your horse, and we'll take a gallop." He put out his hand 
 to help her up, and noticed with compunction that she was 
 almost too stiff to stand. 
 
 "Jean," cried Dr. MacColl, "come over here and help 
 me a minute." 
 
 "Please go and find out what she wants," said Jean to 
 Thorley. "I can't look at those sick people." 
 
 "She wants you to hold a girl's head while she attends to 
 an abscess under her eye." 
 
 "Can't Mr. Lawrence " began Jean. 
 
 "The girl is a Moslem and they won't let him come near 
 her." 
 
 "Oh" 
 
 "Come on. It's all right. I told Dr. MacColl you 
 were going to ride with me; and she thinks it's all my 
 fault." 
 
 "Will it help the girl much?" 
 
 "Why, yes. Doctor thinks it may save the eye, if she 
 can make them understand about keeping the bandage wet 
 with antiseptic." 
 
 "And she wants me to hold the girl ?" 
 
 "Yes; but I guess she'll manage without you. The 
 mother looks as if she had a little sense." 
 
 Jean Stuart walked quickly over to Dr. MacColl. "Here 
 I am, Doctor," she said. "Where do you want me?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, Jean," said the doctor, swiftly bandaging a sore 
 that had been running for over a year, "that's the girl over 
 there in the green headdress. Get her to lie down on that 
 rubber blanket behind the tent-cloth and see that her face 
 is moderately clean near the abscess but don't touch 
 that. Dan will give you a damp cloth."
 
 AMONG THE PROPHETS 221 
 
 "Heaven help me !" thought Jean ; and she went meekly 
 to work. 
 
 "There !" exclaimed the doctor half an hour later, "that's 
 the last case we can possibly do, if we are to reach Bagharan 
 before dark. Well, I believe we've cleaned up everything we 
 could really help in one treatment. The man with cataract 
 and the woman with hip disease must go to the hospital ; 
 and I think their friends will take them. It's been a pretty 
 good job for a snap shot. And you, Jean Stuart, are a 
 very capable assistant. I shall have use for you again." 
 
 "Not if I can help it," muttered Jean, hunting desperately 
 for a place where she might be alone. She was missing when 
 the rest of the party were ready to mount ; and though she 
 turned up in answer to vigorous shouting, her face was still 
 very white. Dan Lawrence gave her a shrewd look as he 
 helped her into the saddle. 
 
 "Do you want us to wait until you feel better ?" he asked 
 her under cover of tightening her girths. 
 
 "No, thank you," she answered, "it's nothing." 
 
 "I know," he smiled sympathetically at her. "I suffered 
 that kind of nothing myself a good many times when I first 
 came back here. Let me know if you want to stop at any 
 time." 
 
 But Thorley Prescott nosed the Fiend resolutely into the 
 place beside Lord Chesterton. "Now you may say we, if 
 you like," he conceded in a tone that brought the color 
 tingling back into her cheeks. "I myself went so far as to 
 tie up the stump of a finger." 
 
 "That's nothing to telling a Bible story," she retorted. 
 "I haven't yet come to that." 
 
 "No, but you will," he prophesied. "I expect to see 
 the day when you'll find it as hard to swear off from mis- 
 sionary work as Dan himself." 
 
 "If ever I am a missionary," she retorted, "I'll be that 
 kind."
 
 222 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "You'd better be," he answered. "It's the only kind 
 that's any good," but he said it without a touch of his old 
 bitterness; and Dan, riding just ahead of him, thanked 
 God and took courage at the new ring in the voice of his 
 friend.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 EXPLANATIONS ASKED 
 
 THE next day the party turned the corner of Lake Mu- 
 ramna, and proceeding southward along the western shore, 
 entered a region where the villages were few and far between. 
 They travelled at a good speed because Dan Lawrence 
 wished to reach Suj Anak before Sunday, that he might 
 hold a preaching service in the old Nestorian Church. He 
 had offered to push on by himself, leaving his companions 
 to proceed in a more leisurely way. He thought it too much 
 to ask of Miss Stuart that she should rise at four in the bitter 
 cold of an early spring morning and ride until dark with 
 only two pauses : a miserly one for lunch, and another 
 shorter one for afternoon tea. But Jean insisted that she 
 was perfectly able to do as the others did and that she pre- 
 ferred Mr. Lawrence's companionship above even the bliss 
 of an extra hour's morning sleep. 
 
 "And the faster we travel," said Thorley Prescott, "the 
 fewer hospitals we can set up by the way." 
 
 Jean had hard work pretending not to hear him. It was 
 uncanny to ride along hour after hour beside a man who 
 could so often read her thoughts. "Perhaps other people 
 have read them," she told herself, "but no one has ever 
 had the cheek to report them to me. I wonder how he 
 would like it, if I told him in so many words what he is 
 thinking!" 
 
 'For the predominant thoughts of the younger Prescott 
 on this journey were by no means hidden from his compan- 
 
 223
 
 224 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 ions. If Dr. MacColl found reason for confiding to Dan 
 Lawrence that "it was a clear case on one side, at least," 
 it may be presumed that Jean Stuart herself had an inkling 
 of Thorley Prescott's feeling for her, a feeling which he 
 flattered himself would remain forever unexpressed. 
 
 A man who never consulted a mirror except while shaving, 
 was not likely to have a notion of the tales his eyes were 
 telling whenever they rested on Jean Stuart's face. Nor 
 was it strange, perhaps, that when he spoke to her, he was 
 not listening to the tones of his own voice. He thought it 
 only right to offer her a number of little services which he 
 had never dreamed of doing for any one else, and he was 
 likely to make an open fuss if Dan persisted in taking the 
 place at her side, which he had marked for his own. If he 
 had been told that every member of the party down to the 
 most stupid of the donkey-boys was well acquainted with 
 his plight, his first thought would have been to blame his 
 father for telling them. 
 
 But Jean did not divine this ostrich-like attitude on the 
 part of her lover. She supposed that he was reckless of 
 appearances because he intended to win her and did not care 
 who knew it. In the first few days of the journey, she had 
 laughed up her sleeve more than once over his consummate 
 audacity. She remembered that his behavior about Christ- 
 mas time had caused her to wonder then whether he were 
 getting ready to fall in love with her. It seemed strange 
 now that he should have kept away from her so carefully 
 all winter. For she could not doubt that something more 
 than accident had thrown them so often together and then 
 kept them so suddenly and so completely apart. She sup- 
 posed he must have judged it useless to ask her to share his 
 life as a missionary. And she knew he would not break 
 his promise to his mother, even for her. The only conclusion 
 she could draw was that his renewed association with her 
 had been too much for his common sense and that he was
 
 EXPLANATIONS ASKED 22$ 
 
 now expecting the miracle of his love to change her, Jean 
 Stuart of New York and Bar Harbor, into a Persia mis- 
 sionary. 
 
 The impulse however which had made her so ready to 
 save the feelings of Mr. Freyer when he was bent on the 
 same kind of folly, was lacking in the case of Thorley Pres- 
 cott. She knew in the first place that if Thorley had made 
 up his mind to declare his love, nothing she could do would 
 have power to stop him. She did not perhaps admit that 
 she really preferred not to stop him, but she did catch her- 
 self looking forward now and then with a sort of fearful rel- 
 ish to the moment when she should get a chance to baffle 
 him by means of a plump and flat-footed NO. 
 
 In the meantime she gave herself up moment by moment 
 to a keen enjoyment of the situation. Here she was, on 
 her favorite horse, riding all day long in an atmosphere so 
 clear and pure that it intoxicated her. Wherever she looked, 
 her eye rested on scenes of rugged beauty ; and of her three 
 travelling companions, every one was peculiarly congenial 
 to her. All this was quite enough, considering the tedium 
 she had just been enduring, to account for an exhilaration 
 of spirits which made the long days of riding almost too 
 short. There was no reason to think that her enjoyment 
 was due to the presence or to the attitude of any one person. 
 So Jean Stuart assured herself more than once. And the 
 very fact that she did so assure herself, might have given 
 cause for anxiety to, let us say, her Aunt Cordelia. 
 
 Dan Lawrence saw no cause for anxiety. He was glad 
 of what he saw, glad to the point of hugging himself as he 
 rode along behind Jean and Thorley. So far this had been 
 a very happy journey for Dan. He had left Margaret and 
 the children well; he, too, enjoyed the change from the 
 constraint of city life ; and if only Margaret could have been 
 with him, he would have liked nothing better than those long 
 free days in the open air. There was a little of the Oriental in 
 Q
 
 226 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Dan ; he loved to fall into a long, quiet sequence of thought 
 whose progress seemed to keep step with the strides of his 
 horse. Among other interesting things, he had to think of 
 his Sunday's sermon ; for Dan never trusted to the inspira- 
 tion before last, but coined every sermon new and shining 
 from the industrious mint of his mind. Dr. MacColl, too, 
 found her own pleasures in the expedition. Even the camp- 
 followers added their share to the general feeling of har- 
 mony ; for they did their work pretty well and quarrelled no 
 more than was absolutely necessary. 
 
 So the party journeyed on until, rather late Saturday 
 evening, they reached Suj Anak, and encamped in a field 
 just outside the town. Here they were joyously received 
 by the members of the native church, who constrained them 
 to lodge in their houses. This hospitality would have been 
 accepted by the missionaries except for the presence of Miss 
 Stuart; but they agreed that they could not subject their 
 guest to the hardship of two nights in a native house ; so 
 they found means of turning aside the eagerness of their 
 would-be hosts. 
 
 Sunday morning the Americans all attended service at 
 the old Nestorian Church. Dan preached and Thorley led 
 the singing; while Jean Stuart alternately choked and 
 gasped, having frequent recourse to the lump of camphor 
 which she carried in her handkerchief. She had time how- 
 ever to notice Dan's expression as he spoke, and she resolved 
 to ask him when she had a chance, what was the subject of 
 his sermon. Dan felt it right to accept the dinner invita- 
 tion of the resident pastor. So the four travellers sat down 
 on the floor of the parsonage to dine with the men of the 
 family, while the women waited on them, stepping across 
 the cloth when convenient, with their bare feet. 
 
 Jean had hard work to keep up an appearance of eating ; 
 but the others made a hearty meal and pronounced the food 
 unusually good.
 
 EXPLANATIONS ASKED 227 
 
 All the afternoon they were surrounded by a mob of 
 people. Some wanted to talk with the missionaries about 
 religion; others wanted medicine and surgical aid, while 
 many were simply curious about the foreigners. Thorley 
 offered to take Jean for a walk, that she might get away 
 from the sights and smells that were so distressing to her. 
 
 "No, thank you, Mr. Prescott," she answered, "Dr. 
 MacColl has more work than she can do alone, and I have 
 promised to help her." 
 
 He smiled at her so meaningly that her glance fell and 
 she turned to leave him. 
 
 "Just a minute," he pleaded, "look me straight in the 
 eye while I ask you one question. Who was it that sulked 
 all Wednesday afternoon because she couldn't get rid of 
 Missions?" He said the words over her shoulder for she 
 would not face him again. 
 
 "I can't help it," she murmured, hastening away to join 
 Dr. MacColl. " I hate it just as much as ever ; but no mortal 
 could keep from trying to help the poor creatures when they 
 are in such misery." 
 
 "But when you get back to America, you'll never think 
 of them again, eh?" 
 
 She wheeled on him suddenly. "There is a nickname," 
 she declared, "that would suit you better than any other. 
 I have always wanted to call you by it." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Do you really want to know ?" 
 
 "Yes, I dare you to tell me." 
 
 "Well, it's Thorny. You've been a perfect thorn to me 
 ever since I reached Muramna. I wish you would stop 
 teasing me about Missions. I don't like them and I never 
 will; and you don't like them one bit better than I do !" 
 
 Followed by the sound of a hearty laugh from her tor- 
 mentor, she made her escape into the hospital tent, where 
 she knelt on the ground all through the afternoon, washing
 
 228 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 sores and handing instruments, stanching the flow of blood, 
 and applying antiseptic dressings. 
 
 It was not until after dark that the missionaries were 
 free to sit down in the light of the camp-fire for their evening 
 meal. When they had finished eating, they wrapped them- 
 selves in cloaks and drew near the fire for a Sunday evening 
 chat. 
 
 "Now this is cosey," said Dr. MacColl, emerging from 
 her cloak to indulge in the joy of poking the fire. "I'm 
 just tired enough to like it and not quite as sleepy as I am 
 on the days when we ride 'from morn till dewy eve.'" 
 
 "We needn't travel as fast now," said Thorley Prescott. 
 "The Sheikh says we are only two short farsangs from his 
 home. That means that we reach it easily Tuesday after- 
 noon." 
 
 "And then I shall be leaving you," said Dan Lawrence. 
 "I wish you were going all the way with me." 
 
 Jean Stuart bethought herself of the question she had 
 intended to ask about the morning sermon; but close to 
 her side sat "Thorny" Prescott; and she refrained. 
 
 "Now, Jean Stuart," said the doctor briskly, "this is 
 just the time for a hymn. You'll be singing us 'The Land 
 o' the Leal' at the polite request of an old Scotch woman; 
 and if he's in a pleasing frame of mind, Thorley Prescott 
 will be humming an accompaniment." 
 
 "Miss Stuart, as you should know, is much too tired to 
 sing," growled Thorley. 
 
 "And Mr. Prescott is in anything but a pleasing frame 
 of mind," trilled Jean, "as-we-can-very-easily-see-for-our- 
 selves." She lilted the last words right up into his face. 
 The firelight shone on the witchery of her smile and kin- 
 dled her hair into an aureole. Thorley rose hastily and 
 strode away, muttering as he went, something about seeing 
 to the horses. 
 
 "Now, Jean, you can sing," said Dr. MacColl.
 
 EXPLANATIONS ASKED 22Q 
 
 "No, really, I am too tired; and besides I want to ask 
 Mr. Lawrence about his sermon this morning. What were 
 you saying?" she asked, turning to Dan. "You know I 
 can't understand ; but you looked so happy that I wondered 
 what it was all about." 
 
 "'I shall be satisfied when I awake in His likeness,'" Dan 
 replied softly. 
 
 "And what does that mean?" asked Jean. "What do 
 you see in 'His likeness' that you should desire it 
 so?" 
 
 "The power to keep in touch with my Heavenly Father," 
 answered Dan, "so that I may know that my work is all 
 an expression of His will." 
 
 "What do you mean by keeping in touch ?" asked Jean. 
 "Is that prayer?" 
 
 "Prayer is one way of getting in touch with Him the 
 first way, I think and perhaps the last way, too." 
 
 "And then," said Jean, "what else does 'His likeness' 
 mean to you ? " 
 
 "Peace," Dan replied. "The sense that I am forgiven 
 because I have been strong enough to forgive." 
 
 "Anything else?" asked Jean. 
 
 "Much else," Dan smiled as he said the quiet words, 
 "but perhaps it is all summed up in the one word Love. 
 I want a love to shine through me that will have power to 
 attract every soul I meet." 
 
 "To you?" asked Jean. 
 
 "To 'His likeness,'" Dan replied. 
 
 "Then religion means to you," said Jean, "power to 
 pray and forgive and love ? " 
 
 "And give," added Dr. MacColl emphatically, "like 
 Christ, and because of Him and for Him. Yes, that's a 
 pretty good definition of Christianity ; and Dan had it all 
 in his sermon this morning. What's better still," she added 
 under her breath to Jean, "he has it all in his life."
 
 230 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "But there isn't much of the supernatural about that," 
 said Jean. 
 
 "Oh, isn't there?" answered a voice from behind the 
 little circle of light. "Did you ever have anything to for- 
 give ? Is it a part of your nature to love those that despite- 
 fully use you? I must say it isn't in me." 
 
 Jean Stuart gave a great start as Thorley Prescott came 
 striding into the light and stood looking down at the fire with 
 his hands in his overcoat pockets. 
 
 "May I suggest," he added, "that the fire is going 
 out?" 
 
 "And it's bedtime," assented Dr. MacColl, rising and 
 shaking herself. 
 
 "Make a few allowances for me, old man," said Dan 
 Lawrence. "I have only two more evenings to spend with 
 you all." 
 
 Two days later the travellers arrived at the stronghold of 
 the Kurdish Chief, and pitched their tents at the foot of his 
 hill. Here Dan Lawrence said good-by to his friends on 
 the morning of Wednesday, March the gth. 
 
 Before he left, he took Thorley aside and warned him that 
 Hilgar believed they had been followed for two or three 
 days by a party of men, who kept far enough behind so that 
 it was seldom possible to catch sight of them. 
 
 "Hilgar thinks," said Dan, "that the shortest of the men 
 wears a green turban." 
 
 Thorley looked up with a gleam in his eye. "I never did 
 believe that the little viper was dead." 
 
 "Well, be careful, old man," said Dan. with a hand on his 
 friend's shoulder. "I believe that Hadji Husain is dead 
 or I should never think of leaving you alone with the two 
 ladies ; but it may be that a band of robbers is waiting for 
 a chance to waylay you. They won't touch you while the 
 Sheikh is in your party. So you'd better let him escort you 
 back at least as far as Suj Anak."
 
 EXPLANATIONS ASKED 231 
 
 "I'll do that," said Thorley, thinking of Jean. " Are you 
 taking a guide?" 
 
 "Yes, through this mountain pass. After that it's plain 
 sailing. You can see the horizon for miles around. Well, 
 I wish you were all going with me. It will be a lonely jour- 
 ney now." 
 
 Thorley and the two ladies climbed a little hill to watch 
 Dan ride away. He turned as he entered the pass, to wave 
 his hand at them, and shouted back a message that came 
 clearly through the pure air. 
 
 "If you see Margaret first, give her my love." 
 
 And with that he was lost to sight.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE HELL OF DIFFICULTY 
 
 As soon as Dan had left, Dr. MacColl, escorted by Thor- 
 ley Prescott, went up the hill to diagnose the case of the 
 Kurdish Chief's wife. This was the woman whom the doc- 
 tor had come so far to see. Prescott secretly provided that 
 a strong guard of Kurds should watch over Jean Stuart 
 whenever he was away ; and she was commanded not to 
 wander from the encampment. 
 
 Thorley had to go with the doctor because she did not 
 understand this Kurdish dialect. They climbed up through 
 a rocky defile which was guarded by a boy with a stone 
 poised in his hand. Inside a high craggy wall was a collection 
 of horse-hair tents, from one of which issued the groans of a 
 dying woman. Dr. MacColl, a little breathless from climb- 
 ing, quickened her pace, and disappeared promptly behind the 
 flap. Thorley was permitted to stand just outside, where he 
 could act as interpreter for the women within the tent and 
 the men who were clustered outside. Dr. MacColl found a 
 clear and beautiful case of the curious disease with which 
 she had been grappling in the dark for many years. It had 
 progressed so far in this case, that she could do little except 
 to relieve the patient temporarily ; but she felt that if she 
 could watch the woman for a few days, she would be in a 
 position to cure cases that were less advanced and to make 
 a very interesting contribution to medical literature. She 
 spent the morning with her patient, returned to the camp 
 for a hasty lunch, and went up the hill again for another 
 
 232
 
 THE HILL OF DIFFICULTY 233 
 
 hour. She had the pleasure of leaving the Kurdish woman 
 sleeping peacefully for the first time in several months. 
 The tears ran down the iron cheeks of the Chief, as he lis- 
 tened to the quiet breathing of his wife and saw her face 
 with the lines of pain smoothed away. He made his salaams 
 humbly to the doctor and to Thorley Prescott, assuring 
 them that anything he had was theirs. 
 
 Dr. MacColl went down the hill again well satisfied, and 
 deluged Jean Stuart, who was writing letters in the door of 
 their tent, with a flood of professional details that made 
 Jean put both hands to her ears. 
 
 "Oh, gammon," said the doctor, good-naturedly, "you 
 needn't pretend that you don't take a healthy human in- 
 terest in all these things. You can't fool me ! Your brain 
 is as keen, your stomach as strong, and your heart as ten- 
 der as mine or Thorley's ; and to-morrow I'll take you up 
 to see the case, though it won't be as interesting as it was 
 to-day. Come on in and help me hunt a clean waist. I 
 really think I must change, to celebrate my grand discovery." 
 
 The doctor stepped inside the tent and began unbutton- 
 ing her blouse, with a vigor that would have shaken to its 
 very foundations any garment less powerfully constructed. 
 (She always sewed her seams twice over on a lock-stitch 
 machine ; and the material her sister sent her from America 
 never wore out. None of the other missionaries could get 
 their sisters to find anything like it.) 
 
 Thorley detained Jean as she was following the doctor. 
 "Please come for a walk with me," he said. "There's a hill 
 near by, which we ought to explore." 
 
 "I'd like that," said Jean ; "but please let me see first if 
 I can do anything for the doctor." 
 
 "Just get your hat," urged Thorley ; " she's perfectly able 
 to change her own clothes. And she'll gibber eternally 
 about her old disease if you stay." 
 
 Jean regarded him with a look that strove to seem more
 
 234 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 mischievous than grateful. "You hedge your kindness 
 very carefully with thorns," she said, "but it peeps through 
 sometimes, in spite of you." 
 
 His eyes told her for the thousand and first time all that 
 he had resolved not to say with his lips. They remarked 
 dryly, - 
 
 "That wasn't the way you put it last Sunday." 
 
