THE 
 
 SUCCESS 
 
 OF 
 
 FAILURE. 
 
 By a Wayfarer 
 
SIFT 
 
THE 
 
 SUCCESS OF FAILURE 
 
 By a Wayfarer 
 
 TAPMAN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 NEW YORK 
 
 3 3 
 
Copyright, 1913, by 
 TAPMAN PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
To one who made the writing 
 of this book possible 
 
 M12G302 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE UNBIDDEN GUEST 7 
 
 II Two DOCTORS AND A NURSE ... 36 
 
 III THE DOCTORS CALL UPON DOROTHY . 49 
 
 IV DOROTHY, THE NEW APPLICANT, AND 
 
 A CALL FROM MRS. GORDON . . 59 
 
 V FRANK INSTALLED IN THE "HOME- 
 LIVING PLACE" 73 
 
 VI DOCTOR Ross AND DOROTHY Go FOR 
 
 THEIR RIDE 85 
 
 VII MRS. ARCHER RECOGNIZES AN OLD 
 
 FRIEND 103 
 
 VIII AN OLD ACQUAINTANCESHIP RENEWED 118 
 
 IX FRANK KEEPS His APPOINTMENT WITH 
 
 THE DOCTOR 129 
 
 X MRS. GORDON S DISCOVERY . . . 135 
 
 XI MRS. ARCHER BECOMES HANNAH 
 
 THOMPSON 145 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XII FRANK S INDISPOSITION AND A TELE 
 PHONE CALL FROM MRS. GORDON . 153 
 
 XIII MRS. THOMPSON VISITS HER DAUGHTER 160 
 
 XIV A TALK WITH DOROTHY AND THE 
 
 SELECTION OF ROADS 177 
 
 XV FRANK ENTERS THE HOSPITAL OF THE 
 
 NEW BIRTH 193 
 
 XVI DOCTOR Ross KEEPS His APPOINTMENT 
 
 WITH DOROTHY 204 
 
 XVII DOROTHY BIDS DOCTOR AND MRS. 
 
 GORDON FAREWELL 217 
 
 XVIII THE MARRIAGE 236 
 
 XIX HANNAH LEARNS OF THE DOCTOR S 
 
 MARRIAGE 249 
 
 XX MRS. THOMPSON GETS A GLIMPSE OF 
 
 THE "HOME-LIVING PLACE" . . 266 
 
 XXI FRANK, RESTORED TO HEALTH, LEAVES 
 
 THE HOSPITAL OF THE NEW BIRTH 280 
 
 XXII FRANK AGAIN VISITS THE SHACK . 291 
 
The Success of Failure 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE UNBIDDEN GUEST 
 
 IN addition to the driving wind and the density of the 
 night, a heavy rain was falling when the last train 
 for the day pulled into the little station of Peterstown. 
 Its only passenger, a man, alighted and made his way 
 to where the station-agent was standing upon the 
 platform, and immediately inquired of him where he 
 could secure a conveyance to take him out to his shack, 
 a distance of about three miles. 
 
 "I m sorry, sir," informed the agent, "but I don t 
 know of anyone who would be willing to hitch up and 
 drive you out on such a night as this." 
 
 "Then, I shall have to walk," said the man, and he 
 raised his hands and adjusted the collar of his coat 
 more securely about his neck. 
 
 "Why not put up at the hotel for the night?" sug 
 gested the agent. "You will find little trouble in get 
 ting someone to drive you out in the morning." 
 
 7 
 
8 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Thank you," said the man, stooping over to turn 
 up his trousers at each ankle, "but I am determined to 
 reach there tonight." 
 
 "We have had considerable rain and the roads, I 
 hear, are far from good. I shouldn t advise you to 
 try it," and the agent shook his head dissuasively, "for 
 it wouldn t be any fun losing the road a night like 
 this." 
 
 "I can quite believe it. Nevertheless, I shall make 
 the attempt," and wishing the agent goodnight the man 
 walked off into the darkness and lonesomeness of a 
 country road. 
 