 "No," she admitted, "I'm afraid I was pretty cross. 
 Let me own now once for all, that there are moments when 
 I don't feel your thorns at all." 
 
 "Call me Thorny once in a while," he begged, "and I'll 
 forgive you anything Jean." 
 
 She gave him a look as she vanished into the tent, a look 
 that made him pace savagely up and down, grinding his 
 teeth together. 
 
 "That was going pretty near the edge," he told himself. 
 "I have no right to the delight of calh'ng her Jean." 
 
 Presently he began to get terribly impatient because Jean 
 failed to return, and he strode fiercely up to the tent with 
 the intention of letting her know how he felt. 
 
 Dr. MacColl, in her clean blouse, emerged from the flap 
 just as he came up. 
 
 "Isn't she coming?" he demanded. 
 
 "Don't ever make me jump like that again," snapped the 
 doctor. "It might get my hand to trembling." 
 
 "Well, is she coming?" pursued Thorley in a slightly 
 gentler voice. 
 
 "No doubt she has heard your question; and if she 
 chooses, she will answer it herself. You'll have to learn a 
 little patience, my boy," and the doctor, marching away 
 to boil her instruments, picked her steps carefully ; for the 
 sun was hot in this valley, and the ground was very soft. 
 
 Thorley paced up and down for several minutes longer 
 before Jean came out, the only apparent change in her dress 
 being a soft felt hat which was pulled down over her hair
 
 THE HILL OF DIFFICULTY 235 
 
 in a way that Thorley much resented. Jean expected his 
 greeting to be anything but suave. She was almost dis- 
 appointed when he humbly remarked that it was good of 
 her to come and he hoped she was wearing rubbers. Being 
 assured that she was, he silently led the way toward his hill. 
 
 The hill proved a most delightful place. They climbed it 
 by means of a goat-path which brought them up a gentle 
 slope to a level niche about half-way to the summit. This 
 flat place was large enough for a camping-ground and was 
 protected by rocky walls from the north and east winds. 
 At this time of day it was flooded with sunshine. A wide 
 view of mountain and valley spread to the west where Thor- 
 ley pointed out to Jean the white peaks of ranges in Turkey, 
 which Dan would have to pass before he reached his destina- 
 tion. To the south lay a country rolling and fertile, dotted 
 here and there with Kurdish encampments; and by step- 
 ping out on a ledge of rock to the east, they could peep 
 around the side of the hill and just catch a glimpse of Lake 
 Muramna sparkling in the sun. At their feet the earliest 
 spring flowers were pricking their heads above the ground. 
 Jean, catching sight of them, ran in wild delight from one to 
 the other, caressing each of the dear little things before she 
 picked it, and making up pet names for the kinds she did not 
 know. Between flowers, she stopped to feast her eyes on 
 the view : near-by mountains looming up steep and rugged, 
 their bases black with the shadows of mighty rocks, their 
 tops covered with a dazzling crust of snow that was begin- 
 ning to glow already in anticipation of the sunset, distant 
 mountains of the deepest purple so far away that they looked 
 translucent as amethyst, their glistening peaks transfigured 
 into a glorious lilac, over all, the exquisite blue of a cloud- 
 less sky and the gorgeous gold of the Persian sunshine. 
 
 Jean Stuart drank in the air and the glory and forgot to 
 wonder why she felt so happy. Thorley Prescott drank in 
 glory, too, and almost forgot that it was not for him.
 
 236 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 For a long time they scarcely spoke. Jean made little 
 inarticulate noises to the flowers she gathered, blowing into 
 their faces to make them bloom. Thorley thought dead 
 flowers would have come to life with such a spirit breath- 
 ing on them. At last Jean sat down suddenly where the 
 view was most beautiful and, dropping her flowers into her 
 lap, began to make a bouquet. Thorley strode quickly 
 over to her, holding out his hand. 
 
 "You mustn't sit there," he said. 
 
 "Why not?" said Jean, ignoring his hand and sorting 
 her flowers with great care. 
 
 "It's wet. The springs are just behind you." He took 
 the hand that held the incipient bouquet and, pulling 
 gently, tried to make her rise. 
 
 Jean left her hand placidly in his but kept her seat, though 
 with some effort. " Please leave me alone," she said, smiling 
 up at him. "I'm very comfortable here in spite of the 
 springs, and I'll lose all these flowers if I try to get up." 
 
 "I'll help you gather them again," said Thorley, getting 
 possession of the other hand and giving a real pull which 
 brought her to her feet in spite of all she could do. The 
 flowers, of course, fell to the ground; and Thorley went 
 promptly on his knees to pick them up. 
 
 Jean Stuart felt like anything but a lady as she stood look- 
 ing down at his broad back. She wanted to do as she would 
 have done when she was ten years old, she wanted to pummel 
 and scratch and revile. In short, she did not want to "let 
 the ape and tiger die." But she mastered herself and walked 
 quietly away, climbing around the ledge of rock whence 
 Thorley had shown her Lake Muramna. 
 
 As she went out on the ledge, she saw that farther on, there 
 was a narrower shelf from which the rock dropped away in 
 a precipice. Even where she was standing, the descent was 
 steep enough to give her a dizzy feeling ; but a foolish idea 
 came into her head that if she should go farther out on the
 
 THE HILL OF DIFFICULTY 237 
 
 shelf, she would be hidden by the curve of the hill and Thor- 
 ley Prescott, when he had finished picking up every one 
 of those flowers, would be startled at not finding her within 
 sight. She glanced back and saw him still bending con- 
 scientiously over the spot where she had been sitting ; and 
 the desire of punishing him tempted her greatly. But when 
 she had looked again at the narrowness of the shelf and the 
 depth of the precipice, she put the childish impulse aside, 
 turning impatiently back to join the man who, having forced 
 from her a primeval obedience, deserved the primeval punish- 
 ment that she was too civilized to give him. With the hasty 
 movement her foot slipped ; she felt it going out from under 
 her; she felt herself falling and sliding, sliding, faster and 
 faster toward the edge of the rock. 
 
 "Thor," she cried, "save me!" And she gripped the 
 surface of the rock desperately with her hands and nails. 
 
 Thorley reached her almost before the cry was out of her 
 mouth. He lifted her in his arms and carried her like a 
 child back to safety. Then he held her while he took off 
 his coat and placed it for her to lie on. In the meantime 
 he was speaking ; and Jean Stuart kept her eyes closed that 
 she might not interrupt the sweetness of those words. But 
 when he had laid her down on the coat and was bending 
 over her in silence, she opened her eyes, smiling, and asked 
 for water. 
 
 He hastened to fill his drinking-cup from the springs that 
 had caused their disagreement. She propped herself against 
 the wall of rock and drank all he brought her and, when he 
 offered to get more, she let him. As he stooped to the 
 springs the second time, she saw him pick up the compact 
 bunch of flowers he had been collecting and crowd it into 
 his pocket. 
 
 She, leaning against the rock, drank the second cup of 
 water very slowly, and as he stood silent, looking down at 
 her, she went over the words he had spoken while her eyes
 
 238 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 were closed, rejoiced at them, wondered why she should re- 
 joice, and wondered most of all why he had stopped when he 
 did. If he had gone on to say anything that asked for an 
 answer, it might have been hard for her to give it. No was 
 an ugly word to throw at a man who had just saved one's 
 life ; and of course it would be entirely out of the question 
 to tell him "Yes" ; and yet and yet she believed she 
 rather wished he would go on. From the way he had already 
 spoken, she knew there was plenty more that he would like 
 to say. So she reflected, drinking the water slowly and feel- 
 ing his eyes always on her. At last she looked up to hand 
 him the cup and to see for herself why he hesitated. And 
 when she saw his face, she began all over again to wonder, 
 but this time without joy. Stern and strong were his eyes, 
 firm and sad his mouth. His face was drawn and gray and 
 his left hand was clenched, so that the knuckles were white 
 against his brown skin and the veins stood out big and black. 
 Jean Stuart had never seen a man looking like that, and she 
 was so frightened that she started to her feet. 
 
 Instantly his face changed to the expression she was learn- 
 ing to claim as her own. Quickly he put out his hands and 
 steadied her, kneeling as he helped her lean back against the 
 rock, and saying in his gentlest tone: 
 
 " What is it, Jean ? What is it, little girl ? Has anything 
 frightened you ? " 
 
 Jean hid her face against the rock and shuddered. In 
 that moment there came to her a knowledge which she would 
 have gone far to escape. Thorley sat down beside her, 
 so near that she could feel his breath against her neck and 
 the warmth of his presence through every part of her. 
 Every instinct implored her to throw herself into his arms, 
 to lay her head on his shoulder till comfort should come to 
 her, and then to lift her face and comfort him with her lips 
 and her heart and her whole life. 
 
 Yet she continued to shrink away from him against the
 
 THE HILL OF DIFFICULTY 239 
 
 rock ; and he, feeling that she shrank, rose and, walking to a 
 little distance, stood looking off across the valley to the 
 mountains of Turkey. There was anguish in his heart. 
 Bitterly he blamed himself for the past, wildly he raged 
 against the temptation of the moment, hopelessly he turned 
 his face away from the future. And Jean, watching his 
 motionless back, wondered more and more and fought 
 against confessing that the sympathy she felt for him was 
 a good half disappointment. 
 
 The frankness of her thoughts became at last so irritating 
 that she rose impatiently and went toward Thorley, preen- 
 ing herself a little as she went, smoothing her plumage like 
 a bird that has come to the edge of the nest and poises itself 
 to fly blithely away. By the time she had reached Thor- 
 ley's side, she was herself again, friendly and helpful and 
 full of common sense. 
 
 "Come, Mr. Prescott," she said, as if their chief concern 
 had always been the view from this particular place, "the 
 view is too lovely to leave. I suggest that we move our 
 tents to-morrow to this very spot and stay here as long as 
 we can. But now it is almost sunset ; and Dr. MacColl will 
 be wondering where we are." 
 
 With the last words, she started quietly down the path. 
 He was beside her in a moment, seizing her almost roughly 
 by the arm. 
 
 "Can't you wait for me to help you?" he cried. "Do 
 you want to kill yourself and me ?" 
 
 "Hush, hush," she said, "the path isn't steep a bit ; and I 
 feel quite well again ; but I'll take your arm, if you like." 
 
 He groaned aloud and planting himself before her in the 
 path, put his hands behind him so that his arms pressed 
 tightly against his sides. His face, as he looked up at her, 
 was knotted with grief. 
 
 "Oh," he said, "can't you see that this is killing me?" 
 
 Jean wondered dully that she was not afraid of him ; for
 
 240 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 he brought the words out desperately, glaring as if he hated 
 her. But she moved a little toward him, saying gently : 
 
 "What is killing you, Thorny?" 
 
 " My God ! " he cried, " she calls me ' Thorny.' " And he 
 turned his back on her. 
 
 Jean Stuart sat down quietly in the path and waited. 
 Indeed she had to sit down; for she was trembling. It 
 seemed an eternity that she sat there, looking at Thorley's 
 back. At last he faced her ; and though his lips quivered, 
 his eyes were calm with the acceptance of a great sorrow 
 and disgrace. He held out to her the knotted end of his 
 handkerchief. 
 
 "If you'll take hold of this," he said, "I can help you." 
 And, seeing her look of astonishment, he added, "If I should 
 touch your hand again The rest was choked by a dry 
 sob as he turned to lead her down the hill.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 BLOW ON BLOW 
 
 THAT night Jean Stuart found it difficult to sleep. Hour 
 after hour she lay puzzling over the events of the afternoon, 
 and scourging herself that it could make any difference to 
 her whether or not a man got up his courage to make a pro- 
 posal of marriage. 
 
 "I couldn't dream of marrying him, anyway," she told 
 herself for the hundredth time as she strove to shut out the 
 remembrance of Thorley Prescott's face by arranging her 
 air pillow so that it would not cramp her neck. To sleep with 
 only a slumber-bag between you and the hard, cold ground 
 is all very well ; but if you are obliged to lie awake, you are 
 advised to provide yourself at least with a cot and with one 
 that does not squeak ! 
 
 After she had twisted herself around for several hours 
 inside her bag, Jean Stuart was cold as well as angry ; but 
 her mind was still persistently haunted by the face of 
 Thorley Prescott as she had seen it that day on the 
 hill. When she opened her eyes, she could see that face 
 gazing at her through the inky darkness and when she closed 
 them, she could see it still, imperious, alarmed, tender, rap- 
 turous, stern, compassionate, terrible, or appealing. As she 
 had seen it in the daylight, so she was condemned to see it 
 all night long ; for when at last she did fall asleep, the face 
 still looked at her ; and she began to flee from it over hill and 
 valley. 
 
 Through range after range of mountains, her sleeping 
 
 R 241
 
 242 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 spirit wandered. She hid beneath overhanging crags, she 
 perched on the slippery pinnacles of the highest peaks, 
 she fell more than once from a precipice ; but everywhere 
 she was met by that from which she was fleeing : the face of 
 Thorley Prescott and the sense of his suffering. Then, after 
 she had thrown herself from an inconceivable height, and 
 was falling for ages through the dark, suddenly she lost the 
 sense of his presence and passed from the terror of headlong 
 flight into a loneliness that was even more awful. Des- 
 perately she started out again, groping, slipping, panting, 
 through the dark in search of that companionship which 
 she had done her best to escape. And suddenly there was a 
 great light ; and she had found his face, shining, glorious, as 
 she had never yet seen it ; and she awoke with a cry to 
 discover that, through a hole in the tent, the sun was shin- 
 ing straight into her eyes. Knowing that she had cried 
 out, she feared lest Dr. MacColl had been disturbed ; but 
 that lady giving every sign of being still in the deepest 
 slumber, Jean felt at liberty to dress very quietly, and 
 escape from the tent. 
 
 The air and the sunshine had never felt so good as they 
 did now, after the horrors of the night. Jean shook herself 
 as she walked away to the hillock whence, only the morning 
 before, they had watched the departure of Dan Lawrence. 
 
 "It seems a good deal longer than that ; and yet nothing 
 has happened of any account." 
 
 Whereupon she reached the top of the hillock and started 
 violently, as she saw that just under the rock on which she 
 stood, there sat a man with his face hidden in his hands. 
 
 "Oh," said Jean Stuart, before she could stop herself. 
 
 And, "Oh!" said the man, starting to his feet. "Are 
 you here?" 
 
 "Yes," faltered Jean, "I could I that is the sun 
 woke me up ; and I came out to see what kind of morning it 
 is."
 
 BLOW ON BLOW 243 
 
 "Will you sit down ?" asked Thorley Prescott, taking off 
 his coat and laying it on the rock where he had been sitting. 
 
 "Not on your coat," she answered. "It's cold, and you 
 need it yourself. Besides, I don't care to sit down." 
 
 Without a word Thorley put on his coat and waited with 
 his eyes on Jean's face to see what her wishes were. She 
 put up her hand, ostensibly to shade her eyes, which, as her 
 back was to the east, looked rather foolish. The sun was 
 shining full on Thorley's face, and his expression was for the 
 moment the very one she had seen just before she woke. 
 Then she had cried out at the sight of it ; now she did not 
 know what to do and, being unstrung after her broken night, 
 she blurted out : 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't stand there looking at me. Can't 
 you say something ? " 
 
 As he lowered his eyes, the radiance passed from his face, 
 leaving it weary and gray. 
 
 Jean Stuart stamped her foot. " Can't you speak ?" she 
 demanded. Then she collected herself. "I'm tired of 
 darkness and night," she declared with a light laugh, "and 
 I look to you for a little pleasant human chatter." 
 
 Thorley smiled grimly. "You've come to the wrong 
 person," was all he answered. 
 
 Then, with a sudden determination, he stepped up and 
 offered his hand to help her down from the rock. "Please 
 come down here beside me just a minute," he pleaded. "I 
 want to tell you something. Perhaps it will help me to be 
 steadfast if you understand." 
 
 She waved him aside. "You can tell me from below. I 
 like this rock and I mean to stay on it. As nearly as I can 
 make out, you are steadfast enough without any help from 
 me." 
 
 "But you don't know," he cried in astonishment, "it isn't 
 possible that my Father has told you ?" 
 
 "I know nothing about you except what you told me
 
 244 
 
 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 yourself at Akbar. I know that you think you must stay in 
 Persia forever." 
 
 He almost laughed at the jolt of meeting with so different 
 a train of thought. "It's not that at all," he spoke more 
 and more slowly. "It's just that I want you to know that 
 I'm engaged to be married." 
 
 Jean Stuart's long social training came to her aid. "Let 
 me congratulate you," she said smoothly, holding out her 
 hand. 
 
 He took it with a look which she never forgot. 
 
 "And now," she went on, "I begin to feel as if a little 
 breakfast would be acceptable ; and while we are walking 
 back, you will tell me all about the young lady and why you 
 have kept your friends in ignorance of your blissful condi- 
 tion." If there was a breath of irony in the last words, it 
 was inaudible. 
 
 As she turned to leave the hillock, her eye mechanically 
 swept the western horizon. 
 
 "Oh, see, Mr. Prescott," she exclaimed in a very different 
 tone, "who are those men and what are they bring- 
 ing?" 
 
 Thorley wheeled to look where she was pointing. He 
 gazed for several long seconds before he spoke. "Go back 
 to the camp," he commanded. "Wake up Dr. MacColl and 
 stay in your tent, both of you, till I, myself, tell you to come 
 out." 
 
 "But what is it?" asked Jean. "Who is it?" 
 
 "Do as I tell you," he thundered, "and run." 
 
 He waited to see her start before he advanced in the 
 other direction. 
 
 Jean found Dr. MacColl almost dressed and inclined to 
 make light of her news and Thorley's commands. 
 
 "It's a couple of patients, of course," she declared. 
 "They're being brought on litters because they can't walk ; 
 and they've come before the sun is up. Very sensible, I'm
 
 BLOW ON BLOW 245 
 
 sure." At this point the doctor essayed to leave the tent ; 
 but Jean laid hold of her skirt and prevented her. 
 
 "Mr. Prescott said we were both to stay here until he 
 came." 
 
 The doctor muttered something about a boy and an 
 idiot ; but she stayed in the tent. As for Jean, she began 
 packing her saddle-bags ; and after watching her a moment, 
 the doctor turned white to the lips and followed her ex- 
 ample. 
 
 ''You know more, young lady, than you will tell me," she 
 murmured, as she tied up her bottle of tooth- wash in one of 
 her woollen bed-socks. 
 
 It seemed an eternity to both the women before they 
 heard outside the tent the voice of Thorley Prescott. 
 
 "Both of you please come out," he said. They opened 
 the tent and went out trembling. 
 
 "You'd better sit down," he said, "before I tell you." 
 
 "We know," answered Dr. MacColl. "It's Dan," she 
 sobbed as she said it. "Is he dead?" 
 
 "Yes, he and Hilgar. The Kurds have brought their 
 bodies." 
 
 "Is there no life in them?" The doctor made a motion 
 to go and see for herself ; but Thorley detained her. 
 
 "No, no; they must have been lying dead for hours be- 
 fore they were found." 
 
 "The Kurds were not with them at the time?" 
 
 "No, they had left Dan at the end of the pass and had 
 gone for a hunt in the hills. It was when they were return- 
 ing towards evening that they came on traces of a fight, 
 which they followed until they found His voice broke. 
 He cleared his throat and went on huskily. " They did what 
 they could and came back as quickly as possible. But it 
 was too dark to come through the pass, so burdened. And 
 now " 
 
 "We must make ready to start at once," said the doctor.
 
 246 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Oh," cried Thorley Prescott, "if only it could have been 
 
 I." 
 
 Jean Stuart leaning against the tent-pole had not spoken. 
 Now she came up to Thorley and laying her hand on his arm, 
 asked in a terrified voice, "Who did it?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Prescott; but his eyes fell before 
 hers ; and she reading his horror from her own, knew that 
 he lied. 
 
 "They told me the Hadji was dead," she cried. 
 
 "He is dead," snapped Dr. MacColl. "Come, come, 
 there's no time to waste." 
 
 "Is he?" persisted Jean, her hand still on Thorley's arm, 
 her eyes still searching his. "Is he dead, or is this the re- 
 venge he has taken on us ? Tell me the truth, Thorley Pres- 
 cott, and let me bear it with you." 
 
 Without one word, Thorley's look answered her as fully as 
 if he had shown her the paper the Kurds had found, blood- 
 stained and pierced by a poiniard, and bearing on it just two 
 words 
 
 BRESCOTT NEXT 
 
 And now, mercifully, they had no more time to think of 
 themselves. The bodies had first of all to be prepared by 
 every artifice of loving ingenuity for the inevitable rough- 
 ness of the journey. The camp had to be broken ; and a 
 little food must if possible be swallowed by aching throats. 
 
 The Kurdish Chief, informed already by the men who had 
 brought the bodies, was most kind with his offers of horses 
 and men, and insisted on escorting the party himself every 
 step of the way to Muramna. His wife had slept all night ; 
 and he could not do enough to show his gratitude. Dr. 
 MacColl found a moment while the mules were being loaded, 
 to rush up the hill and say good-by to her patient. She left 
 medicines and directions, and was glad to know that one poor 
 woman at least, had profited a little by this costly journey.
 
 BLOW ON BLOW 247 
 
 And then the long ride began. The long, pitiless miles 
 dragged themselves on , one by one. Morning turned to noon 
 and noon to evening and evening passed quickly into night. 
 And tents had to be set up and food had to be eaten and a 
 few hours had to be wasted (as it seemed) in rest ; for there 
 was no moon, and they could not have travelled in the inky 
 blackness, even if their endurance could have held out. 
 
 From Suj Anak, which they reached the next day, they 
 were able to send a telegram to Dr. Franklin. Here Thorley 
 would have left the ladies, to spare them the cruel haste of the 
 journey ; but they were so distressed at the idea and prom- 
 ised so piteously not to hinder him in any way that he had 
 to give it up. Indeed he was only too glad to have them with 
 him and told them so with an emphasis that made them gasp. 
 And so far from being a hindrance, they were always the first 
 to be ready in the morning and the last to favor giving up 
 the trail at night. 
 
 Saturday they were met by friends from Muramna, who 
 had ridden out on receiving the news by telegraph. John 
 Prescott came and George Whiting and the father and 
 brother of Hilgar and two of the native pastors, as well as a 
 delegation of Thorley's men from Akbar. Dr. Lawrence had 
 tried to come ; but at the last moment his strength left him 
 and he had to be lifted from his horse. Dr. Franklin stayed 
 behind to do what he could for all the Lawrences. And Mr. 
 Freyer was helping the ladies to make everything ready for 
 the funeral. 
 
 It seemed best for some of the party to take the freshest 
 of the horses and push on as fast as they could to the city. 
 The others would follow more slowly, but all would hope to 
 reach home before Sunday was over. There were those who 
 would have relieved Thorley of the precious burden that had 
 been his through these days ; but he would not have it so, 
 though his going with the advance guard meant that he must 
 leave Jean Stuart to the escort of others. She watched
 
 248 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 him ride away, haggard, unshaven, and bowed down with his 
 sorrow ; and it seemed as if her heart were breaking with the 
 fear that he next would be the victim of her recklessness. 
 
 So Jean Stuart returned to Muramna ; and when they 
 reached the College, she besought Dr. MacColl to let her 
 stay in the rooms at the Hospital, that her presence at the 
 Lawrences' might not be an added bitterness for those whom 
 she had helped to bereave. 
 
 " I don't know how they will bear it ever to see me again," 
 she sobbed ; for at last Jean Stuart had broken down after 
 the long strain. "They will all hate me forever." 
 
 Dr. MacColl gently stroked the bright head that lay on 
 her knee. "You'll be very much surprised, dearie, when 
 you do see Margaret Lawrence. There isn't anything in 
 her heart for you but love and pity." 
 
 Jean lifted her face swiftly. "How do you know?" she 
 cried. "That can't be ! She hasn't said so?" 
 
 "No, dear. Not yet; but she will." 
 
 "I wouldn't," she declared, "not if it were my husband." 
 
 Dr. MacColl smiled very sadly. "Do you remember 
 Dan's sermon," she said, "that last Sunday night? 'The 
 power to pray and to forgive and to love ' ? You forget that 
 Margaret has all that to help her." 
 
 " It won't help her to endure me," Jean persisted. "Noth- 
 ing will." 
 
 Now the door opened quietly and Mrs. Franklin came into 
 the room. 
 
 "Jean Stuart," she said, "is she here ? Oh, yes. I have 
 a message for you, dear girl. Margaret Lawrence has just 
 called me up on the telephone. Word has reached her in the 
 city, of your arrival. She sends you her dear love and is 
 glad you are staying here for a good night's rest. She begs 
 you to sleep if you can ; and she asks that if you are able in 
 the morning, you will come home rather early and help her 
 with a few last things before the funeral."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 THAT BITTER DAY 
 
 EVEN the best friends of Dan Lawrence were surprised at 
 the overwhelming tokens of grief at his death. Men of all 
 classes in the city gathered to do him honor ; and from the 
 whole Plain of Muramna, the villagers assembled with stories 
 of what the Kasha Saib had done for them. The mourning 
 for him was hearty and sincere ; but the native friends fol- 
 lowed the example of Dan's family and colleagues, restrain- 
 ing the expression of their sorrow with a self-control which 
 was the finest tribute that could have been paid to the in- 
 fluence on them of Dan's own character. 
 
 The missionaries held first a little service in English just 
 for themselves. Then a Syriac service took place in the 
 large hall of the College, a service which was for Hilgar, the 
 Nestorian servant, as well as for Dan Lawrence. After 
 that, loving hands and strong shoulders bore the two away 
 to their final resting-place on the mountain side at Akbar. 
 For the missionaries had offered to bury Hilgar with Dan ; 
 and Hilgar 's family thought it a great honor that the place 
 of the servant should still be at the side of his master. 
 
 Jean Stuart did not go to Akbar with the others. At the 
 last moment little Ruth was taken sick ; and Jean begged 
 permission to stay with her. Long before the return from 
 Akbar, Ruth was able to be taken back to the city ; so Jean, 
 after making the child comfortable on the sofa, busied her- 
 self in giving the sitting-room a cheerful air, and in seeing 
 that the supper was as appetizing as possible. In this way 
 
 249
 
 250 
 
 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 she hoped to dull a little the poignancy of her own feelings. 
 Indeed, she had suffered that day, until it seemed to her she 
 could not suffer any more. The sight of Margaret's calm- 
 ness, of the children's tear-stained faces, of old Dr. Lawrence 
 staggering under the blow but kind and gentle in the words 
 he spoke even about the murderers, all these pierced her to 
 the heart. Then, too, she had been greatly touched by the 
 multitude of dark faces, which she had seen at the College 
 service. All of them were sorrowful; many of them were 
 ravaged by grief ; and some showed an understanding of the 
 spirit in the services, which Jean could not claim for herself. 
 
 One group of faces only, bore evidence of that same fierce 
 resentment and desire for revenge, which she felt. These 
 were the Kurds who had been her travelling companions. 
 The Sheikh had already told Thorley Prescott that he meant 
 to track Hadji Husain and kill him without giving him a 
 chance to slip through the meshes of the Persian law. Of 
 this intention, Jean did not then know definitely ; but she 
 read the Chief's feeling in his burning eyes, and discerned 
 in him and his men a spirit that matched her own. 
 
 It surprised her very much not to find a like sympathy 
 with Thorley Prescott. His feelings at the beginning of 
 the homeward journey had been, as she well knew, vindic- 
 tive enough ; but now all his rage seemed to have died away, 
 leaving only a profound sorrow, a deep contrition, and a 
 great longing to be of use. And he had been of the very 
 greatest use. It was he who had seen that the Boys' Choir 
 (trained by Margaret Lawrence) should be ready to sing 
 Dan's favorite hymns. It was he who arranged with the 
 men at the Treasury and the Printing-house that Dan should 
 be carried all the way to Akbar so that the casket might 
 not be seen jolting about, in the rude wagon that was all 
 they could command for a hearse. It was on his arm that 
 , Dr. Lawrence leaned as they stood at the grave. It was 
 he who drove the Lawrence buckboard all the long way back
 
 THAT BITTER DAY 251 
 
 to the city because the horses were restless from standing 
 and wanted to run home. And it was he who followed the 
 Lawrences into their house to ask what he could do for 
 them that night. 
 
 "I shall sleep in the room just beyond the gangway," 
 he said. "Be sure you let me know if there is anything 
 before morning." 
 
 Then he went over to Jean, saying that he had been afraid 
 she was ill when he had not seen her at Akbar. 
 
 "No, it was Ruth," Jean answered, "but she is better." 
 
 The others had left the room to put away their outdoor 
 garments ; so Jean added hurriedly : 
 
 "What is to be done about the Hadji ? Are they taking 
 measures to get him ?" 
 
 "The Governor seems really stirred up," said Thorley. 
 "Our minister at Teheran has telegraphed him; and the 
 British Consul may come from Tabriz. They won't catch 
 the Hadji because he is in Turkey by this time ; but they'll 
 make him understand that it isn't safe to come back." 
 
 "Are you satisfied with that?" said Jean, scornfully. 
 "Wouldn't you like to see him dead, to kill him with your 
 own hands if necessary ? Will you let your friend's death 
 go unavenged?" 
 
 He looked at her steadily, sadly. "You don't under- 
 stand, Jean," he said in a tone that somehow reminded her 
 of Dan, "we men must protect the women and children 
 and each other. We must have the murderer punished for 
 a warning if we can. But in Dan's name, for our own sakes, 
 and for the sake of the people, you and I and all of us must 
 forgive as we have been forgiven." His voice sank with 
 the last words and the big tears gathered in his eyes as he 
 added, "I didn't see that to begin with; but since I came 
 back, my friends have taught me. Have you heard any- 
 one reproaching me ? Yet I was the cause of it all ; and 
 even Mrs. Prescott forbears to tell me so."
 
 252 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 He heard a step on the stairs and with a hasty good night, 
 he turned to leave the room, feeling that this was not the 
 time to intrude on the family. 
 
 "Well," thought Jean, looking after him, "when it conies 
 to the point, he does their Christianity after all ; and that 
 leaves me alone, unless I turn Mohammedan !"
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 AFTERWARD 
 
 THE night of the funeral it began to rain ; and it rained 
 steadily for three days. It was, besides, the beginning of 
 Moharrem. Religious processions could be heard making 
 their way through the slimy streets. The Mohammedans 
 were celebrating the martydom of Hassan and Husain, 
 who had been killed in battle not long after the death of 
 Mohammed. Over the wrongs of these two, they worked 
 themselves into a frenzy ; and as the days went on, men were 
 often seen in the streets slashing their breasts with knives 
 and streaming with blood. This atmosphere of fanatical 
 excitement added its share to the discomfort of the mission- 
 aries, besides distracting the attention of the civic authori- 
 ties from their cause. 
 
 The days dragged on very slowly and very full of work 
 and anxiety. Hundreds of women of all ranks came to call 
 on Margaret Lawrence to "heal her head." She saw them 
 all, talked with- them calmly about her sorrow, explained 
 to them the hopes that encouraged her to take up life again 
 and the motives that made it impossible to curse the mur- 
 derer or to indulge in ostentatious grief. She made no sign, 
 when, with unintentional brutality, they turned the knife 
 in her wounds ; and she sent them away marvelling at the 
 religion that could work such wonders in a human heart. 
 
 Jean Stuart resented with all her might this untimely 
 and exorbitant demand on the missionary spirit. She 
 begged Margaret to send the women away and to take the 
 rest she needed for herself. Margaret only said that it was 
 
 253
 
 254 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 a great opportunity and went quietly on her way. Then 
 Jean fell to and began helping her. It being the Persian 
 custom in a house of mourning to serve each caller with a 
 tiny cup of coffee, Jean took this part of the work upon 
 herself. 
 
 " Whatever should I have done without you?" said Mar- 
 garet one evening after Jean had stood by her through an 
 unusually long and trying session. Jean made her lie down 
 and brought her a glass of water before saying anything. 
 Then she knelt by the sofa and taking Margaret's hand, 
 rubbed her cheek against it. 
 
 "I want to tell you," she said, "that I was going to tele- 
 graph some friends of mine to come up from Bushire and take 
 me home." 
 
 Margaret started up and looked very mournfully at her. 
 
 "I planned this," Jean went on, "before I went to Kurdis- 
 tan. I meant them to get here about the time my contract 
 should expire. It's time now to telegraph; and I should 
 think you would be glad to have me go ; but if I could help 
 you by staying 
 
 Margaret Lawrence sat up and put her arms around 
 Jean's neck. "Oh Jean," she sobbed, "don't leave me yet, 
 unless you must." 
 
 And Jean went away to her room, a little comforted. 
 
 That evening she wheedled Margaret into going to bed 
 early. She herself sat down alone in the sitting-room to 
 darn the children's stockings. 
 
 Here Thorley Prescott found her when he came to inquire 
 for the health of the family. That at least was the reason 
 he gave for his coming and he justified it by making inquiries 
 that were both minute and voluble for him. 
 
 An the time, his eyes were on the stocking Jean continued 
 to darn, and at last he burst out with an abrupt return to 
 his old blunt manner : 
 
 " You darning stockings ! I bet they'll be lumpy !"
 
 AFTERWARD 255 
 
 Jean held out to him the one that was stretched over her 
 tand ; and he examined it with a care that made her smile. 
 
 "Perfectly flat," he admitted at last, "and very neat. 
 What is there that you can't do well ? " 
 
 "I can't thank you as well as I should like, for the first 
 compliment you have ever paid me. I'm too much sur- 
 prised." She beamed at him, pleased that they should be 
 talking together again, in the old natural way. 
 
 And now he sat silent, clearing his throat from time to 
 time ; and she, seeing that he was getting ready to speak, 
 waited quietly and went on sewing. 
 
 At last he lifted his head to say : - 
 
 "To-day when I was in the cemetery, I wondered if you 
 would care to see Dan's grave." He paused, as if for an 
 answer. Jean hesitated. 
 
 "Don't go if it would be painful to you," said Thorley. 
 "I didn't know." 
 
 "Do you mean," asked Jean, "that you are suggesting 
 my going at any particular time ?" 
 
 "Yes. I rode down to ask if you would go to-morrow. 
 Father is to be with me ; and the Sheikh insists on my 
 bringing an escort always." 
 
 Jean's eyes searched his face. "I'm glad he rides with 
 you," she said. 
 
 "It's all nonsense," he answered, "for the Hadji is in 
 Turkey ; but it pleases my father, so I let Ismaili and his 
 men dog me." 
 
 "I'm glad," said Jean. "It relieves me a little." 
 
 Thorley's face lit up with a smile that died away again 
 very suddenly. 
 
 "Do you care to go ?" he asked with his eyes on the floor. 
 
 "Let me ask Mrs. Lawrence what there is to do here. I 
 don't like to leave her with extra work on her hands." 
 
 He rose as she left the room and paced restlessly around 
 until her return. "I wish I could really do something for
 
 256 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 her," he mused. "This isn't anything, but it will give her 
 a few hours in the open air. I know she loves that ; but 
 she wouldn't go for pleasure now." 
 
 When Jean came back she said that she would accept Mr. 
 Prescott's kindness, if he would start early so as to get her 
 back in time to help with callers in the afternoon. 
 
 "In that case we had better start at six," said Thorley. 
 "I want also to show you something connected with Our 
 Work. You haven't inspected it for a very long time." 
 
 "I'll be ready," said Jean. "You were good to think 
 of asking me, and you'll be glad to know that Mrs. Lawrence 
 is pleased at my going. She asks us to find some flowers 
 for the grave, if possible. She thinks the wild hyacinths may 
 be in bloom." 
 
 She looked questioningly at him. His eyes gleamed with 
 satisfaction ; but he only said : 
 
 "We'll do what we can. I'm glad you're going. Good 
 night." 
 
 She detained him. "One thing more," she said in a ner- 
 vous way not at all natural to her. "I hope you are not 
 intending to ride down with us." 
 
 "Surely I am." 
 
 "I'm going to ask you not to." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "That is, unless you expect to spend the night here. I 
 can't bear to think of your riding up again so near night- 
 fall." 
 
 He laughed out and checked himself with a look of com- 
 punction. 
 
 "That's all right," said Jean. "We all laugh when we 
 can." 
 
 "I know," he said, "but it doesn't seem right for me to 
 come in and laugh." 
 
 She laughed at that, a little. "Then it's settled," she 
 pursued, "that I am to ride back with your father."
 
 AFTERWARD 257 
 
 "Not at all," he declared. "I won't take you one step, 
 unless you will let me see for myself that you get back 
 safely." 
 
 "Ah," she breathed, "then you do think there is danger; 
 and yet you will ride back and forth." 
 
 "We'll give it up," he said brusquely. "I won't take 
 you if you feel like that." 
 
 "Not for myself," she cried. "Please don't think so. 
 It's only that I'm afraid for you." 
 
 She sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands, 
 ashamed that he should see how unnerved she was. 
 
 He stood looking at her, sorry that she should be upset, 
 yet with a strange wild pleasure which he could not under- 
 stand, tugging at his heart. 
 
 "Jean," he said at last, "believe me when I tell you that 
 if I were in danger of being shot, I should not dream of tak- 
 ing you outside the city. And if you don't cheer up pretty 
 quickly, I won't take you anyway." 
 
 At this, Jean uncovered her face; but could think of 
 nothing more brilliant to say than that he would have to 
 take her now because he had promised. 
 
 "At six o'clock, then," he said ; "good night." 
 
 The touch of her hand gave him such a thrill of joy that 
 he strode away cursing himself for a disloyal lover and an 
 unfaithful friend. 
 
 "After this," he muttered, "I won't trust myself to go 
 near her. I thought Dan's death had sobered me enough 
 to keep me from feeling that way now."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 OUR WORK AGAIN 
 
 IN good time the next morning, Jean Stuart and the two 
 Prescotts reached Akbar. They had been delayed a little 
 because the river was swollen with the recent rains. At 
 the first ford they .were obliged to let their horses swim part 
 way. This caused them to go around by the longer road 
 to avoid the other two crossings. Yet their horses were 
 so eager in the freshness of the early morning, that they 
 made the whole trip in about the usual time. 
 
 "It's a pleasure to ride with such a horsewoman," said 
 Mr. Prescott as he helped Miss Stuart dismount. "There's 
 no need for making concession to feminine weakness when 
 you are of the party." 
 
 "Dr. MacColl is just the same kind," said Thorley. "I 
 never was delayed a minute by either of 'em. Now will 
 you people rest in the house while I see to the men, or will 
 you make the rounds with me ? " 
 
 "I'd like to make the rounds," said Jean, promptly. 
 The brisk ride in the warm sunshine had restored color to 
 her cheeks and light to her eyes. Thorley was elated at 
 seeing her look like herself again. 
 
 "It's all very well for you youngsters to be so energetic," 
 said Mr. Prescott, "but I confess I should like a cup of 
 coffee before I start on anything as arduous as Thor's 
 rounds." 
 
 "Oh yes, I told the cook to have some ready for us. At 
 last he has learned to make it Father's way." 
 
 258
 
 OUR WORK AGAIN 259 
 
 Thorley led them, as he spoke, into the end house, the 
 upper story of which was still reserved for the use of the 
 missionaries. They took their coffee in the same room where 
 they had been eating dinner when the news was brought 
 that Isaac of Arawan had been shot. The scene came back 
 vividly to Jean as she drank. She was glad to finish quickly 
 and go out again into the spring day. 
 
 She and Mr. Prescott followed Thorley all around the 
 works. She saw the men excavating for the permanent 
 addition to the first rough little reservoir, saw the begin- 
 nings of the trenches where the pipes were to be laid that 
 would carry running water to the city Compound and the 
 College. She saw the fields where the wheat had just been 
 sowed that would feed all the mission schools through the 
 next winter. Most wonderful of all, she saw a band of 
 clean, intelligent workmen, and could not believe that they 
 were the crowd of ruffians at whom she had shuddered in 
 the fall. 
 
 "Surely these are not the same men who were here last 
 December," she murmured to Mr. John Prescott. 
 
 "The very same," he answered triumphantly. "Haven't 
 they changed, though ! But you must go down to the vil- 
 lage and see their homes. There's a sight for Persia 
 contented women and healthy children ! " 
 
 Thorley returned to them at this moment. "What are 
 you bragging about, Father?" he asked with affectionate 
 raillery. 
 
 Gratification radiated from Mr. Prescott. "Miss Stuart 
 didn't recognize these men," he said. "She thought they 
 were some that you had polished up for the occasion." 
 
 "They have changed, haven't they?" said Thorley much 
 pleased. 
 
 Then his face sobered. "The trouble is, though, that I 
 ought to let most of them go next week; and I doubt if 
 the Station will let me get a fresh lot."
 
 260 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "What's the matter ?" said Jean. "Is the money giving 
 out?" 
 
 "We have money in the bank. You know that. We've 
 been selling water-pipes, you know, and we could sell enough 
 more to pay for the reservoir and the waterway to the city. 
 Only most of these men have little plots of ground some- 
 where, from which they might get enough this summer to 
 feed them scantily next winter. It was the failure of these 
 crops last summer that threw them on our hands." 
 
 "What reason is there to think they won't fail this sum- 
 mer ? " asked Jean. 
 
 "Well, it's a risk, of course, but it's one that farmers take 
 all over the world ; only these men don't know how to guard 
 against failure. If I could keep them here one summer, I 
 could show them a thing or two; that is, I think I could." 
 
 He squared his shoulders and smiled, looking so capable 
 that it would have been hard for any one to doubt his ability. 
 His present listeners perhaps were not very hard to convince. 
 
 "But if I let them go, I must do it right off; for they 
 ought to be planting. Most of them did go away while I 
 was in Kurdistan ; but the ground was too hard for them to 
 do much ; and they all flocked back to me when they heard 
 about Dan." 
 
 "Why was that?" asked Jean. 
 
 "Well, I hardly know. Some of them perhaps were 
 frightened and felt safer inside our walls; but it did seem 
 as if most of them came just because they wanted to stand 
 by me." 
 
 "That must have pleased you," cried Jean. 
 
 "It did," said Thorley the Taciturn. 
 