 When visiting the shack he rarely ever used the sta 
 tion of Peterstown, but got off at Woodside, a station 
 two miles the opposite direction and a mile nearer the 
 shack, and his only reason tonight for continuing on to 
 Peterstown was to avoid the possible meeting of 
 friends. However, he was sure he would have little 
 trouble in keeping to the road, which, if he remembered 
 rightly, after turning the corner, was straight and level 
 for, perhaps, a mile, when it turned to the left and led 
 over two long, steep hills, and then went off to the right 
 into the woods. This part of the road, he recalled, was 
 rough and little used excepting by those wishing to 
 shorten their journey by a mile to the next town. 
 
 After an hour of stumbling and groping in the dark, 
 he turned in at what was called the Woods Road, and 
 
The Unbidden Guest 9 
 
 an additional five minutes walk brought him to the gate 
 of the little pathway leading to the shack, or roughly 
 built bungalow. Very tired from striving with the wind 
 and wet from the heavy rain, he pushed open the gate 
 and walked up the path and unlocked the door. Enter 
 ing, he stood motionless for a number of seconds before 
 striking a match, then carrying it he felt his way over 
 to the mantel-piece on the side of the room opposite 
 the door, where he found a candle-stick, in which was 
 a small piece of candle. This he lit, and then walked 
 back and closed the door. 
 
 The dim light disclosed a large room, in which could 
 gradually be discerned a table in the center, a couch on 
 the side away from the door to the left, a book-case to 
 the right and under the mantel-piece a large fire-place, 
 in which were laid logs of wood ready for lighting. On 
 one side of the fire-place was a large arm-chair and on 
 the other side a small rocking-chair. Standing near 
 the door was a hat-rack, upon which our acquaintance, 
 Mr. Franklin Thompson, hung his hat and coat. The 
 room was evidently one which served two purposes, 
 that of living-room and hall. 
 
 Franklin Thompson, or Frank, as we shall call him, 
 after hanging up his hat and coat, drew a chair, 
 hitherto not visible, from a dark corner of the room 
 and placed it by the table. He seated himself upon it 
 and took from the inside pocket of his coat a small 
 
io The Success of Failure 
 
 bottle which he stood upon the table. Regarding it in 
 tently, he said: 
 
 "This is a time when I shall not fail. There will be 
 no more tomorrows to follow the nights, no more 
 guessing, no more hoping and no more failing. This 
 time I shall succeed." 
 
 Fifteen years ago he had promised himself this same 
 thing that he should not fail. Here, in this room of 
 the little shack, he had said, and he had meant to do 
 what he said, that he should succeed. If success was 
 to be attained by hard work, honesty and truthfulness, 
 he had stated emphatically that it should be his. And 
 now he had come back to the old surroundings, to the 
 home of his youth, a failure. 
 
 His gaze leaves the bottle and travels slowly and 
 rests lingeringly upon the different objects of the nearly 
 dark room. It then comes back to his folded arms 
 resting upon the table, and his head slowly very 
 slowly droops until it reaches the folded arms, and 
 there remains while his thoughts go back over the past 
 years. He is thinking of the disappointments, his 
 many efforts and resultant failures, of the battles he 
 has fought and lost. Could he have exchanged for the 
 practices of the world the principles underlying right 
 living which he had learned here, he would have suc 
 ceeded. But, somehow, he could not bring himself to 
 sell his manhood for a mess of pottage. For him to 
 
The Unbidden Guest n 
 
 attain success, other than by worthy means, was out of 
 the question, and to have accepted it at any other price 
 would have meant failure, although of a different kind, 
 he well knew. 
 
 How very tired, how thoroughly wearied he is of 
 this walking in the dark these many years ! The one 
 thing now he desires most is rest; to get away from 
 Life s continual questioning, to go to sleep and never 
 wake, to be able to forget and to be forgotten. No 
 longer does he wish for another existence, and he cares 
 nothing for its rewards nor its punishments. 
 
 So wholly absorbed in painful recollection is he, that 
 he hears not a gentle and persistent knocking, nor is 
 he aroused by the opening and closing of the door, and 
 is totally oblivious to the sound of a woman s tired and 
 faltering step and the trailing of her rain-soaked gar 
 ments as she crosses the room. She is hatless and 
 coatless and her hair, in wet disorder, hangs over her 
 shoulders, and in the dim candle light her face looks 
 wan and worn. At the sight of the man, seated beside 
 the table, a sigh of relief and satisfaction escapes her, 
 and sitting down upon the couch she watches intently 
 the motionless figure upon the chair. 
 
 The candle is slowly burning out, and not a sound is 
 heard, save for the rain pattering on the roof and 
 the swishing of the rain-bathed branches of the trees 
 outside. 
 
12 The Success of Failure 
 
 An hour, or more, has passed, and she is still watch 
 ing. Then, with a groan, he raises his head and puts 
 out his hand for the bottle. His fingers close upon it 
 and he proceeds to draw out the cork, still unmindful 
 of the silent figure which now rises and moves quietly 
 to his side. He raises the bottle to his lips and in a 
 few moments what he has come here to do will have 
 been done ; but as he is about to pour its contents into 
 his mouth, over his hand is laid that of his unknown 
 and unbidden guest, and with authority she draws it 
 down until his arm rests with the other upon the table, 
 and the vial, released from the now trembling fingers, 
 falls to the ground, spilling its contents. 
 
 The flickering candle sputters and goes out. It is 
 the hour before dawn and all is in darkness. The rain 
 has ceased, and all that can be heard is the sighing of 
 the wind through the trees. 
 
 Surprised, and not a little alarmed, by this interfer 
 ence, Frank straightens up and peers into the blackness 
 of the room, fully alive to the fact that he is not alone. 
 Someone is here, but who? He is riot by any means a 
 coward, yet he is totally unable to control the trembling 
 of his body. He is shaking from head to foot and is 
 wholly incapable of commanding his voice. After mak 
 ing many vain attempts to speak, he is much relieved 
 when the voice of the woman, low-toned and sweet, 
 breaks the silence, and she says : 
 
The Unbidden Guest 13 
 
 "You are greatly agitated; be quiet and do not try 
 to talk. As briefly as possible I will explain my pres 
 ence here. An important errand called me out tonight 
 and I was caught in the storm. From the road I saw 
 the feeble light of the candle shining through the win 
 dow and, being unable to proceed further, I turned into 
 the path leading to the door, upon which I knocked 
 many times but received no answer. Encouraged by 
 the silence within I opened the door and entered." 
 
 When she had finished speaking, Frank with a long, 
 shuddering sigh settled back in his chair without utter 
 ing a word. Was he sorry, he questioned, that he had 
 been prevented from carrying out the purpose of his 
 visit to the shack? He did not know. Was he glad? 
 He did not know. That he was still here, when he ex 
 pected to be he knew not where, was evident. He 
 shivered, and for the first time that night he began to 
 feel the cold dampness of the room . My, but he was 
 cold! Then he remembered his unbidden guest; she 
 must be cold, also, for her clothes, like his, were rain- 
 soaked. 
 
 Turning his head in the direction from which her 
 voice had come, he said unsteadily : 
 
 "You, I am sure, must be suffering from the cold 
 and dampness of the night." 
 
 "Yes," she replied, shivering, "I am cold." 
 
 Without saying another word, Frank stretched out 
 
14 The Success of Failure 
 
 a much bestiffened leg and put his hand in a pocket of 
 his trousers and brought out a box of matches. Strik 
 ing one upon its side, he rose shakily to his feet and 
 walking slowly carried it carefully over to the fire 
 place and applied it to the paper and loose bark that 
 was under the wood. A bright blaze which lit up the 
 room was the result, and he saw, seated upon the couch, 
 a young woman about whose age one could not be 
 certain. The face which she turned up to him was 
 ghastly pale and infinitely sad. Her dress was wet, the 
 bottom of her skirt lying in thick, heavy damp folds 
 about her feet. 
 