 "But you haven't told me," said Jean, as they turned 
 back toward the house, "why there is any question about 
 sending these men away. If they are comfortable here and 
 if there will be work for them all summer and enough to 
 last over into next winter so that they won't suffer from the
 
 OUR WORK AGAIN 261 
 
 loss of a year's crops, why isn't it better to let them stay, 
 especially if you can teach them to make more out of their 
 land in the future ?" 
 
 Thorley hesitated. 
 
 "The difficulty is this, Miss Stuart," interposed John 
 Prescott, "that to continue industrial work on so large a 
 scale after it has ceased to be immediately necessary for 
 famine relief, is a departure from the evangelical method of 
 conducting mission work. And to such a departure, some 
 of our colleagues are very much opposed." 
 
 The look of absolute bewilderment on Jean's face, forced 
 a short laugh from Thorley. She put out her hand to check 
 him, saying courteously to the older man : 
 
 "I'm afraid I don't quite understand. Will you excuse 
 my stupidity and explain a little more ?" 
 
 "I'll translate," said Thorley. "Father means that some 
 missionaries think that all mission work is wasted which is 
 not directly religious. This is called the evangelical basis. 
 In the past some missionaries have grudged even the time 
 spent in the secular part of educational work. No one here, 
 thank goodness, goes to that extreme. But several of the 
 Station feel that except in time of famine, industrial work 
 is a waste of the energy that should be put into preaching." 
 
 "Oh," said Jean, "but I thought you weren't expected 
 to preach, anyway." 
 
 "If I wasn't working here," said Thorley, "I could go 
 back to the Treasury and the Press ; and the rest could do 
 more preaching. Since Mr. Freyer's recovery, he has been 
 helping Dr. Lawrence with the Press, besides running the 
 Treasury with Standish under him ; but now that spring 
 has come, they ought both to be left free for touring, and 
 really, I don't know who will do that part of the work if I 
 don't." 
 
 "It is a grave question under the present circumstances," 
 said Mr. Prescott. "The new man for whom we shall have
 
 262 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 to ask the Board, cannot possibly get here before the fall, 
 if then. Meantime Dan's place is empty and Thorley's 
 old place in the city as well. It comes to this : whether 
 the work at Akbar is important enough to be kept up at any 
 cost. I believe it is, and I have a plan for making it possible. 
 Only I do think that the men whose farms warrant it, should 
 be encouraged to return to them." 
 
 "I think so, too," said Thorley. "I shall send a lot away 
 on Monday, but I want permission to hire men in their 
 places if the work warrants it. I want to make this thing 
 a business. I believe the success of a Christian business 
 would do more for Persia than any amount of preach- 
 ing." 
 
 "When is it to be decided ?" asked Jean. 
 
 "I doubt if it can be discussed day after to-morrow," said 
 Mr. Prescott, gravely, turning to his son. "There will be 
 too much else." 
 
 "I hope they won't bring it up," agreed Thorley. "It 
 would be a shame to quarrel, after passing resolutions about 
 Dan and asking for a man to take his place." 
 
 "But why need you quarrel ? ' ' asked Jean . "If the money 
 is supplied and you are willing to do the work, what right 
 have the others to interfere?" 
 
 "Technically," answered Thorley, "this work belongs 
 to the Station not to me," he paused to smile ruefully 
 at her, "nor even to you." 
 
 "If it did belong to me," cried Jean, "I should let you do 
 it exactly as you thought best." 
 
 He thanked her with a look, while Mr. Prescott summoned 
 his courage to ask hesitantly, 
 
 "Then you would not be willing that the balance of the 
 money should be diverted into another channel ?" 
 
 "Certainly not," she flashed. Then, as a new thought 
 struck her, "You don't mean that they are getting up a 
 scheme to use it for evangelical purposes !"
 
 OUR WORK AGAIN 263 
 
 Thorley laughed outright. "As usual you've hit the 
 nail on the head," he applauded. 
 
 "Perhaps we should not have spoken of it," said Mr. 
 Prescott. 
 
 "Since you have," demanded Jean, "you will please tell 
 me what the scheme is." 
 
 John Prescott looked at her, half frightened, and was 
 silent. 
 
 " Certainly we'll tell you," Thorley put in. "They want 
 to buy land for a church in the city and begin building it." 
 
 "There's no doubt," said Mr. Prescott mildly, "that the 
 church is very much needed." 
 
 They had been standing in front of the end house for some 
 minutes. The pipe factory and some of the new trenches 
 could be seen from where they stood; and Jean moved a 
 little so that she could look back at the reservoir. 
 
 "They want you to leave all this just where it is," she 
 said, slowly, "and let the natives think that your winter's 
 work was all a bluff, that they can come to you any time 
 when they have been shiftless and imprudent and get you 
 to start an industry with no regard for its commercial 
 value ? 
 
 "I gave my money for this work, and I will not have one 
 chahi of it used for any other purpose. If it is not used for 
 this, it shall lie idle." 
 
 She walked into the house as she spoke; and the two 
 men followed her, Mr. Prescott whispering apprehensively 
 to his son, "I hope no one will think we have prejudiced 
 her mind." 
 
 "I don't care a d-darn what any one thinks !" declared 
 Thorley with pride in his voice and something more potent 
 than pride in the look he sent after the stately figure of 
 Miss Stuart. 
 
 "How she understands!" he was thinking. "And how 
 she speaks and how she looks ! To-day I won't miss one
 
 264 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 flicker of her eyelids; for after this " and he hurried to 
 catch up with her so that he might not waste another 
 moment. 
 
 "Are you tired," he asked, "or cold? If not, shall we 
 start out again very soon ? I have something to show you 
 before we go," his eager voice fell, "to the cemetery."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVn 
 
 REVELATIONS 
 
 "ARE you good for a little climb ?" asked Thorley, as he 
 led Jean into the path to his cabin. 
 
 "Oh, yes," she answered happily, "I know this path ; and 
 the view from your roof will be beautiful to-day." 
 
 "It's something else that I have to show you now," said 
 Thorley. " Give me your hand, please. I must pull you 
 up the steepest places." 
 
 She let him help her into a side path very steep and slip- 
 pery. After a few minutes of breathless climbing, they 
 emerged into a little open sunny spot where the ground 
 was overlaid with a glistening cover of wild white hyacinths. 
 In a moment Jean was on her knees among them, putting 
 down her face to caress the lovely things and to drink in 
 their perfume. 
 
 "I thought she'd like them." Thorley smiled as he said 
 the words to himself. Aloud he presently added, "Shall 
 I begin picking ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, please. You pick ; and I'll make them into a 
 great big, beautiful wreath." Jean sat down on the ground ; 
 but Thorley silently placed his coat at one side for her to 
 sit on ; and she had the good sense this time to do as he wished 
 without protest. 
 
 When the wreath was nearly finished, she spied a few 
 purple irises growing by themselves. " Please get me those," 
 she said to Thorley, "and then we shall have Dan's two 
 colors : white for the saint and purple for the conqueror." 
 Her voice broke ; and she bent low over the wreath to hide 
 her face. 
 
 265
 
 266 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Thorley got her the flowers without a word and watched 
 as she wove them into the wreath. 
 
 "He was a conqueror," he said very low, as she held it 
 up for him to see. "I guess no one knew how hard it was 
 for him always to be cheerful and brave and contented." 
 He smiled down at her as he said the last word, "but he 
 conquered himself ; and now - 
 
 Jean rose and began picking flowers as fast as she could. 
 "Now," she said hesitating and turning her face away, "I 
 think he has left plenty of work for us others to do, who 
 haven't conquered ourselves to speak of. I mean myself," 
 she burst out, turning impulsively back to Thorley, her 
 arms full of flowers and her face beautiful with an expres- 
 sion he had never seen on it. 
 
 "Sometimes in these last days since I've been helping 
 Margaret, even I have wished I could learn to be like them, 
 praying and loving and giving. I don't know that I ever 
 could learn to forgive or that I want to learn that. But 
 last night I tried to pray a little ; and it seemed almost as 
 if Somebody heard and came near to comfort me." 
 
 "Ah, Jean," he said, with shining eyes, "I hope Dan hears 
 you now, and I know God does." 
 
 " You know God hears ? " cried Jean. 
 
 "Yes," he answered, gravely. "I learned that here last 
 winter when I was all alone on my cabin roof at night. 
 The days were full of such work as I thought a Creator God 
 must love. The nights were still and lonely. I got to 
 thinking out loud about what I had done that day and what 
 I had better do next. I got to feeling how great the work 
 was and how much I needed big help, the kind that you 
 can't get from any other man. And the first I knew I was 
 looking up at the stars and asking." 
 
 There was a silence between them for a long minute, Jean 
 looking at Thorley, Thorley gazing above her head. 
 
 "After that," he went on, "the things I had stopped be-
 
 REVELATIONS 267 
 
 lieving didn't matter. I knew. And I have gone on learn- 
 ing little by little ever since. No man can take away from 
 me now what I have learned." 
 
 Jean came closer to him and laid one hand on his arm. 
 
 "Some night when you are looking at the stars," she 
 whispered, "ask Him to teach me too." 
 
 "I have," he answered, smiling into her eyes. Then he 
 stooped to pick up the flowers she had dropped ; and she 
 remembered suddenly why they were there and began pick- 
 ing again as if her life depended on it. 
 
 When they started down the path Thorley's coat was full 
 of loose flowers ; and the great wreath hung around Jean's 
 neck. 
 
 They went straight to the cemetery, saying little as they 
 went, and hushed to absolute silence when they reached 
 Dan's grave. No stone had yet been placed there; so 
 Jean laid the wreath on the grave itself and scattered loose 
 flowers to cover all the rest of the mound. Then, with 
 deft fingers, she gathered up the hyacinths that were left, 
 making them into two loose bunches. The smaller she 
 placed on Hilgar's grave and the larger she held out to 
 Thorley. 
 
 "Perhaps you will like to put it on your mother's grave," 
 she said very softly. 
 
 He took the hand that held the flowers and drew her with 
 him to the other side of the little cemetery. There he 
 knelt beside a myrtle-covered mound and together they 
 placed the fragrant flowers on it. Then as he rose from his 
 knees and stood back to let her read the inscription on the 
 stone, suddenly there was a loud report as if a cannon had 
 gone off not far from them. 
 
 To Jean it seemed that Hadji Husain had appeared in 
 the flesh, firing at Thorley. With one wild cry, she threw 
 herself in front of him, spreading out her arms to shield him 
 with her body.
 
 268 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "Oh, Thorley," she cried, "I won't let him get you." 
 
 " Jean," he said, " my men are blasting with gunpowder." 
 
 She looked at him with wide eyes, refusing to be convinced 
 and trembling so that she could hardly stand. He repeated 
 his assurances of safety with every detail that he thought 
 might convince her. At last he took her by the shoulders and 
 turned her so that she could see the figure of his father stand- 
 ing on the roof of the end house and looking unconcernedly 
 in the direction of the reservoir, whence smoke was rising. 
 
 Suddenly she understood, wrenched herself away from 
 him, and moved swiftly toward the gate of the cemetery. 
 In her nervous haste she could not unlatch it ; and Thorley 
 hurried to help her, still urging her not to be afraid ; for he 
 could not understand why she should still be troubled. 
 
 Before he opened the gate, he bent his head to get a 
 glimpse of her face. She did not seem frightened exactly, 
 though she was trembling ; but the minute her eyes met 
 his, they filled with angry tears, the bright color flamed 
 all over her face, her hands clenched each other so that the 
 nails sank into the flesh ; and she turned her back on him 
 almost with violence. 
 
 Still puzzled, he stood behind her, watching the crimson 
 creep into her neck and hearing the dry sobs that she forced 
 back into her throat. 
 
 "Jean," he cried, "what is the matter?" 
 
 For one breathless instant she faced him. "Never call 
 me that again," she commanded. 
 
 "Look at me," he said quietly. "What have I done to 
 make you angry ? You must tell me." He spoke so sternly 
 that she had to obey him. 
 
 Slowly she turned toward him, slowly she raised her eyes 
 to his. But in that second he saw. 
 
 "Jean," he cried, "you love me !" 
 
 "Hush," she said, "how dare you? How can you 
 here ? Open that gate and let me go."
 
 REVELATIONS 269 
 
 "If I let you go now, will you talk with me later ?" His 
 hand was on the latch. 
 
 "No, never as long as I live," she cried, and she burst into 
 tears and sank in a little heap by the fence. 
 
 He turned away then and stood at a distance until she 
 was quieter. 
 
 "Please call me," he said over his shoulder, "when you're 
 ready to have the gate opened." 
 
 "Now, if you please," she answered in a voice subdued 
 by weeping. 
 
 So he went back to her. She was calmer now ; and she 
 faced him, still defiant. "Remember, you are not to say 
 one word," she said. 
 
 "Jean," he answered, "if you don't love me, this is the 
 time to tell me so calmly. But you will have to look in my 
 eyes and say it without anger." 
 
 She tried to face him, failed, and hid her face in her hands. 
 Then he opened the gate. 
 
 "There's a bench outside where you can sit down," he 
 said. He took her arm and led her to it. 
 
 "Jean," he resumed, standing in front of her, "you're 
 right in saying that this is not the time for me to speak. I 
 will write to-night and insist on being given rny freedom. 
 Then I will come to you again. Now I will leave you for 
 a few minutes. When you're ready, please call. We'll 
 go back to the house and have lunch. The horses shall be 
 ready immediately afterwards." 
 
 "Mr. Prescott," said Jean. She sat very straight on the 
 bench and she seemed to have recovered all her self-control 
 and dignity while he was speaking. 
 
 "Not now, please," he said, walking away. 
 
 "Now," she insisted, "I must ask you to hear a few 
 words." 
 
 He came back and stood before her again. 
 
 "You have misunderstood me completely. Let me ex-
 
 270 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 plain to you once for all that I never could love any man 
 enough to allow of his breaking a promise of marriage for 
 me. If you break your engagement, it will be at your own 
 risk. I will not marry you in any case; nor is there any 
 power strong enough to make me change my mind, even if 
 I loved you." 
 
 "I will break my engagement," said Thorley. "I'll 
 make her break it now. When I wrote before, it was simply 
 on her account, because I knew I couldn't love her enough. 
 I had no hope then of winning you." 
 
 "When you wrote before?" asked Jean, her curiosity 
 getting the upper hand. "Did you tell her you didn't love 
 her , and did she keep you to your word ? " 
 
 "I told her I loved you." 
 
 "And she said?" 
 
 "She said she would not take amiss anything I did or 
 omitted to do and she believed all would yet come out right, 
 if we held to our trust in each other." 
 
 "And she still speaks of marrying you?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Then she never got your letter. Have you ever men- 
 tioned me again ? Has she ever spoken of me ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then in the name of all that is sensible, let your engage- 
 ment stand for the present at least. Your fiancee is evi- 
 dently ignorant that your fancy has ever strayed from her. 
 Let her remain in ignorance. I am soon going away." 
 
 " Going away ? " he cried. 
 
 "Did you suppose I would stay in this place forever?" 
 She rose as she spoke, and began to walk rapidly toward 
 the house. "I have an important lawsuit at home that 
 needs my attention. Some friends are waiting at Bushire 
 for me to summon them as escorts. I shall telegraph them 
 to-day." 
 
 "Jean," said Thorley, striding along beside her, and speak-
 
 REVELATIONS 271 
 
 ing very solemnly. "I believe that letter has been lost. 
 I will write another to-night. The answer may get here 
 before you leave. If not, I will follow you to America." 
 
 "Remember how you feel about a promise." Her tone 
 had lost its hauteur. She was pleading with him now. 
 "It will not bring you happiness to break your word. Be- 
 sides, you must think of the girl." 
 
 "I do think of her. It was for her sake that I wrote 
 before. I had no notion then of offering myself to you. I 
 had no idea then that you could 
 
 She cut him short with a stateliness which he was man 
 enough to enjoy. "I cannot," she saidj "and I will not. 
 No matter what happens, you have my final word about 
 this very disagreeable subject. I must ask you as my 
 friend never to reopen it." Then with a sudden change to 
 the charming manner which had so often proved irresistible, 
 "You are my friend, aren't you?" and pausing at the door 
 of the house, she held out her hand. 
 
 Thorley took it firmly in both of his. 
 
 "I am," he answered ; and there being apparently noth- 
 ing more to say they went in to lunch.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 THE LETTER AND MRS. PRESCOTT 
 
 IN spite of everything, Thorley Prescott escorted Jean 
 Stuart back to the city that Saturday afternoon. Jean 
 reasoned that it would not seem strange to Mr. John Pres- 
 cott if she were rather silent after her visit to the cemetery ; 
 so she did not try to keep up a conversation. He, seeing 
 her red eyelids, honored her sensibility, and after a few 
 attempts to talk with his son, fell silent also. As for Thor- 
 ley, he had nothing to say beyond a bare yes or no, grunted 
 grudgingly in answer to a direct question. He seemed to 
 be thinking out some problem ; for at times his lips moved, 
 and once in a while he nodded his head or tossed it impa- 
 tiently. Withal he looked so grim over his cogitations that 
 his father wondered what he could be planning. 
 
 Mr. Prescott had been very uneasy for a time after he 
 learned of Thorley's engagement to Esther Wilcox and of 
 his love for Jean Stuart. At first the father felt that his 
 boy was entitled to win the wife he wanted at any cost. 
 But of late he had settled down to the belief that Esther Wil- 
 cox was better suited after all to be Thorley's helpmate. 
 When he saw Thorley and Jean return from the Kurdish 
 trip apparently on terms of sober friendship, he was much 
 relieved. And he had the audacity to hope that after Miss 
 Stuart's departure from Muramna, Thorley would forget her 
 or if he remembered, would be glad to have escaped the folly 
 of trying to turn a woman like her into a missionary. It can- 
 not be denied that Mr. Prescott may have been influenced 
 by his wife, who detested Jean Stuart and lost no opportunity 
 
 272
 
 THE LETTER AND MRS. PRESCOTT 273 
 
 of branding her as an alien and a pagan. He had to admit 
 that Jean did not seem to be a religious person nor a con- 
 secrated worker; but he had made Mrs. Prescott angry 
 more than once by stating that in spite of her shortcom- 
 ings, he could not help liking the lady herself. At the same 
 time, the thought of her as a daughter-in-law had become 
 alarming to him. He had no real reason now to feel that 
 the grimness of his son was connected with Miss Stuart. 
 Yet all the way to the city, he felt his uneasiness returning ; 
 and he was glad when at last they all rode into the Com- 
 pound. 
 
 Mr. Prescott made haste to dismount at the Lawrences' 
 door that he might be the one to help Miss Stuart off her 
 horse. Quick as he was, Thorley was quicker. Now Jean 
 was carrying a bunch of hyacinths which she had asked 
 Thorley to get for her to give Mrs. Lawrence, and these she 
 allowed him to hold while she let his father help her down. 
 
 "Thank you both very much," she said graciously as she 
 prepared to mount the steps. 
 
 She held out her hand for the flowers. Thorley gave 
 them to her, openly keeping one for himself. 
 
 "I want them all, please," she insisted; and he obeyed 
 her with a deepening grimness about the mouth that did 
 not go with the smile in his eyes. 
 
 Now Mr. Prescott knew that he had grounds for his un- 
 easiness; and he resolved to speak seriously with his son 
 at the first opportunity; though, knowing that Thorley 
 had already chosen some definite course of action, he did 
 not relish the prospect of offering contrary advice. How- 
 ever he got no chance to talk with his son that evening. The 
 one question Thorley asked at supper, was, 
 
 "What time does the mail go out on Sunday?" 
 
 "It goes out on Saturday now," said Mrs. Prescott. 
 
 "What!" cried Thorley, half starting from his chair. 
 "Then it's gone already?"
 
 274 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "You interrupted me, Thorley," said his stepmother 
 grandly. "I was about to say that we, as Christians, can- 
 not be too thankful for the change." 
 
 "Oh, Lord," said Thorley, a remark which, though brief, 
 kept Mrs. Prescott in conversation for the rest of the meal. 
 
 After supper Thorley retired to his room and, locking the 
 door, proceeded to spend his entire stock of American paper 
 and almost the whole night in the composition of a letter 
 which turned out to be rather short after all. 
 
 His father knocked at the door and was more or less 
 politely refused admittance. His stepmother knocked and 
 received no reply. The remarks which she hurled through 
 the door were likewise disregarded ; but the remarks which 
 she later made to her husband were not to be so easily es- 
 caped, and it is doubtful whether any of the Prescott 
 family slept very much that night. 
 
 Jean Stuart slept, if possible, even less than they did. 
 She had to devise a telegram to Bertha Courtlandt Mullins ; 
 she had to decide which of the gentlemen she would ask to 
 send it for her; and she had to consider what reason she 
 would give Margaret Lawrence for the very sudden and 
 radical change in her plans. 
 
 "I'll wait until the mail to-morrow," she decided, after 
 several hours of thought. "That may bring a letter about 
 the lawsuit which will help me out a little. I've told Mar- 
 garet that I had a suit on hand which might go against me ; 
 and the fact is that I ought to get back pretty quickly. I 
 never should have left Mr. Erskine to prosecute Mercer 
 Bryant. He's too chicken-hearted. But I just couldn't 
 bear to appear in court against that man. And now I may 
 have to, after all ; for I'll die sooner than let Mercer Bryant 
 bamfoozle me." 
 
 A sudden thought made her writhe in the bed and a 
 groan escaped her as she buried her face in the pillow. 
 
 "And now," said a voice within her, "you have put your-
 
 THE LETTER AND MRS. PRESCOTT 275 
 
 self on a level with Mercer and Delia. Oh, how that girl 
 would hate you, if she knew what you have done ! If only 
 she could be kept from knowing !" 
 
 Jean Stuart sat up in her bed and shivered with some- 
 thing icier than the cold. "But I know he is going to tell 
 her, and I can't stop him. Will he tell her that I love him ? 
 Oh God, I can't bear that." 
 
 She jumped out on the floor and walked up and down in 
 the moonlight. Then she thought she heard a sound and 
 got back into bed, crouching under the covers. 
 
 "Jean," said a voice at the door, "is anything the matter ? 
 Are you sick?" 
 
 "Aren't you asleep ?" said Jean, as if she had just waked 
 up. She leaped out of bed and opened the door. "What 
 can I do for you, Margaret ? Would it help you to sleep 
 if I rubbed your head ? " 
 
 "No, thank you. I guess I'll be more sleepy by and by. 
 Those Moharrem noises startled me several times, just as 
 I was dropping off. They aren't so loud now quite." 
 
 "Stay here with me," said Jean. "You can hardly hear 
 them at all." 
 
 "No, thank you, the children might wake and miss me. 
 They are so easily frightened now, poor little things. Go 
 back to bed, Jean ; you're shivering. My, but it's a com- 
 fort to have you here !" 
 
 "How can I leave her ?" thought Jean as she watched her 
 go down the hall with her lamp. 
 
 Then she went back to bed and fell to thinking about 
 the girl whom Thorley had promised to many. He had 
 not told her name ; and Jean supposed it was one that she 
 had never heard. She wished he had mentioned it. It 
 might have helped her to form a picture of the girl. Where- 
 upon she began to form a picture out of nothing and became 
 in the process more wide awake than ever. So she gave it 
 up in disgust, lighted her lamp, and began to study Turkish.
 
 276 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 About the same time, Thorley finished his letter, read it 
 over for the last time, put it into an envelope which he sealed 
 and addressed, tore the sheets he had spoiled into minute 
 fragments, which on second thoughts he carefully burned 
 on a brass tray, then went to bed, and slept. 
 
 In the morning he rose early and went downstairs with 
 the letter in the pocket of his riding-coat. There he begged 
 a cup of coffee from the cook and sent an order to the stables 
 for his horse and his outriders. Returning to the sitting- 
 room, he heard steps in his father's study above his head. 
 
 Mr. Prescott had not slept very well when at last he was 
 allowed the chance to try ; and the snores of his wife had 
 become so insistent that he had escaped to his study where, 
 in dressing-gown and slippers, he was looking over his 
 sermon. 
 
 "Why, Thorley," he exclaimed, in an undertone, as his 
 son entered the room quietly without knocking. "Why are 
 you up and dressed so early?" 
 
 "I must ride up again this morning. I should have gone 
 last night ; but I wanted to be sure this letter was in your 
 own hands. I want it mailed next Saturday without fail. 
 Please put it into the post-bag yourself." 
 
 "Why but Thorley. I shall see you again before 
 Saturday." 
 
 " Perhaps not. I'll try of course to get to Station meeting ; 
 but to-morrow will be very busy and I may not make 
 it." 
 
 "Your name should be on the resolutions." 
 
 "I should be there; and I will be if I can. If not, you 
 will explain to the Lawrences that I was dismissing men and 
 simply could not leave." 
 
 "Very well. But how about this letter? I see it is di- 
 rected to Mr. Smith of Tabriz. Is it more than usually im- 
 portant?" 
 
 "Yes. I may as well tell you. I've written to ask that
 
 THE LETTER AND MRS. PRESCOTT 277 
 
 the engagement be broken. Jea um I am convinced 
 that the other letter was never received." 
 
 "But, my son," said Mr. Prescott, very unhappy, "is this 
 haste and abruptness necessary ? If Miss Wilcox, as you 
 believe, has not received your other communication, this 
 request will come on her like a thunderclap." 
 
 "I guess not, Father," said Thorley with an unpleasant 
 smile. " My letters lately haven't been any too affectionate 
 and, come to think of it, hers have showed that she knew it." 
 
 "At the same time you should show her every considera- 
 tion." 
 
 "I hope I have. I made the letter as decent as I could. 
 It isn't a thing you can do with any airs and graces." 
 
 Mr. Prescott had to smile at the incongruous picture. 
 "But, my son," he pursued, "why can't you wait until Miss 
 Wilcox herself comes back to Muramna ? That should oc- 
 cur now in a few weeks if I am correctly informed. You will 
 then be in a position to manage this delicate matter with 
 proper deliberation ; or perhaps when you see the young lady 
 again, it may be 
 
 "It may be what?" 
 
 "That you will be content to let matters remain in statu 
 quo." 
 
 "Oh, for Heaven's sake, Father! Plain English is bad 
 enough. This letter has got to go. Now will you take 
 charge of it or won't you ? I beg your pardon for being so 
 confoundedly crusty. Can't help it this time." 
 
 "Can't you ride down yourself on Saturday, if you still 
 wish the letter to go ? By that time " 
 
 " No, I cannot ; and the letter is going. If you won't send 
 it, I'll ask well, Mrs. Franklin, I guess, or Dr. MacColl." 
 
 "No,no,Thor. If it must go, I'll send it myself ; but I do 
 wish, my dear, dear boy, that you would take a little more 
 time for reflection." 
 
 Thorley had been fidgeting with his riding-crop all
 
 278 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 through this speech. He managed to hear it to the end with- 
 out interruption and now he smiled grimly. 
 
 "Oh, I won't fail to reflect. A man can't act like a cur 
 without some compunction ; but for all that, the letter must go; 
 and no matter how much I reflect, my mind will not change." 
 
 "Very well, Thorley," said Mr. Prescott. He took the 
 letter and locked it up in a drawer of his writing-table. 
 
 Thorley's tones had been incautiously loud. As a result, 
 a head horny with crimping-pins now poked itself through 
 the door into the bedroom. 
 
 Thorley fled. 
 
 "Was that your son, Mr. Prescott?" inquired a voice 
 still husky with slumber. 
 
 "Yes, Melissa. Thorley had to ride back without delay 
 and he has just gone." Mr. Prescott spoke with propitia- 
 tory uneasiness. 
 
 "His manners seem to be even worse than usual," re- 
 marked the voice ; and the crimping-pins were withdrawn. 
 
 Mr. John Prescott spent a very uncomfortable week. On 
 Monday he was asked by Dr. Franklin to send a telegram to 
 Bushire. 
 
 "I don't know why she asked me," growled the doctor. 
 "I never send telegrams too busy and don't know how 
 but I said I'd see to it. Rather unkind of the girl to leave us 
 now, seems to me. Margaret Lawrence is all broken up, 
 my wife says. And there's no telling when Esther Wilcox 
 will get a chance to come over from Tabriz. The children 
 need occupation now, if ever they did. The poor little things 
 are all worked up. Harriet cries every time I leave the 
 house. Well, school's begun to-day anyway; and Miss 
 Stuart says she'll keep it up until the last minute. Says she 
 hates to go, and pretty near cried when I asked her why she 
 was deserting us. 
 
 "Why is she going? 
 
 "Something about a lawsuit. I didn't get anything very
 
 THE LETTER AND MRS. PRESCOTT 279 
 
 clear. But it's money, I guess. The richer you are, the 
 more you hate to be cheated. But there, I oughtn't to say a 
 word about her. She's been generous enough, land knows ! " 
 
 Mr. Prescott sent the telegram ; but he was so inconsistent 
 as to feel very badly about it and to wish he could tell Thor- 
 ley. 
 
 Thorley did get down to the Station meeting, coming in 
 late and riding up again afterwards, in spite of the protests of 
 all his colleagues. All he said to his father was, "Don't 
 forget that letter," and he did not even look up at the Law- 
 rences' windows as he passed. 
 
 Now, as the week dragged on, Mr. Prescott became so 
 rushed with overseeing Standish at the Treasury and getting 
 men to preach for the coming Sunday, that he stopped open- 
 ing his table drawer three or four times a day to look at 
 the fatal letter. In fact, all through Thursday and Friday 
 he never looked at it once, and on Saturday he went back 
 to the house for it, only an hour before mail-time. 
 
 When he opened the drawer, it was not in its usual place 
 on top. He felt down all the sides and failed to find it. 
 Then he turned everything out ; and it was not there. He 
 looked all through his desk and all over the room. Then 
 he shouted for his wife. 
 
 The servants, in consternation at the change from his usual 
 manner, informed him that the Khanum had gone out to 
 the College to attend a ladies' prayer-meeting at Mrs. Frank- 
 lin's. 
 
 Mr. Prescott groaned. He looked at his watch and saw 
 that there was not time to ride out and back, before the mail 
 closed. It seemed as if there were nothing he could do. 
 Then, like an inspiration, there came the thought of the tele- 
 phone. Now Mr. Prescott was in many respects an old- 
 fashioned man. He had lived so long in the Orient that he 
 did not feel the need of modern improvements, and he had 
 thought it a waste when Dan Lawrence on his last furlough,
 
 280 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 had collected from friends of the Mission, money enough for 
 a small telephone which, on his return to Muramna, he had 
 set up. between the city and the College. The telephone 
 had long since proved itself invaluable; but Mr. Prescott 
 had never admitted the necessity for it and had never been 
 known to use it himself. 
 
 The thought of it now came as a godsend to his troubled 
 mind. He lost no time in rushing over to the Lawrences', 
 where he electrified the whole family (who happened to be 
 gathered in the sitting-room) by asking breathlessly if it 
 would be possible for him to use the telephone and whether 
 Mrs. Lawrence thought he could make his wife understand 
 a message, if indeed a way could be found to bring her to the 
 other end of the wire. 
 
 Mrs. Lawrence rose with alacrity when she understood 
 his wishes. She had always been sensitive about his attitude 
 toward the telephone because she thought it showed disap- 
 proval of Dan. So it pleased her not a little to do him this 
 small favor. 
 
 "Come right into the dining-room," she said briskly. 
 "Mrs. Prescott is at Dr. Franklin's, you say? Then I'll 
 ask to have her come to the 'phone at once. You'd like 
 me to call up, wouldn't you ? " 
 
 "Yes, if it is not too much trouble." 
 
 "Not at all. It's a pleasure. Oh, is this you, Mrs. 
 Franklin? Is Mrs. Prescott in the house? Please say 
 that her husband is here and would like to speak with her. 
 Yes, her husband. Yes, Mr. Prescott. Yes, I know it ; but 
 he's here." 
 
 A pause, during which Mr. Prescott scarcely breathed. 
 
 "Oh, is this you, Mrs. Prescott? Yes, your husband is 
 here." 
 
 She held out the receiver to Mr. Prescott. 
 
 "What do I do?" said he in a whisper, taking the re- 
 ceiver as if he expected it to shoot him.
 
 THE LETTER AND MRS. PRESCOTT 281 
 
 "Hold this to your ear," said Margaret encouragingly, 
 "and speak into the hole." 
 
 Mr. Prescott held the receiver very gingerly several 
 inches from his ear and stood clearing his throat and shifting 
 from one foot to the other. In the meantime all the Law- 
 rences could hear Mrs. Prescott at the other end making 
 the wire hot with Helios and Who is its. 
 
 Mrs, Lawrence pushed the receiver up to Mr. Prescott's 
 ear. Until then the sound had been a confused mumble to 
 him; but now he recognized his wife's voice; and it was 
 funny to see the expression of gratified alarm that overspread 
 his countenance. 
 
 "Yes, Melissa, it is I," he said, roaring into the telephone 
 in a voice that could have been heard by an audience of ten 
 thousand. "Yes, I wanted to speak to you. No, I am all 
 right. Yes, I saw to the pilau. No, I have not had any 
 dinner. Because I was busy about something else. Now 
 do keep still, Melissa, and give me a chance to say what I 
 want. Have you been house-cleaning in my study? 
 House-cleaning, I say. Yes, in my study. Well, have you ? " 
 
 By this time, his voice was loud enough to break the wires ; 
 and the children in the other room were in fits of silent 
 laughter. Even Dr. Lawrence smiled ; and Jean Stuart had 
 to bite her lips. 
 
 "Melissa" roared Mr. Prescott, "/ want to know if you 
 have unlocked the right-Jiand upper small drawer of my desk. 
 You have ? Did you find a letter there ? A letter addressed 
 to Rev. Abijah Smith at Tabriz. In my hand-writing? 
 Why, no. What difference does that make? Did you 
 find the letter! Well, yes, it was in Thorley's handwriting. 
 Did you find it? You took it out because you knew the 
 Smiths had started for America this week? What have 
 you done with it ? Do I understand you to say that you 
 have it with you now ? Oh-h-h, you have just given it to 
 Kasha Yussuf to take to Thorley at Akbar? Can you
 
 282 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 send some one to overtake him ? Yes, it's very important. 
 I would not say so, Melissa, if it were not. Oh-h-h, he left 
 half an hour ago ! Why didn't you say so at first ? " 
 
 He dropped the receiver. "Mrs. Lawrence," he shouted, 
 with anything but his usual mildness. "How do you shut 
 this thing off ? I have finished." 
 
 There may have been a little malice in the way Mrs. 
 Lawrence hung up the receiver and tinkled the bell ; for, 
 though the other end rang repeatedly, she made no motion 
 to answer. 
 
 "He'll talk to his wife by telephone again," said Jean 
 Stuart when Mr. Prescott had left the house, closing the 
 front door with a bang that was not at all like him. "I 
 venture to say that he's very seldom in a position to shut her 
 off when he chooses." 
 
 As for Mr. Prescott, he went home and scolded the ser- 
 vants, thus increasing by leaps and bounds the respect in 
 which he was held by the household.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 THE CASTING VOTE 
 
 HISTORY has never revealed what Thorley Prescott did 
 on Saturday afternoon when he received the missive from 
 his stepmother, enclosing his own envelope directed to Mr. 
 Smith. Mr. John Prescott, who rode up to preach for him 
 on Sunday, found him in a very uncommunicative mood. 
 On receiving his father's explanation about the letter, he 
 replied only, 
 
 "That's all right, it wasn't your fault." 
 
 When asked if he cared to have the letter mailed next 
 Saturday, he answered : 
 
 "No thanks. It wasn't fair to make you do it. I'll 
 have to come down one or two days to help with the balance. 
 Freyer has been away ; and Standish has got the books into 
 a mess." 
 
 This was by far the longest speech he made during the 
 twenty-four hours that his father spent on the mountain. 
 Even the news of the week, recounted in Mr. Prescott 's 
 sprightliest vein, failed to draw comments. He grunted 
 when told that the British Consul from Tabriz was on his 
 way to help them with their diplomatic difficulties and to 
 awe the Governor into taking some real action about Hadji 
 Husain. At the news that the Hadji had actually been 
 seen within fifty miles of the city, and that credible wit- 
 nesses had heard him boast of having killed one of the 
 Inglesi, he shrugged his shoulders and looked a little more 
 gloomy. 
 
 283
 
 284 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Mr. Prescott hesitated over his next item. He had con- 
 cluded to tell his son about Miss Stuart's telegram to 
 Bushire. But to this news Thorley made no response what- 
 ever, not so much as by the flicker of an eyelash. Then 
 Mr. Prescott decided that he had done his duty for that 
 day and took up a book. 
 
 It was not until they were riding down to Muramna next 
 morning that he found courage to unburden himself of a 
 message. 
 
 " Thorley," he ventured, breaking a silence that was like 
 the surface of a pond after several still nights of zero weather, 
 "Thorley, I have a message for you." 
 
 Supposing the message was from Mrs. Prescott, Thorley 
 said nothing, and did not even turn his head. 
 
 "Miss Stuart," instantly Thorley was all attention, 
 "asked me to tell you that she would be pleased if you 
 cared to come and tell her about the decision at Station 
 meeting to-day." 
 
 "Great Scott, Father, why didn't you mention that 
 before?" 
 
 "Your attitude, my son, has not been receptive. I have 
 hesitated to address you at all." 
 
 Thorley came close enough to reach out and touch his 
 father's shoulder. 
 
 "I know I'm a brute, Dad," he admitted, "but I didn't 
 realize that I was quite as bad as that." 
 
 "All right, Samivel my son, we'll say no more about it. 
 I know you have many things to trouble you." 
 
 "But so have we all. How will it turn to-day, Father? 
 Who's on our side ? " And for the rest of the way the two 
 men talked busily about the coming discussion. 
 
 That afternoon, it seemed to Jean Stuart as if the Station 
 meeting were interminably long. She sat in the Lawrences' 
 sitting-room, sewing ; for she could not collect her thoughts
 
 THE CASTING VOTE 285 
 
 to read nor to study. She was inclined to fear that she had 
 done wrong in sending for Thorley Prescott. There was 
 truth in the excuse she had made through his father, of want- 
 ing to hear from Thorley's own tips about the work at 
 Akbar. She was deeply and honestly interested in the 
 water-pipe industry; for her intellect had long since 
 grasped the economic value of such schemes in the develop- 
 ment of backward countries tike Persia ; and her desire had 
 been unconsciously developed for changing the miserable 
 environments of fellow human beings into those of health 
 and happiness. 
 
 Yet these were days when her fear of meeting the Black 
 Saib was so great that she would rather have gleaned the 
 details of this decision from Margaret Lawrence and the 
 others, than to have risked meeting this man, face to face, 
 with the knowledge that each of them knew the other's 
 heart and that it would be impossible for her ever to allow 
 another word or glance of love to pass between them. 
 
 She had summoned Thorley, she told herself (and with 
 her soul-communion had become a fairly honest process) 
 because it was necessary for someone to warn him as forcibly 
 as possible against the daily and hourly hazards he was 
 taking. 
 
 He was being watched over by the Kurdish Chief Ismaili ; 
 for the Sheikh had taken a great fancy to his "Brother the 
 Black Saib" and was determined, at all costs, to save his 
 life. Besides, there was an ancient feud between the tribes- 
 men of the Sheikh and the adherents of Hadji Husain. 
 The Sheikh had shown his devotion and his desire for 
 revenge by sticking to Thorley Prescott and by delegating 
 two of his sons to fetch their mother from the stronghold 
 near Suj Anak and bring her to Dr. MacColl at the Hos- 
 pital. Jean had heard from Dr. MacColl only yesterday 
 that there might be a chance of saving the Kurdish woman's 
 life.
 
 286 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Jean Stuart found herself thinking of many things as 
 she sat there, forever plying her needle, with her gaze 
 wandering to the window so often that her fingers were 
 pricked. 
 
 The side window of the sitting-room looked toward the 
 Seminary. Through the windows of the assembly room, her 
 keen eyes could discern black forms. Once a man came and 
 pulled back the curtain with an impatient jerk; and she 
 was certain that she recognized his shining black head. 
 
 At last there was a sound that reached her through the 
 silence way across the Compound. It was as if some one 
 had jumped from a great height on to flag-stones. 
 
 The next instant the outer door of the Seminary burst 
 open; and a hatless, square-shouldered man flew across 
 the yard. Even before she could see him, she knew he was 
 coming and smiled at her own inconsistency even as she 
 shrank back into the room. Then with a decisive move- 
 ment that expressed her self-contempt, she threw the win- 
 dow open, and called out : 
 
 "Well, how is it? Have we won?" 
 
 Thorley, lifting his face, halted directly under the window ; 
 and she was amazed to see that his eyes were wet with 
 tears, some of which had made a pale furrow down his 
 swarthy cheeks. Evidently he had taken no trouble to 
 conceal them nor to wipe them away. His voice however 
 rang out strong and vibrant as he answered : 
 
 "No Jean, we haven't won ; it's Dan who has done it all 
 for us." 
 
 "What?" cried Jean. "Come in quickly!" And she 
 ran to open the door. "Now tell me all about it," she 
 demanded. 
 
 Thorley Prescott sat down by accident opposite a little 
 mirror into which his glance unavoidably fell. 
 
 "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I've been crying!" He 
 fumbled hurriedly in his pocket.
 
 THE CASTING VOTE 287 
 
 "Got a handkerchief, Jean?" he demanded; and Jean, 
 stupefied with astonishment, obediently tucked one into 
 his hand. 
 
 "Well," he began, mopping his face and shifting his chair 
 impatiently to get that mirror out of his way "Well, I 
 never would have expected such a thing ! Never in all 
 this world!" 
 
 "Neither should I," answered Jean, dryly. "Suppose 
 you expatiate." 
 
 "I'll tell you the whole thing from the beginning." Thor- 
 ley's eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. "Sit here, won't you 
 please, so that I can see the sun sparkle in your hair. Was 
 there ever any other hair like yours ? " 
 
 "I doubt it,'' said Jean. "It was shampooed yesterday, 
 and there's nothing half as wayward even in Muramna. 
 Now, if you don't go on, I shall excuse myself and go in 
 search of Mr. Freyer or Roger Standish." 
 
 "By the way," Prescott's face lit up with mischief, "has 
 Amy Lea told you of her engagement? She seemed to 
 think that you were opposed to the match." 
 