 He turned away and walked over to the window and 
 looked out. The storm was over and the morning 
 light of another day was breaking through the clouds. 
 The night had passed and the day from asleep was 
 awakening. He stood there looking out, and a war of 
 conflicting emotions raged within him. Something 
 greater and stronger than he had hitherto known was 
 slowly possessing him. It struggled and gasped, 
 gasped and struggled, as it fought for supremacy. On 
 and on, as the minutes passed, it strove, beating back 
 and crushing out all resisting forces. It won. He no 
 longer resisted ; he submitted. As the strife ceased, he 
 leaned his head wearily against the window frame, and 
 there stole over him a commanding silence, bidding 
 him be still, and for the first time in his life he rested. 
 
The Unbidden Guest 15 
 
 Then there rose up within him a great longing to be 
 and to do, and was as a man awakened from a long, 
 long sleep, refreshed and strengthened. 
 
 It was daylight when Frank raised his head and 
 again looked out of the window. The sun had raised 
 his head from the soft pillow of gray and was bathing 
 the sky with bright rays of golden red. The trees, 
 unaffected by the storm, stood as proudly erect as ever, 
 and the earth, clad in her mantle of green, looked 
 marvelously fresh and young. Nature was singing her 
 morning hymn in magnificent silence. 
 
 When Frank at last turned away from the window he 
 found his guest of the night standing on the rug before 
 the fire. He wondered how long she had been standing 
 there. Chiding himself for his remissness, he stepped 
 quickly over to the hat-rack and from behind it he 
 drew a large folded reclining chair. This he opened 
 and placed at a comfortable distance from the fire, and 
 said: 
 
 "Won t you sit down here and rest?" 
 
 "Thank you," she replied, seating herself in the chair. 
 
 Picking up the poker Frank stirred up the burning 
 logs of wood and then went out through a door which 
 led into the kitchen, returning shortly carrying in his 
 arms more logs. Three he placed upon the fire and 
 the remaining two he laid upon the rug. 
 
 After replenishing the fire, Frank turned to his guest 
 
1 6 The Success of Failure 
 
 and was about to ask her if she found the chair com 
 fortable and if she felt at all rested, when, to his sur 
 prise, he found she had fallen asleep. It was now his 
 turn to watch. Who could she be? he queried as he 
 sat down in the arm-chair a short distance away. What 
 errand could have taken her out so late at night in the 
 storm ? 
 
 As he sat there, his eyes travelled over her face and 
 noted the broad, white forehead, from which the hair 
 in a damp, dark mass fell back, the prettily curved 
 eye-brows, the closed lids, the well-shaped nose, 
 the mouth which was neither small nor large, and the 
 firmly rounded chin. As she slept the lines of care 
 left her face and into its paleness there crept a faint 
 pink. 
 
 The sun had been up an hour and was pouring his 
 warm rays through the window when she awoke. 
 Frank had not stirred from his seat at the corner of 
 the fire-place. Sitting up she regarded him out of a 
 pair of dark-brown eyes with a look of mournful in 
 terrogation, and asked : 
 
 "How long have I been asleep?" 
 
 "About an hour," answered Frank, looking at his 
 watch as he rose from his chair. "It is now six 
 o clock." 
 
 "It is late," she said, "and my work is not yet done." 
 
 "She stood up and her hair, with which the wind 
 
The Unbidden Guest 17 
 
 and rain had played havoc, fell down her back in a 
 tangled heap to her waist, and the pins which had held 
 it to her head slipped out upon the floor. Stooping 
 down she picked them up and with her hands 
 smoothed out her hair, and coiling it pinned it securely 
 to her head. Then looking out of the window, she 
 remarked : 
 
 "\Yhat a difference the condition of the weather 
 makes in our appreciation of the outside world. Last 
 night, we, anxious to escape from the howling, driving 
 wind and the pouring rain, thought only of a place of 
 shelter. This morning, the sky is clear and the earth 
 is basking in the warm rays of the sun. The storm is 
 forgotten and nature is aglee." 
 