 Jean's eyes responded to his look, the little places that 
 were not exactly dimples deepening at the corners of her 
 mouth. 
 
 "Oh ! well," she said, "I fancy I'm not the only person 
 in Muramna who will be glad when Jean Stuart sets out for 
 home." Thorley's face changed instantly to grimness; 
 his eyes hardened and met hers in a silent challenge which, 
 after a moment of intense effort, she failed to meet. The 
 instant she turned away, Thorley's face changed again; 
 but that brief look of ineffable tenderness was lost on her. 
 He began to speak now in brisk businesslike tones : 
 
 "You want me to tell you about the meeting! Well, 
 Dr. Lawrence had asked my father to take the chair. Of 
 course that cut Dad out of the discussion, which looked bad 
 for us. Dr. Franklin made as decent a prayer as I ever
 
 288 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 heard, mostly asking the Lord for common sense, which 
 Heaven knows we all need." 
 
 Jean laughed. "It might be safe for even me," she said, 
 "to make a prayer like that." 
 
 He nodded. "You've begun, have you? I thought so. 
 Have you got as far as 'forgive us our debts' ?" 
 
 "No," she answered in a high voice, "that's a point I will 
 never reach." 
 
 Thorley regarded her an instant before he went on. 
 "Well, your friend Freyer was the first to shoot off his 
 mouth. You know the kind of thing he would say ; a lot 
 of stuff about shovels being turned into ploughshares and 
 water-pipes into pruning-hooks. One time, he said, he him- 
 self had felt it his duty cheerfully to 'leave the word of the 
 Lord and serve tables.' But that time had long since 
 passed." Jean could scarcely keep from laughing at Thor- 
 ley 's unconscious imitation of his troublesome little col- 
 league. "He finished by making a motion that the work 
 at Akbar be immediately concluded and that Mr. Thorley 
 Prescott (with a lot of hot air about me) be now permitted 
 to resume his chosen work in the city." Thorley laughed, 
 but without a touch of his old bitterness. 
 
 "Did anybody second the motion ?" asked Jean. 
 
 "Yes Roger Standish, with an alacrity that made me 
 nearly roar." 
 
 "You didn't laugh out loud?" 
 
 "I did that." 
 
 "I wager that made the old ladies sit up." Jean longed 
 to add a specific question about the effect on Mrs. Prescott, 
 but restrained herself. "What happened next?" she de- 
 manded. "It's easier to get rid of a third molar than to 
 extract a consecutive tale from you." 
 
 "Sorry," answered Thorley with a chuckle. "It might 
 help if you called me Thorny." 
 
 Jean's face grew stern as she answered, "Go on."
 
 THE CASTING VOTE 289 
 
 "Well, Aunt Kate was the next to make a speech. I tell 
 you it takes that dear soul to make a fellow feel that he's 
 accomplishing something ! If all women were like her ! " 
 
 Jean's eyes flashed. "Can't you keep to the subject?" 
 she demanded. 
 
 Thorley stared at her in amazement while he hastily 
 obeyed. "The next person to get the floor was old Dad 
 himself. He gave up his chair to Dr. Franklin ; and I wish 
 you could have heard how the dear old fellow delivered his 
 ideas. It was simply bully !" 
 
 "He makes the dearest speech of any man here," Jean 
 put in. 
 
 "Oh, well," Thorley beamed with contradictory pride as 
 he spoke, "he's nothing, you know, but a mossback mis- 
 sionary." Thorley was playing for that queer little sound 
 of deep merriment which had given him his first knowledge 
 that he liked to be with Jean Stuart. For some weeks he 
 had been able to congratulate himself that when he played 
 for it, he won it. Now he was congratulating himself, even 
 as he rapidly gave the substance of his father's speech. 
 
 Mr. John Prescott, it appeared, had offered a detailed 
 plan for the adjustment of work among his colleagues, so 
 that Thorley could keep on at Akbar without interfering 
 with the necessary work of the Station, or forcing over- 
 work upon any one person. Thorley, he claimed, could 
 leave the water-pipe industry largely to Isaac of Arawan, 
 his well-trained foreman. At least half his time could thus 
 be spent in the Treasury, where, when he was obliged to be 
 absent, Mr. John Prescott himself would be ready to help 
 him out. This would leave Roger Standish and Mr. Freyer 
 free to start for the Mountains as.soon as instructions came 
 from the Board, because Miss Trench, whose Moslem girls 
 were taking a vacation on account of Moharrem, had her- 
 self offered the use of her gifted pen in assisting Dr. Law- 
 rence with the Press work. "Dad brought down the house,"
 
 290 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Thorley remarked, with a twinkle in his eye, "by adding 
 that in his opinion this arrangement of the work would be 
 advantageous to the natives, as he had never thought that 
 the talents of his son were such as to fit him for editing a 
 religious periodical." 
 
 Jean hardly took time to laugh as Thorley expected. 
 "Well, what next?" she insisted. "Was that all your 
 father said?" 
 
 "No. He finished up with a splendid peroration about 
 the industrial factor in missions. 'Every missionary,' he 
 said, 'is a spoke in the wheel of progress toward Christian 
 civilization. Now, in a country like this, no Christian 
 civilization can be built up, except on a basis of economic 
 reform. If we can begin to educate these people in the 
 foundation principles of honesty as a result of scientific and 
 profitable labor, if we can wrest from the Persian Govern- 
 ment proper protection for the workmen under our employ, 
 that they may be permitted to labor without fear, and to 
 amass profits and property without molestation, then, if 
 we can build up in them the civic responsibility which should 
 be felt by men of property as citizens and patriots, we shall 
 be the pioneers of a mighty, far reaching, and purely Christ- 
 like work.' " Thorley 's face shone as he finished ; and Jean 
 said softly, 
 
 "You seem to have learned it all by heart. Did you 
 write it for him?" 
 
 "Could I have made a speech like that?" 
 
 Jean smiled. "I guess you could, if necessary." Then, 
 as he shook his head, "Who came next?" 
 
 "Our friend, the principal of Faith Seminary, with her 
 Commencement voice, and her hands folded just so, im- 
 mediately over her discreet waist-line." 
 
 Jean rippled. "Talk about not being able to talk !" 
 she murmured ; but Thorley pretended not to hear her. 
 
 "Of course, we realized that a speech from the old lady
 
 THE CASTING VOTE 29 1 
 
 would influence at least two votes. She quoted Scripture 
 copiously and very much to the point. You can't say much 
 against that verse about the 'meat that perisheth,' when it's 
 cleverly used. She's more consistent and has better argu- 
 ments than any other of the evangelical party. Of course 
 no one wanted to answer her. Mrs. Prescott was perfectly 
 delighted ; Mrs. Whiting purred with approval ; and Amy 
 Lea looked so soulful that I wished she was a man, so that 
 I could punch her face." 
 
 "What about Roger?" asked Jean mischievously: 
 
 "Oh, well, the kid is really on the fence, though he doesn't 
 know it. When it comes to the point, he's not too well 
 pleased that there isn't some pressing duty to keep him in 
 the city. I guess he's anchored, all right. Anyway, he 
 always looks at her when you're not there." 
 
 "I thought your mind never wandered." 
 
 "It doesn't . . . now." 
 
 "Who spoke next?" The words came like hail. 
 
 "Why, dear old Dr. Lawrence pulled himself out of his 
 chair." 
 
 "No!" exclaimed Jean. "I shouldn't have thought he 
 could do it. It's been so hard lately for him to say any- 
 thing . . . consecutive." 
 
 "Well, he did it this time . . . answered Scripture with 
 Scripture in a way I've never heard equalled. The same 
 Lord, he said, that spoke about the meat which perisheth, 
 said also to his chosen disciples, 'Give ye them to eat.' 
 He called me 'our young Nehemiah.' Said I might well 
 say to certain of my colleagues, in the spirit of my great 
 missionary predecessor, 'This is a great work; I cannot 
 leave it and come down.' Dr. Franklin yelled, 'Hear! 
 Hear ! ' and that confused the old gentleman so, he sat down. 
 Of course, the doctor had to speak then ; but about all he 
 did was to spit out a few words about ignorant interference 
 and the wonderful hope of a self-supporting mission, if
 
 2 92 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 they let me go on a little longer on my own hook. After 
 he had sat down, he jumped up again and blurted out a 
 call for objections. You can guess who rose to it?" 
 
 Jean answered him with her eyes. 
 
 "Well, my respected stepmother succeeded in making 
 me pretty mad. She seldom pulls it off lately." 
 
 "Yes, you are calming down." 
 
 "I find it bothers Dad when I answer back; and after 
 all, I have other uses for my breath. But this time she 
 talked about one missionary family whose members, she 
 understood, were likely soon to be splashing in porcelain 
 bath-tubs." 
 
 Jean threw back her head and laughed merrily. "Oh," 
 she cried, "you don't mean to say that you lost the fun in 
 that?" 
 
 "Hardly. This is what got me. She claimed we ought 
 to be using your money to erect a suitable church in the 
 city ! Well you can just bet that I was up before her 
 knees were bent to sit down ; but your friend Dr. MacColl 
 got the recognition of the chair." 
 
 "I guess she did." 
 
 "It was all right, too. There's nobody equal to Dr. 
 MacColl for laying out a contemporary when she feels so 
 inclined. She said the thousand dollars and all that had 
 since been added to it (the exact sum she had never reckoned 
 up and doubted whether it were realized even by the 
 giver) this princely gift had been given by one friend of the 
 Mission, Miss Jean Stuart, for the water-works at Akbar 
 and for no other purpose. Those who would like to 
 divert it into the buikting of a church edifice, might as 
 rightfully lay hold in imagination on the Crown revenues 
 of England." 
 
 "Well, well," laughed Jean, "the little doctor did express 
 herself." 
 
 "George Whiting," continued Thorley, "had been
 
 THE CASTING VOTE 293 
 
 prodded by his wife and glared at by Mrs. Prescott the en- 
 tire afternoon. He now got up and made some remarks 
 about the danger to me. Well, I disposed of 'em." 
 
 "Did you make a speech ?" 
 
 " No, I just put it to 'em that if we stopped the work now, 
 the natives would think it was all a bluff, and next time they 
 wanted food, they'd expect food and nothing else. Then 
 I said I thought we better not be quitters and sat down. 
 One or two of them clapped a little, and Dr. Franklin 
 pounded with his feet ; but I knew at least half of them were 
 against us; so I moved the previous question. No use 
 to prolong it. I thought they weren't open to argument. 
 The question was put." 
 
 " Let's see; what was the question? Mr. Freyer had 
 moved that the industry at Akbar be abandoned and that 
 you be sent back to the Treasury and the Press." 
 
 "That's right. Dad put it; and the votes were seven to 
 seven." 
 
 "That made it embarrassing for your father. I suppose 
 he had to cast the deciding vote." 
 
 "Now here," said Thorley, "is the best part. Margaret 
 Lawrence got up and read an unfinished letter of Dan's to 
 the Board a letter about my work, about the criticisms 
 on it from home, and about his judgment as to whether it 
 should go on. He had evidently written it, not in any offi- 
 cial way, but because he felt so strongly about the matter 
 that he could not rest without making it clear to the Board 
 just where he stood." 
 
 Jean's voice was hushed with wonderment. 
 
 "And Dan's widow had the courage so soon to get up 
 and read that letter?" 
 
 "I don't believe she minded it. Her voice didn't even 
 tremble." 
 
 Jean regarded him with pity. All she said was a long- 
 drawn "Oh . . . h," but something in her expression
 
 294 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 brought back to Thorley Prescott the look on Margaret 
 Lawrence's face as she had sat down, after reading Dan's 
 letter, and he fell into a deep silence, which was shared by 
 Jean. It was she who broke it at last, 
 
 "I would like to know how it all came out." 
 
 "Oh, yes . . . George Whiting got up and said unless 
 the motion could properly be declared lost by accepting 
 this letter as the casting vote, he should ask that the rules 
 be suspended and that he himself be allowed to change 
 to the other side. He said he had always relied implicitly 
 on Dan's judgment in practical matters and he felt that 
 Dan's opinion on this occasion should carry as much 
 weight with his colleagues as if Dan himself had been 
 present in body." 
 
 "How did Mrs. Whiting like that ?" 
 
 "She was crying hard. I guess nobody's eyes were very 
 dry." 
 
 "Your stepmother?" Jean could not resist saying. 
 
 "Well, she might not admit it ; but I think she'll have to 
 hang my socks back of the stove, before she puts them in 
 my bureau drawer." 
 
 "No !" said Jean with awe. 
 
 "Then came the surprise of my life. Mr. Freyer got up 
 and said that if a motion were in order, he would like to 
 move that the work at Akbar be continued with Mr. Thor- 
 ley Prescott at its head, and that representations be made 
 to the Board that the entire Mission Station at Muramna 
 felt it essential that the industrial feature in modern 
 missionary life be given a thorough trial in Muramna 
 Station. 
 
 "When he sat down," Thorley smiled gravely, "I felt 
 for the first time in my life that perhaps it may sometimes 
 be necessary for a person with a feeble body to faint from 
 shock. 
 
 "Well, I guess that's all," he added, rising, "and come to
 
 THE CASTING VOTE 2Q5 
 
 think of it, Jean, I'd better hurry back. My first thought 
 was of you ; and I haven't thanked her yet." 
 
 "Well," said Jean, "you're an ungrateful wretch," but 
 she held out her hand to him and he, in the joy of snatching 
 at it, might have kissed it, if she had not quickly pulled it 
 away.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 JEAN STUART JOINS THE FUN 
 
 THORLEY PRESCOTT, with a quick feeling of remorse, 
 turned away from his heart's delight, to go and do his duty. 
 He opened the door of the sitting-room and was surprised to 
 find the little hall full of people whose forms he could not 
 distinguish in the dimness. The voice of Margaret Law- 
 rence was the one he first recognized. She was saying : 
 
 "Come right in here, my dear. It is so nice to see you 
 again ! Or would you rather go upstairs ? " 
 
 "No, thank you," said another voice, thin and rather 
 weak, but with a crispness of enunciation that fitted well 
 with its New England accent. "No, thank you, I'd rather 
 visit in the sitting-room for a minute. You know you really 
 haven't room for me ; and I am going to ask one of the Col- 
 lege people to give me a corner." 
 
 At the first sound of this new voice, Thorley Prescott, 
 with his heart turning over, had backed in through the 
 sitting-room door. Jean Stuart, amazed at this kind of 
 entrance, hastened to get a view of his face and read there 
 a fact that caused her to wish for a quick way of escape; 
 but the sitting-room had only one egress and that, by this 
 time, was stopped by a bevy of ladies, among whom was 
 Margaret Lawrence, holding by the arm a thin, pale little 
 woman whose figure drooped with weariness but was held 
 rigid, and whose clothes, shabby and journey-worn as they 
 were, nevertheless bore an air of precision and exquisite 
 neatness. 
 
 296
 
 JEAN STUART JOINS THE FUN 297 
 
 "Oh-h-h !" said Jean, and with one more glance at Thor- 
 ley's profile, she retreated a step or two and stood with her 
 back against the outer wall between the two side windows. 
 
 " Oh, Jean," called Margaret, " I'm so glad you're at home. 
 
 The British Consul has just arrived from Tabriz and he has 
 
 done us all a favor by bringing with him Miss Esther Wil- 
 
 cox. Esther, this is Miss Jean Stuart of whom you have 
 
 heard so much." 
 
 Thorley, turning with his back to the front window, stood 
 and watched the two women as they shook hands. 
 
 Miss Wilcox was the first to speak. 
 
 "I have, indeed, heard of Miss Stuart," she said. "It 
 was partly in the hope of relieving her, that I ventured to 
 insist on being brought back at this time by Mr. Hither- 
 ington." Turning to Margaret, she added, "He said it was 
 no time for a woman to travel." 
 
 "I agree with him perfectly," announced Thorley Pres- 
 cott. 
 
 Miss Wilcox gave a little jump which might have meant 
 that she was now aware for the first time of Thorley's 
 presence. 
 
 "Ah !" she said, holding out her hand, "How do you do ?" 
 
 "Very well, thank you." Then, after a perceptible hesi- 
 tation, "I hope . . . you did not find the journey too . . . 
 trying." 
 
 "Oh, well, you know," broke in a hearty English voice, 
 "Miss Wilcox is a dead game sport. Isn't that what you 
 Americans say when you wish to pay the highest possible com- 
 pliment? I really was annoyed, rather, when Dr. Tabor 
 asked me to escort an American lady and a native Bible 
 woman, you know ; but on my honor I hope you'll believe 
 me when I say that really I rather enjoyed it ; gave me a 
 chance to speak something besides this bally Turkish, don't 
 you know ? " 
 
 Two people who might perhaps, at another time, havs
 
 298 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 found something to smile at in these remarks, had now found 
 only the courage to face each other and had in consequence 
 heard nothing from the Englishman but a confused murmur 
 of sound. The lady for whose ears the compliment was 
 meant, stood deaf and insensible except to the visual image 
 of the two pale faces confronting each other. To put it 
 plainly, Esther Wilcox was reading the thoughts that were 
 passing between her fiance and Jean Stuart. 
 
 Now the raucous tones of Mrs. Prescott broke the mo- 
 mentary stillness that had followed Mr. Hitherington's 
 speech : 
 
 "Thorley, you are going back to the mountain, I infer. 
 Remember, if you please, that it is your duty not to alarm 
 us by lingering until the darkness. Miss Wilcox, you will 
 come and pass the night with us. My son's room is quite 
 at your disposal." 
 
 Before Miss Wilcox had even thought what to say, Thor- 
 ley answered in tones that were evidently meant to express 
 politeness, 
 
 "I'm sorry, but I shall need my room to-night." 
 
 "Miss Wilcox," broke in Jean Stuart, "will have a much 
 nicer one." 
 
 Mrs. Prescott snorted. 
 
 "Nicer," continued Jean, "because one's own room is 
 always to be preferred to any other." She had walked over 
 into the bevy of ladies and singled out Dr. MacColl whose 
 arm she now clutched. "You know I'm to spend the night 
 with you. When did you say we had better be starting? 
 I'll go and collect my things; for I'm certain you're im- 
 patient to be getting back. How's the ' Chief tainess ' ?" 
 
 "The Chieftess, you mean," snapped Dr. MacColl, who 
 had not yet fathomed the situation. She was always a 
 trifle tart in her remarks when she had reason to suspect 
 herself of a bit of unperspicacity. 
 
 "Oh well, you can tell me about her on the way out."
 
 JEAN STUART JOINS THE FUN 299 
 
 Jean managed to laugh rather naturally. " Good night all," 
 she called as she left the room. "Miss Wilcox, I hope your 
 sleep will be as sweet as mine was on the night when I first 
 slept in your room." 
 
 Miss Wilcox went out into the hall and spoke from the 
 bottom of the stairs which Jean was climbing. 
 
 "Please remember that I consider the room yours," she 
 said rather incisively; and Mrs. Lawrence wondered later 
 how it was that Esther Wilcox came that night to be sleeping 
 in Ruth's little bed instead of in her own old quarters. 
 Ruth, for the last few nights, had gone back to sleeping with 
 her mother. The child woke often in the darkness, and 
 always with a frightened cry; but it was only since Jean 
 Stuart had decided to leave Muramna that Margaret Law- 
 rence had yielded to the comfort of having her daughter's 
 little body within reach, through the long anxious nights. 
 
 Dr. MacColl and Jean Stuart, meanwhile, were spending 
 a quiet evening. Jean had been with the Doctor to see the 
 wife of the Kurdish Chief, Ismaili. She had gone the rounds 
 then of all the hospital wards where women and children were 
 lying in comfort and cleanliness. 
 
 "It is nice," Jean admitted, "to see them well cared for. 
 I wish we had room for millions more." 
 
 The doctor smiled. Then her face turned grave, and 
 her eyes went quickly to the cheap little bookcase with 
 glass doors that distorted her leather-bound treasures within. 
 Jean followed the direction of the doctor's eyes. 
 
 "Listen !" she cried, " will you take three thousand dollars 
 for those books of yours?" 
 
 "What?" cried the doctor. "Now?" 
 
 "Yes," said Jean. "I'll give you my check on the Bank 
 of Persia, if you will sign a receipt in full." 
 
 The doctor, whose keen eyes had been fastened on Jean, 
 now fell into a short silence during which she steadily looked
 
 300 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 through the glass doors of the bookcase, until her bright eyes 
 were so full that she suddenly felt it wise to shut them, mur- 
 muring something about soot which, by the way, is an article 
 unknown in Persia because all the fires are made of wood or 
 peat. The doctor, having a strong stomach, was able to 
 stand the smell of native fuel, and thus saved a large pro- 
 portion of the money which her more delicate colleagues 
 were obliged to spend for wood. 
 
 "Don't do it unless you want to," Jean murmured. 
 
 " Yes, yes," snapped the doctor, " I'd rather you'd have 'em. 
 I guess you know that I've never had a minute's comfort, 
 since you told me about that English Earl. You know well 
 enough the dear old things would go to Christie's sooner or 
 later, if you didn't take 'em off my hands. I like to think 
 they'll be in the library of my father's friend." 
 
 " Don't you mean your father's friend's grandchild?" 
 
 "Same thing. Same thing." The doctor's voice was 
 impatient. "Come, where's that check? I'd like to get 
 it over. There's just one stipulation I have to make. The 
 books must be moved before to-morrow night. I don't 
 want to see 'em again." 
 
 Jean rose and got out the little bag which she had brought 
 with her to the College. From one of its pockets she took 
 a signed check and another paper which she held in her hand, 
 as the doctor, seizing upon the check, read it through and 
 openly gloated over the good round figures that represented 
 three thousand tomans in gold (rather over three thousand 
 dollars). 
 
 "Here's the receipt," said Jean. 
 
 The doctor took it impatiently. "You are a business 
 woman !" she said. 
 
 Jean nodded. "Well, you yourself were rather avid about 
 that check. Here, read the receipt through, before you sign 
 it." 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense!" sputtered the doctor. "I've
 
 JEAN STUART JOINS THE FUN 301 
 
 stood about all I can from you." And, very much put 
 about, she drew a modern black implement from her old- 
 fashioned pocket, and undertook to sign her name with 
 the end of her clinical thermometer. 
 
 Then Jean's merriest peal of laughter rang through the 
 room. 
 
 "Oh, come," she said, "don't be so cross. I ... want 
 . . . you . . . to read . . . that . . . receipt." 
 
 The doctor paused to get out the glasses which she some- 
 times remembered to wear when she read. Adjusting them 
 deliberately, she peered at the receipt. Then suddenly 
 and without warning, she burst into tears and flung her arms 
 around Jean Stuart. 
 
 "Oh, Jeanie," she cried, "do you mean it ? Are you going 
 to give us that money for the Hospital ? And must I really 
 promise to keep those books until I die ?" 
 
 Jean sat down and drew the stanch little doctor into 
 her arms. Her own eyes were dry; but it was a comfort 
 to feel on her bosom the warmth of those grateful tears. 
 At last the doctor looked up. 
 
 "Well, I guess," she said not without a sniffle, "that 
 I'll have to sign ; only I must stipulate that the word 'imi- 
 tation' be inserted before the word 'mahogany' in your 
 description of the bookcase; or else I'm afraid the paper 
 wouldn't be legal; and," she added, shaking her fountain 
 pen (a privilege very properly enjoyed by those who walk 
 on mud floors) "I must be allowed, Jeanie, for once in my 
 life to take my woman's privilege of saying ' I told you so.' 
 I knew Thanksgiving Day, as soon as I laid eyes on you, 
 that sooner or later you'd be joining our fun." 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Jean, "you needn't lay claim to any 
 cleverness. You know very well whose fault it is." 
 
 "What !" exclaimed the doctor, glancing at her queerly. 
 
 "You took an unfair advantage," Jean replied, with a 
 look in her eyes, which no one had ever seen before. "Don't
 
 302 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 attempt to deny that you began praying for me that very 
 night." 
 
 The doctor gazed at her with reverent amazement. 
 
 "There's one thing, though," added Jean, "that even your 
 prayers can never do." 
 
 "Perhaps not," admitted the doctor. "The prayers 
 even of our dearest friends sometimes seem to fail ; but it's 
 then that the Lord has to set us praying for ourselves."
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 WOMAN TO WOMAN 
 
 THE Tuesday session of Jean Stuart's little school was 
 almost at an end. Edith Franklin with much hesitation 
 was reciting a proposition in Geometry. Edward was get- 
 ting ready to pounce on all her mistakes, as soon as she had 
 finished. Mary Freyer, looking dreamily at the black- 
 board, was making words to her favorite Chopin prelude. 
 Sammy Whiting reading " Treasure Island " behind his Geog- 
 raphy, flattered himself that his teacher did not know it. 
 The other children were doing their duty, a wonderful thing, 
 since there were four of them and they had been doing it 
 for at least nineteen minutes. 
 
 There came a knock at the door ; and Ruth Lawrence, who 
 was monitor for that week, rose to answer it. 
 
 " It's Miss Wilcox, " she announced. " I guess she's come 
 to visit us, 'cause this used to be her school." 
 
 "She is very welcome," declared Miss Stuart, stepping 
 down from the platform, "and, children, you may all leave 
 your seats and help me say how glad we are to see Miss 
 Wilcox back." 
 
 These words of Jean's were sincere. At the same time, 
 she could not help feeling a little pleased that the eyes of 
 several children turned wistfully to her, even as they greeted 
 her predecessor. Evidently they were glad to kiss Miss 
 Wilcox and welcome her back as a private person. A little 
 too evidently they preferred to keep Miss Stuart as their 
 teacher.
 
 304 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "She is a trifle pursy with them," thought Jean. "I 
 suppose she thinks it necessary ; for she really loves them, 
 and she could be an awfully good teacher if she let herself 
 go." 
 
 Now Jean decreed that regular work must stop ; the best 
 of the pieces must be said ; the new books and pictures and 
 flowering plants must be shown ; and each child must tell 
 how much progress he had made during the year. 
 
 "That's fine," said Miss Wilcox, letting herself go to such 
 an extent that her mouth lost its pursy expression. "I'm 
 so glad you've had such a splendid teacher, and I hope she 
 will stay and teach you just as long as she can." 
 
 "We love you, too," said little Harriet Franklin, snuggling 
 into her lap and patting her cheek with a frail little hand. 
 
 "And we'd like to have you both for teachers," chimed in 
 Mary Freyer, " only I suppose that would be too much luxury 
 for missionary children." 
 
 "Huh, " said the irrepressible Sammy, "do you call school 
 a luxury? Gosh, I don't. It's after time, Miss Stuart. 
 Can't we go?" 
 
 Miss Wilcox looked to see how her successor would treat 
 this outburst. She herself could not have let the boy's 
 language go unreproved. It had been one of the unsolved 
 problems of her life in Muramna, where that child picked up 
 the words he used so glibly. But Miss Stuart only said : 
 
 "Certainly, Sammy, if you don't care to stay No, you 
 needn't take any books home with you. We'll suspend all 
 lessons in honor of Miss Wilcox 
 
 "But, Miss Stuart, there's a book I want to take home." 
 
 Miss Wilcox marvelled at this, on the part of Sammy, and 
 marvelled still more that Miss Stuart should discourage 
 him. 
 
 "Any book, Sammy, that you have been using in school 
 deserves a vacation this afternoon. Good-by." 
 
 She dismissed him smilingly; and "Treasure Island" was
 
 WOMAN TO WOMAN 305 
 
 unread that night, the schoolroom windows being barred, 
 as they were directly over the wall. 
 
 In a short time Mrs. Franklin sent word that dinner was 
 ready. She begged that the two teachers would stay and 
 dine with her. Miss Wilcox had already agreed to stay; 
 and when Miss Stuart tried to beg off, she was detained by 
 force. 
 
 After dinner, Miss Wilcox found a chance to say, "Miss 
 Stuart, I wish to have a talk with you. Let's go over to 
 Dr. MacColl's room." She knew as well as Jean that the 
 doctor would be out all the afternoon. 
 
 "Dear me," said Miss Stuart, "is it as imminent as all 
 that ? I thought you would like to rest a little before you 
 took back your school work. Let me finish out this week 
 and perhaps next week, too. My friends cannot arrive for 
 at least a fortnight, the gentlemen tell me, even if they start 
 at once on receiving my telegram, and travel fast." 
 
 "This isn't about the school," said Miss Wilcox. 
 
 "How mysterious you sound," said Jean. "Have we 
 friends in common, of whom I do not know?" She hoped 
 she was speaking as lightly as she meant to speak. 
 
 Miss Wilcox looked intrepidly up into the gray eyes which 
 began to look defiant as they resolutely met hers. 
 
 "Miss Stuart," she said, "I have asked for the privilege 
 of a talk with you. I can write what I have to say, if you 
 prefer it." 
 
 Now Jean Stuart would cheerfully have drawn a very 
 large check, if she could have brought herself to snub Miss 
 Wilcox, in her old cheerful and thorough manner. She 
 looked down at the colorless little schoolma'am from South 
 Brambletree, Massachusetts, and after a very long moment, 
 yielded to the request. 
 
 The two young women, having said good-by to their 
 hostess, walked off together across the yard, "As ill-matched 
 a pair," thought Mrs. Franklin, watching from the window,
 
 306 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 " as I have seen for many a day. It's a good thing for Esther 
 that she isn't in the habit of thinking about herself. I can 
 see that she admires Miss Stuart without an idea of the com- 
 parisons that might be made between them!" Yet Mrs. 
 Franklin had a mind-reading faculty that added awe to the 
 affection with which the Persians regarded her. 
 
 Jean Stuart was making a nest for her visitor among the 
 cushions of the doctor's lounge. She herself chose a chair 
 whose high back she turned toward the light. 
 
 "Now," she said airily, "in the words of Sammy Whiting, 
 'Fire away.'" 
 
 Miss Wilcox drew herself together with her elbows on her 
 knees and her sharp little chin propped up in both hands. 
 Her brow was wrinkled, and her eyes showed that she was 
 thinking hard ; but she did not look at Jean nor speak for 
 several hours (or so it seemed). 
 
 Jean got up and went into the bedroom, coming back with 
 gloves of the doctor's which she proceeded to mend. It 
 was impossible for her to sit still any longer ; and she was de- 
 termined not to make a move toward opening the conversa- 
 tion. Miss Wilcox should have it all her own way now. 
 
 At last Miss Wilcox spoke. 
 
 "I thought I had planned just what I would say to you; 
 but it's more difficult than I expected. You see I can't tell 
 what is likely to make you listen." 
 
 Still Jean was silent. 
 
 "Your saying nothing makes me think that you know 
 what I want to discuss. Couldn't you make it a little 
 easier ? " 
 
 "I am quite at a loss," declared Jean. "You said it was 
 nothing about the school. I could talk about those chil- 
 dren all day. Come, let's put off this subject that wrinkles 
 your forehead, and give ourselves over 
 
 Esther Wilcox held up her hand, rose from the sofa, and 
 stood before Jean Stuart.
 
 WOMAN TO WOMAN 307 
 
 "Look at me," she said bluntly and dispassionately. 
 "Do I stand a chance of regaining a man's affection after 
 he has fallen in love with such a woman as you ? " 
 
 Jean grew scarlet. "What are you accusing me of?" 
 she said, angrily. 
 
 "Of nothing," said the other slowly. "I'm simply asking 
 you to see that I'm not a fool. How could I expect now 
 to recover the allegiance of Th-" 
 
 Jean Stuart interrupted her, speaking hurriedly with a 
 formal smile that was intended to be gracious. "If I had 
 dreamed that you were ready to talk with me about your 
 engagement I should have wasted no time before proffer- 
 ing my good wishes. When I saw you with Mr. Prescott 
 yesterday, I knew at once that you were his fiancee." 
 
 " I was his fiancee. To-day Mr. Prescott is not engaged." 
 
 "I am very sorry. I told Mr. Prescott yesterday that 
 I considered him most fortunate in possessing your love." 
 
 "I know you did," said Miss Wilcox, a painful flush rising 
 in her pale cheeks. "He said you begged him to stick to 
 me." There was a little pause, while Jean speechlessly 
 wondered what else he had said about her. "Mr. Prescott 
 was honest enough," continued Miss Wilcox, "not to say that 
 he would like to do so. He told me plainly that he loves 
 you. Even before he said that, I had given him his free- 
 dom. I came back to Muramna, in fact, prepared to break 
 the engagement. I should have done so, of course, long 
 ago, had I ever received the letter he wrote me in the winter. 
 You were entirely right about that being lost." 
 
 Jean started. "He told you that?" she gasped. 
 
 "Yes, I was grateful to you for understanding me so 
 quickly. That made me know I could talk with you." 
 Jean tried to interrupt but was stopped by a determined 
 gesture. "I should be miserable if I knew that because of 
 my selfishness Thorley was missing everything. He 
 loves you," the words went rushing on in spite of Jean, "as
 
 308 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 he never dreamt of loving me. He was just horribly lonely, 
 that was all ; and I made it a little easier for the time being. 
 You aren't going to let it spoil his life, are you, because I 
 once had just a little bit of him ? You know that now he be- 
 longs every atom to you." 
 
 Jean moved impatiently. "My dear," she said, "you 
 are as kind and good as you can be; but you are talking 
 nonsense. I couldn't marry this man, even if I loved him." 
 
 "You do love him," said the girl, her voice suddenly 
 deepening. "You love him as you will never love again." 
 
 "He told you so?" The words were biting. 
 
 "Not one word passed between Thorley and me about 
 your feeling for him." 
 
 "Yet you say I love him? Who is your informant?" 
 
 "Yourself. You told it to me yesterday." 
 
 "I'm afraid you have a vivid imagination," said Jean. 
 "What made you think as you did ? " 
 
 "Ah, you can't even say it, don't you see ? And yester- 
 day when he first came in, before you knew that I was the 
 other girl, when you had forgotten me in fact, your eyes 
 answered his for just a second." 
 
 "Except to a jealous woman " 
 
 Esther held up her hand and went on speaking fast and 
 quietly. 
 
 "And then, when you knew who I was, you left the room 
 and the house as soon as you could, and when you left, your 
 eyes searched my face, but you never even glanced at 
 him." 
 
 "Do you call that love? How do you know I wasn't 
 flirting?" 
 
 "Don't lie to me, please," said Miss Wilcox. "In pur- 
 pose you are lying," as Jean made an angry gesture. "Would 
 you care to remember this denial, if word were brought to- 
 morrow that Thorley Prescott had been killed?" 
 
 "Are you putting me to the torture?" asked Jean, with
 
 WOMAN TO WOMAN 309 
 
 a queer smile on her white lips. "You know that I am to 
 blame for the enmity of Hadji Husain." 
 
 "Ah, forgive me," cried the other. "I'm afraid I'm for- 
 getting everything in the desire to win my cause." 
 
 "Your cause! Then why don't you imitate me and 
 Sammy Whiting, and ' shinny on your own side ' ? I'm going 
 away in less than three weeks. During that time," she 
 smiled crookedly, "I promise you not to see him again. 
 And afterward, She paused, and by a supreme effort 
 summoned to her face the shadow of her own smile. Her 
 tone was confidential and very friendly as she added, "You 
 must tell me what I am to send you from New York. Shall 
 it be silver, or the wedding gown or both ? " 
 
 "Oh don't, don't, don't !" cried Esther, covering her face 
 and bursting into tears. "Can't you see it's his happiness 
 I'm fighting for ? The words came out between sobs, and 
 at the last she threw herself downward among the cushions, 
 trying to stifle the telltale sounds that mortified her to the 
 quick of her New England soul. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, stop crying," commanded Jean, sud- 
 denly irritated past endurance. "His happiness depends 
 on you alone." 
 
 "There's so much more that I must tell you and I 
 can't now." 
 
 The depth of her sobs began to alarm Jean ; for it seemed 
 as if they would tear the frail body. Jean, like some men, 
 became angry when a woman cried. She seldom did it her- 
 self. Now suddenly there came to her a picture of herself 
 crying against the white pickets of the cemetery gate up at 
 Akbar, and of Thorley Prescott standing patiently with his 
 back turned, waiting for her to finish. She went meekly 
 out to the little kitchen and got a glass of water; but 
 Esther's thin little hand motioned her away. 
 
 "Please go into the bedroom just a minute," pled the 
 girl. "Before we talk again I must
 
 310 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 Jean thought it was obvious what the other must do. 
 She left the water and a clean handkerchief. Then she 
 disappeared, wishing the next moment that she could be 
 rude enough to climb out of the bedroom window ; for there 
 was no other way of escape now, except through the sitting- 
 room. 
 
 She shook her head and almost smiled as she thought of 
 her long body dangling from the doctor's window and the 
 horrified faces of the natives staring at her from behind the 
 hospital blinds ! It flitted through her mind that in all 
 Muramna only Sammy Whiting would sympathize with such a 
 performance. Then it came to her that there was one other. 
 Instantly his strong figure stood before her mind. She saw 
 that lenient look in his eyes a look, she believed, reserved 
 for her alone. Jean Stuart clenched her hands and began 
 to pace the floor, but quietly, lest that woman in the other 
 room should hear her.
 
 CHAPTER XLH 
 
 ALL THE DIFFERENCE 
 
 ESTHER was no longer sobbing. A silence followed, which 
 Jean felt through the wall, more painfully than she had felt 
 the sound of grief. In the pause her soul writhed as 
 Esther's body had writhed among the pillows. Jean Stuart 
 had always been a proud woman. She had held herself 
 above the petty failings which degraded the majority of 
 the human race. Faults, she admitted in her nature, but 
 they were faults which she felt to be almost ennobling. 
 Pride was one of them : pride of family, pride of her own 
 good breeding, pride that made it easy and delightful to 
 give and almost impossible to accept what meant sacrifice 
 to the giver. Another fault in which she gloried, was the 
 power of deep and lasting resentment. 
 
 Jean Stuart had once received an injury. She had never 
 forgiven the man who had inflicted it. He had been en- 
 gaged to her. One month before the day set for the wedding, 
 she had found him making love to her sister. She had made 
 arrangements at once to have Delia marry him. She had 
 smoothed Delia's way with her father and had succeeded 
 in making even him believe that she was glad to be the 
 maid-of-honor, rather than the bride. And so she had been 
 glad, with a fierce joy, exulting in her escape from such a 
 man, lusting for the day when she should make him suffer. 
 
 Toward her sister she had no such resentment. She only 
 despised the poor thing. Jean had found it easy enough to 
 be good to Delia, even to nurse her when, after the birth of
 
 312 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 her only child, she had become an invalid. Delia had so 
 abjectly needed Jean. She had dared at last, to send and 
 beg for her sister, though the husband said Jean would 
 never humble herself to come. Delia had told Jean his 
 very words, and they were one more count against him. 
 For a whole year, Jean had lived in his house (which after 
 all was Delia's), loathing him but seeing, thank Heaven, 
 very little of him. Then Delia had died, leaving little Mary 
 to Jean. She marvelled at the time that the husband 
 should behave so decently about the funeral, about Mary, 
 almost, it seemed then, about the money. He showed what 
 seemed even to her, like real grief ; he was a pretty good imi- 
 tation of a man. She was even grateful to him for giving 
 her Mary; but she never ceased for one instant to hate 
 him. 
 
 Another year passed by. Mary and she were perfectly 
 happy together. Jean had come in those last months to 
 tolerate Delia's weaknesses, but she could not miss her. 
 Nor apparently did the child. Delia had been a feeble 
 mother as well as a disloyal sister. 
 
 Mary's father came sometimes to see the child ; and Jean, 
 while she still nourished that old hatred, began almost to 
 tolerate the man who had been the cause of it. Then he 
 proposed to her. When she indignantly refused him, he 
 made it clear that he thought she had been caring for him 
 all those years. Then the old hatred combined with a new 
 fury of uncontrolled rage ; and there was an explosion. The 
 man who had been impervious all these years to unspoken 
 contempt, took fire at Jean's first word. His vanity was 
 wounded. It was his turn to hate ; and his chance for re- 
 venge was immediate. He took Mary away from Jean. 
 And then Mary died. 
 
 We who have known what grief is, when felt by an unfor- 
 giving heart, we can understand why Jean Stuart felt that 
 she must escape herself, if she had to run to the very edge
 
 ALL THE DIFFERENCE 313 
 
 of the world. And we know how it was with her heart, when, 
 after running all those miles through untold dangers, she 
 finally reached the edge and sat down again to see if her 
 burden had been left behind. 
 
 Now other burdens had been added burdens for other 
 people on whom her presence had brought sorrow. Mar- 
 garet Lawrence. She winced at the thought. And Esther ! 
 
 "Oh, God," Jean Stuart sat down and buried her face in 
 her hands. "Oh, God, if there is a God, why did you let 
 that good man die ? And why, oh why, have you let me dis- 
 grace myself ? I couldn't help it. I didn't mean to. Oh, 
 if / could have been the one to die ; for I can't bear to live 
 and hate myself." 
 
 And then it came to her with a sudden awful vividness 
 that she, Jean Stuart, was going home to punish a man by 
 taking away his money. She, Jean Stuart, was still lusting 
 after all these years, to take revenge on Mercer Bryant. 
 And yet what had she done? She had caused the death 
 of a noble man. She had robbed Margaret of her husband. 
 She had not meant to hurt any one, that was true. Had 
 Delia meant to hurt her, Delia who could not bear to see 
 a mouse in pain ? 
 
 And now how was it all ending, all that pride in her own 
 strength and faithfulness ? She, Jean Stuart, who despised 
 her dead sister Delia, had stolen away the love of a man 
 who was pledged to another woman and had let him know 
 that she loved him. And here was the other woman offering 
 him to her as she had offered Mercer Bryant to Delia. 
 
 Jean was walking up and down the room again. Pres- 
 ently she was kneeling at the bed and her hands were clutch- 
 ing at her head. Not one sound came from her set lips; 
 but her soul was groaning and sobbing as if it would tear 
 its way out of her body. 
 
 Then the door opened quietly and Esther Wilcox came 
 into the room. "Are you praying?" she asked gently.
 
 314 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 "That's what I've been doing. Perhaps if we prayed to- 
 gether, the Lord would show us both, just what He wants." 
 
 Jean, as she hastily rose to face the invader, heard only 
 the one word. "Praying!" she said with a sneer. "I 
 praying !" 
 
 Her look was so terrible that Esther began to tremble. 
 
 Jean Stuart darted across the room and took the smaller 
 woman by the shoulders. 
 
 "Look here," she said, " I know what hate is. You don't. 
 I have hated a man for seven years because he turned from 
 me to another woman. I despised my own sister until she 
 died, and after. Do you suppose I'm going to let any woman 
 despise me!" 
 
 Esther gently put her cold hands over the hot ones that 
 were gripping her so tightly. 
 
 "How could I despise you," she said, "or hate anybody 
 else?" 
 
 "How could you help it? I couldn't. I didn't want 
 to." 
 
 "Yes, that's just it. I do want to." 
 
 "I don't see why you should. I don't. I shall go on 
 hating through all eternity. And so will you even now 
 even if I go away and you are married to him you'll 
 hate me and it will be right." 
 
 Esther Wilcox gazed steadily into the wild eyes so full of 
 misery. 
 
 "I loathe myself," whispered Jean Stuart, just above her 
 breath. 
 
 "Miss Stuart," said Esther Wilcox quietly, "you've been 
 living with Margaret Lawrence and Dr. Lawrence. Have 
 you seen from either of them, any sign of resentment toward 
 Hadji Husain?" 
 
 "No," said Jean. Her form relaxed. Her eyes looked 
 less wild. There came into them the puzzled look which 
 was often in them these days, when they looked at Margaret.
 
 ALL THE DIFFERENCE 315 
 
 "Have I hurt you?" she added quickly, feeling for the first 
 time the tension of her hands. 
 
 "Sit down. You are trembling," said Esther. 
 
 "No, let's stand just so." 
 
 "Why is it that Margaret can forgive when you could 
 not?" 
 
 "Forgive ! You think she has forgiven him." 
 
 "Don't you?" 
 
 "I suppose so." The words came very slowly. 
 
 "Have you heard her say the Lord's Prayer since Dan 
 was killed?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Does she say 'forgive us our debts as we forgive our 
 debtors'?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "If you were Margaret, would you feel safe in asking the 
 Lord to forgive you as she has forgiven the Hadji ? " 
 
 "I never thought of that." 
 
 "You say I shall never forgive you nor Thorley." 
 
 Esther paused, and a smile shone from her pale face, mak- 
 ing it suddenly very beautiful. 
 
 " Oh, Jean," she cried, " don't you see ? I am a Christian, 
 too."
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 JEAN IS READY 
 
 ALL through the night Jean Stuart kept her vigil. It was 
 a great question that she had to decide and she needed help ; 
 but even of her friend, Dr. MacColl, she could not ask it. 
 She was glad that the little lady had consented to let her 
 sleep on a couch in the study. She could not have stayed 
 in the room, that night, with any human being. From ex- 
 perience in Kurdistan she knew that the Doctor was a sound 
 sleeper. So she did not hesitate, when her thoughts became 
 more poignant than she could bear, to get up and pace the 
 floor of the little room. She tried once in a while, to read 
 one of the old books that now belonged in a sense to her ; 
 but that she found impossible. Her mind carried her back 
 into the past. 
 
 That night Jean Stuart, as in the mind of a drowning 
 man, lived over every moment of her remembered life. It 
 was not until the dawn began to break, that she dared to 
 begin facing the future ; and then a very strange experience 
 awaited her : 
 
 Jean Stuart, formerly of New York and Bar Harbor, dis- 
 covered that she had been forced to forgive her brother-in- 
 law Mercer Bryant. It was a process which she no longer 
 had to dread. She found that somehow, in the crucible of 
 contact with Esther Wilcox, her old hatred had been melted 
 by the fire of understanding, into a great pity. 
 
 Jean Stuart had learned to have compassion on her enemy. 
 
 But the descendant of Grandfather Jonathan had yet 
 
 316
 
 JEAN IS READY 317 
 
 to learn the art of accepting forgiveness ; and she had far 
 to go before she would be able to forgive herself. When 
 morning broke, Jean with her mind made up, knelt down by 
 the couch, and repeated under her breath the whole of the 
 Lord's Prayer. Then she got into bed and fell asleep. 
 
 At breakfast, Jean, under the doctor's keen regard, suc- 
 ceeded in keeping up a fitful merriment. After breakfast 
 the doctor went her rounds, refusing Jean's request to go 
 along. 
 
 "You stay here and rest," said the square little woman, 
 opening the door. "If you need work, you can typewrite 
 my notes on that Kurdish Chieftess's case." 
 
 "Thank you," said Jean, "I have never used a type- 
 writer." 
 
 "Time you learned then. The things are all on the table 
 over there. Good-by." 
 
 Jean went to work. Scarcely had she become absorbed 
 in this new chore, when she heard the gate of the Compound 
 swing open and a clatter of horses' hoofs. Perhaps it was 
 the sudden noise after a white night, that made her heart 
 lose a beat. She stopped writing for an instant ; then just 
 as she had herself in hand and was finding the next letter, 
 there came on the doctor's door, a thundering knock. 
 Jean, with her heart making up for lost time, went slowly 
 to the door. There on the the step below her, stood the 
 Thunderer with his head already bared, and a most ingratiat- 
 ing smile on his face. Behind him out in the yard she saw, 
 while struggling for a word, the Kurdish Sheikh Ismaili 
 and four of his followers tethering their horses, while Iblis, 
 one of Ismaili's sons, led away the Fiend to the Hospital 
 stable. They had ridden down, as was their custom these 
 days, to guard the Black Saib. 
 
 "The doctor's out and I am very busy," began Jean, 
 trying not to open the door any wider; but he was inside
 
 318 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 and had almost taken her into his arms, when she, pushing 
 him away with all her might, found breath to say: 
 
 "Go away, Mr. Fresco tt. What right have you to touch 
 me ? Yesterday you were engaged to Esther Wilcox." 
 
 "Yesterday," declared Thorley, coming toward her with 
 his arms still out, "is a thousand years away." 
 
 Jean put a small rocking-chair between them and stood 
 her ground. 
 
 "To-day," she said firmly, "has scarcely begun; and 
 between you and me, there will be no to-morrow. I want 
 you to go away, and go now. I intend never to see you 
 again. When Robert Courtlandt and his sister come, I 
 shall go home with them ; and I will never come back." 
 
 "Yes, you will," said Thorley, between his clenched teeth. 
 "If you get away with that fellow, which you won't, if I 
 can help it, I'll come and bring you back." 
 
 "You can't leave here," Jean answered. 
 
 "I will," said Thorley. 
 
 "Then you'll be a coward and a deserter." 
 
 Thorley, very white, smiled queerly. 
 
 "I'm willing to take that," he said. "Who is this Court- 
 landt?" 
 
 "An old and tried friend." 
 
 "Has he asked you to marry him ?" 
 
 "What concern is that of yours ?" 
 
 "You know. Has he?" 
 
 "Well yes." She could not help giving the answer, 
 but forced herself when the words had been slowly uttered, 
 to look up and meet his eyes. "And I think I shall marry 
 him," she added, "when we reach New York." 
 
 Then the temper of Thorley Prescott got the better of 
 him. Jean stood there quiet, listening until he had finished. 
 He stood before her at last, shaking with spent rage, and 
 silent, because his parched throat could utter no more 
 words.
 
 JEAN IS READY 319 
 
 "What a manly person you are !" Jean's face was red 
 with scorn and her eyes blazed, darker, for the moment, than 
 his. 
 
 With the cry of a dog that is spurned by his master, Thor- 
 ley made blindly for the door. Jean, seeing him go, sank 
 back on the couch and began to sob out his name. 
 
 "Oh, Thorley, forgive me," she cried; but even then she 
 uttered no plea for him to come back ; and had he turned, 
 she would have had strength, she felt, still to send him away. 
 
 Thorley did not turn. A minute later she came to her- 
 self at hearing hoof beats. Rushing to the door, she was 
 just in time to see the Fiend galloping through the gate 
 with Thorley hatless and bent over, slapping him on the 
 flank and yelling to the gateman to get out of the way. 
 
 Then Jean Stuart was frightened. She, better than any- 
 one else but one, knew the disaster that might come to Thor- 
 ley if he rode alone. She and the Kurdish Sheikh Ismaili 
 had talked the whole matter over. She knew that Hadji 
 Husain was at large, shadowing Prescott, and that up to 
 this time, he had not struck because the Sheikh had taken 
 care that he could not. She knew that the Sheikh never 
 had let Prescott out of his sight since the day that his sons 
 had brought back the body of Dan Lawrence ; and she knew 
 that even now, doubtless, Husain must be watching behind 
 some ambush, which, sooner or later, Thorley Prescott 
 would surely pass. 
 
 This flash of thought had not burned out, when, from 
 the stable with a shout the old Sheikh came running. 
 
 "Where is he the Black Saib?" he yelled in Turkish, 
 and Jean answered him : 
 
 "He's gone. Give me a horse quickly. We must ride 
 after him." 
 
 "What value is such a woman!" sneered the Sheikh. 
 " Could you not keep him ? My son Hamdi has just ridden 
 in to say that Husain is in hiding where the Saib passes to
 
 32O THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 the river. He came and hid himself just after we had passed 
 this morning, and how he cursed, my son says, at being late ! 
 Well, he shall curse again but not more than once." His 
 horse was tethered in front of the Hospital and he was 
 making his preparations and swinging into the saddle, as he 
 spoke. The horse of another Kurd stood near by. Jean 
 Stuart had freed this horse and was in the queer wooden 
 saddle, using the peak as a pommel, ready to start with the 
 Sheikh, though the stirrup was much too short for her. 
 
 In his own fierce language, the Sheikh screamed for his 
 tribesmen and, as they issued wildly from the doorways of 
 the stable, he dug the rowels into his stallion and was off 
 at a bound that took him nearly to the gate, Jean after him, 
 patting her horse's neck and talking to him in all the Turk- 
 ish she could muster. Outside the gate they could see 
 Thorley Prescott already far away. The Sheikh groaned. 
 It was with an uncomplimentary epithet that he told Jean 
 again what he thought of her for not knowing her business 
 as a woman. 
 
 "Yes, yes," she answered. "Tell me quickly, will he 
 ride past where the Hadji is? Can't you stop him? If 
 we all shout together he might hear." 
 
 She screamed then at the top of her voice, in a way that 
 made her horse lay back his ears and run. The Sheikh 
 screamed too, and his followers who were clattering along 
 behind gave tongue like a pack of hounds; but the Fiend 
 and his rider went on as before. 
 
 "There is a shorter way to the ford," gasped the Sheikh, 
 whose breath came harder than that of the young men. 
 " It may be that we can get there first. If so, that dog shall 
 die in time." 
 
 "How?" cried Jean. With one hand the Sheikh loos- 
 ened the dagger at his belt, grasping the hilt with a meaning 
 gesture and the fierce look that had once, not so very long 
 ago, called out an answer of sympathy from the depths of
 
 JEAN IS READY 321 
 
 Jean Stuart's heart. In her imperfect Turkish she cried 
 again, because only a cry could be heard above the noise of 
 the horses' hoofs, - 
 
 "No, no, you must not. Take him alive; but do not 
 kill him." 
 
 " These Inglesi women, what fools they are !" muttered 
 the Sheikh. "They would rather their own should die, than 
 be saved by the destruction of such carrion as this Husain." 
 
 "It is not we women only," Jean stumbled over the words, 
 but struggled bravely to make them carry her meaning. 
 "Dan Lawrence Saib would never have wanted this man 
 to be killed. His father, Lawrence Mirza would prevent you 
 at any cost from injuring him. . . . The Black Saib him- 
 self would rather have him brought to justice in some other 
 way." 
 
 "Justice !" sneered the Sheikh. "What is that?" 
 
 Jean, saving herself by a miracle from crashing into a 
 broken kariss, desperately went on : 
 
 "Capture him, bind him; take him to your stronghold. 
 . . . There you shall do with him what you will. . . . There 
 the Black Saib shall come and help you dispose of him. 
 Only don't kill him now. ... It is against the religion of 
 the missionaries to kill men. . . . They will be angry. . . * 
 The Black Saib will spurn you. . . . The little doctor will" 
 . . . Jean had been going to say that the doctor, in her 
 anger over the killing of the Hadji, might let the Chieftess 
 die! 
 
 "I'm a pretty Christian," she muttered to herself. 
 
 Then, as the Sheikh, stopping suddenly and motioning 
 her to dismount, led his horse over behind a hummock, she 
 followed him on tiptoe, scarcely daring to breathe, thinking 
 as she went the prayer of the woman who loves, "Oh, God, 
 keep him safe for me." 
 
 The Sheikh had drawn his dagger and was already creep- 
 ing to the top of a little hillock. He had motioned his fol-
 
 322 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 lowers to stay behind with the horses; but Jean followed 
 him stealthily, crawling as he did, on hands and knees. 
 When he came to the top of the hillock, he peered over ; 
 and Jean could see as she crept alongside, that his eyes took 
 on a deadly glare which she followed to the spot below where 
 there lay, stomach on the ground, a small man in a green 
 turban. As Jean's eyes fell on him, Hadji Husain raised to 
 his shoulder a modern rifle, and sighting carefully, began 
 to settle his finger on the trigger. 
 
 Jean's eye followed the direction of the barrel and her heart 
 stopped beating as she saw just coming within range, Thor- 
 ley Prescott on the Fiend. As she saw them, the Fiend's 
 right hoof went into that broken kariss hole. He fell in 
 up to the knees; and Thorley Prescott, riding without 
 thought, rolled over his head and lay on the ground. 
 
 Jean had just whispered "Strike" when she heard a 
 gurgle and looking quickly down she saw that the Sheikh's 
 dagger was already buried to the hilt in the left side of 
 Hadji Husain's back. 
 
 "He is dead !" hissed the Sheikh, and his eyes met those 
 of Jean Stuart with a triumph that turned her sick. She 
 laid her hand on his arm and spoke rapidly : 
 "If you show yourself now, if you allow your followers 
 to show themselves, if you breathe a word of this to any one 
 at the Mission, I will see that the Governor of Muramna 
 has you shot from the mouth of a cannon, and your body 
 exposed in the market place. Do you understand ? " 
 
 The Sheikh gave no sign. 
 
 "Your sons, too all of them - 
 
 "No, no," gasped the Sheikh, suddenly more unmanned 
 than she had been by the sight of the corpse below 
 them. 
 
 "The missionaries are not to know from you," declared 
 Jean. " I will tell them myself when I am ready. It must 
 be enough for you that you have killed your enemy. Will
 
 JEAN IS READY 323 
 
 you agree ? " She tore off her gold watch and chain, press- 
 ing them into his hands. " For your wife," she said. " She 
 shall have much more than that ; and you also." 
 
 The Sheikh, though his eyes now gleamed with a different 
 light, gave her back the watch. 
 
 "It is enough," he said. "You are the Bride of the 
 Black Saib. It was you who gave the alarm. You wish 
 for his gratitude. To you I give as wedding present, the 
 right to tell when you wish." 
 
 As soon as Jean saw that he had complied, she was away ; 
 for she had been aware, as she talked with the Sheikh, that 
 Thorley had begun to stir as soon as his body touched the 
 ground, that a moment ago he had picked himself up, and 
 that he was now extricating the Fiend from the kariss. 
 The Fiend, too, was apparently unhurt ; and Thorley, look- 
 ing very dusty but not at all enraged, was almost ready to 
 mount. 
 
 Jean, running down from the hillock, snatched at the 
 bridle of a horse, and ran out toward Thorley, calling to him 
 in her naturally clear tones, while the Sheikh hushed up his 
 followers and drew them farther away behind the hummocks, 
 motioning them to throw saddle cloths over the horses' 
 heads. 
 
 Thorley turned and, very much astonished, beheld Jean 
 walking toward him. In after years he could never be 
 brought to say that she looked, on that occasion, anything 
 but radiantly beautiful; yet there must have been some- 
 thing queer about her appearance; for, with the helpless 
 astonishment of his regard, there was mingled already a 
 touch of that lenient smile of amusement which he reserved 
 for her. 
 
 "What in thunder," he demanded cheerfully, "are you 
 doing here?" 
 
 "Oh, Thorley," said Jean, coming close up to him, "I 
 knew you were running into danger, and I" - her eyes fell
 
 324 THE GOODLY FELLOWSHIP 
 
 before the look that sprang into his ; but she lifted them and 
 looked bravely at him "I just had to ride out and be 
 sure that you were safe." 
 
 The Sheikh behind his hummock, remarked to his chief 
 officer : 
 
 "Ah well, these Inglesi! When it comes to killing and 
 love, they are very much like us, after all.'' 
 
 Now it was not long before Thorley Prescott, deeply in 
 love as he was, bethought himself that the person of Jean 
 Stuart was by no means safe, even in his embrace. 
 Promptly as the idea struck him, he lifted her on to the back 
 of the Fiend, who, contrary to his former nature, had been 
 standing quite patiently all this time. As he put the reins 
 into her ungloved hand, he bent and kissed it, saying in a 
 tone which his stepmother would have sworn could not be 
 his : 
 
 "Do you want a glove, darling ? I have the one that you 
 left at Kazu that day; but you must promise to give it 
 back." As he spoke his left hand went into an inner pocket 
 whence he drew a little tan riding-glove marked "Jouvin." 
 
 Jean's other hand found its way down one of those swarthy 
 cheeks which had been made very smooth that morning 
 for her sake. 
 
 "No, Thorny," she answered, "I rode here without gloves " 
 - but the rest of the sentence was lost, for she had never 
 called him Thorny except that one other time. 
 
 And now they agreed to hurry home ; for though Jean 
 knew that the Hadji was dead, she had no mind to linger 
 near those hummocks. 
 
 It was hard sometimes, in spite of the great happiness 
 that was growing up in her, to keep her thoughts away 
 from that still, little figure, crowned by a green turban ; so 
 she broke the silence which had satisfied Thorley because 
 now he was justified in looking at her again, as much and
 
 JEAN IS READY 325 
 
 in the way he wished. But when she spoke, he found him- 
 self no less content. 
 
 "Whatever shall I do with those Courtlandts ? " she 
 sighed in a dismay which she tried to make comic. 
 
 "I guess we can head 'em off," laughed Thorley. "I 
 discovered only the other day that they haven't left 
 Bushire." 
 
 "What !" exclaimed Jean. 
 
 "Your friend, Mrs. Mullins, seems to have a little too 
 much baggage luggage, I suppose she'd call it." He 
 threw back his head and for the first time in many weeks, 
 laughed heartily. Jean drank in the sound of it ; and as it 
 continued, in spite of all her burdens, she could not help 
 joining. 
 
 "Oh, Thorley," she cried, "when I think of Bertha Mul- 
 lins, if she ever hears that I'm going to be a missionary !" 
 
 Prescott regarded her with an expression that made his 
 strong face as nearly foolish as it could ever be. Then he 
 was taken with a humorous idea. 
 
 "By Jove," he slapped his knee, "but what will Mrs. 
 Prescott say?" 
 
 Jean shook her head with an expression of mock serious- 
 ness, that lost its mockery all too soon. 
 
 "She'll say I'm not worthy ; and she'll be right." 
 
 "Not worthy!" roared Thorley, slapping his knee with 
 an energy that made the Kurdish horse, tired and lame as 
 he was, stand on his hind legs. "Not worthy, well, by - 
 Thunder ! If you're not worthy, who is ?" 
 
 Jean humbly shook her head, while Thorley leaning 
 toward her, went on, "What do we care what any old Mrs. 
 Prescott says? We know what Mrs. Thorny Prescott 
 will do!" 
 
 His eyes rested proudly and lovingly on Jean Stuart, 
 as with joyful awe, she responded, 
 
 "Inshallah."
 
 T 
 
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 his audience to include those to whom stories of the West would not appeal." 
 Nation. 
 
 A Gentle Knight of Old Brandenburg 
 
 Mr. Major has selected a period to the romance of which other historical nov- 
 elists have been singularly blind. The boyhood of Frederick the Great, and 
 the strange wooing of his charming sister Wilhelmina, have afforded a theme 
 rich in its revelation of human nature and full of romantic situations. 
 
 " This is one of the best books of the season. A bright light is thrown upon 
 the queer and quaint court of King Frederick William of Prussia, and many 
 imposing or otherwise interesting personages bow their way in these attractive 
 pages with a courtly grace and charm that is truly of the olden time. A very 
 enjoyable book." New York Observer. 
 
 Dorothy Vernon of Haddon Hall 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD CHANDLER CHRISTY 
 
 " Dorothy is a splendid creation, a superb creature of brains, beauty, force, ca- 
 pacity, and passion, a riot of energy, love, and red blood. She is the fairest, 
 fiercest, strongest, tenderest heroine that ever woke up a jaded novel reader 
 and made him realize that life will be worth living so long as the writers of fic- 
 tion create her like. . . . The story has brains, 'go,' virility, gumption, and 
 originality." The Boston Herald. 
 
 " ' Dorothy Vernon ' is refreshing not only on account of its fascinating whirl- 
 wind of a heroine, but also because it is built on rather unusual lines. ... A 
 story with no halting in the action, an abundance of variety; a swift, brief, 
 engaging tale." The Boston Herald. 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York