 "That is true of the country, I think," replied Frank, 
 resuming his seat, "but in the large cities with their 
 many conveniences I am not so sure that it really 
 makes so much difference. By that, I do not mean to 
 say that a clear sky is- not preferable to clouds nor that 
 one would not choose, if he could, fair instead of foul 
 weather. But take transportation, for instance there 
 are so many ways of being conveyed about a large city. 
 For the wealthy and the not so wealthy there are the 
 automobiles. For the ordinary working-class there are 
 the subways, the elevated, surface cars and bus lines. 
 So you see. in that way. the state of the weather does 
 not materially affect city people." 
 
1 8 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Why do you say the ordinary working-class ?" she 
 asked, regarding Frank curiously. "I have been taught 
 to regard all human beings as extraordinary." 
 
 "Evidently the knowledge imparted to you by your 
 teachers was not acquired in a large city with an ex 
 cess population of working people," said Frank, laugh 
 ing, "or you would readily understand why I use that 
 phrase." 
 
 "What makes them ordinary?" she asked, sitting 
 down in her chair. 
 
 "Well, I don t know, but I suppose one would say 
 their position in life." 
 
 Slowly raising her eyes she regarded him wonder- 
 ingly, and said : 
 
 "Life is an unbidden guest and knows no degree, 
 and with it is endowed every member of the human 
 family. Its source may only be found in the Greater 
 Life. How then can members belonging to that family 
 have different positions in life ? There is only the one." 
 
 "They have, just the same," stubbornly replied 
 Frank. "And bitter is the war waged between indi 
 viduals for those positions." 
 
 "Is not that a singular situation, the righting of 
 humanity against itself?" she asked wonderingly. 
 
 "Humanity does not regard it as such." 
 
 "Is the result of the warfare satisfactory?" 
 
 "Taking it as a whole, I am sorry to say, it is not. 
 
The Unbidden Guest 19 
 
 The weak are forced to give place to the strong, drop 
 ping out, one by one, from the ranks, and little, if any 
 thing, is known of them thereafter. The strong who 
 take their place in time become weak and are, in turn, 
 replaced by others more vigorous. And so it goes on, 
 this ever endless strife between the weak and the 
 strong." 
 
 "It is a case of the house divided against itself/ is 
 it not?" 
 
 "If you mean that man is arrayed against man/ re 
 plied Frank with a shrug of his shoulders, "it certainly 
 is, although I have never thought of it in just that 
 way." 
 
 "Then to prevent the downfall of the house, the 
 cause for the now existing divisions must be removed 
 and the cementation of the true interests of man take 
 place. That is, to secure his own good man must look 
 to the good of his brother-man." 
 
 "You have little knowledge of the world/ said 
 Frank with an indulgent smile, "or you would know 
 that there man secures his own good at the expense 
 of that of his brother-man. Some man always pays 
 the price." 
 
 "Such knowledge is worthless, for it is not possible 
 for man to sow evil and reap good nor to sow good and 
 reap evil nor to take that for which no adequate return 
 can be given." 
 
2O The Success of Failure 
 
 "By that you mean man must pay with good for 
 any good he gets." 
 
 "I do/ she replied emphatically. 
 
 "I am afraid the men and women of the worid with 
 whom I am acquainted would not agree with you," re 
 plied Frank laughing. 
 
 "That would not be wonderful, would it?" asked she 
 smiling. "They do not agree with themselves." And 
 getting up from her chair she walked over to the win 
 dow and looked out. 
 
 Frank laughed, and getting to his feet joined her at 
 the window. 
 
 "The perversion of humanity is remarkable," she 
 continued. "One does not find it so in the vege 
 table world. Look at that tree with its bark-covered 
 enormous trunk and its strong spreading branches 
 decked with their beautiful green leaves. See how 
 erectly it stands as though health and strength were 
 to be its heritage for years and years to come. The 
 elements necessary for its preservation are evidently 
 working in harmony, and any attack must come from 
 a foreign foe. Supposing, however, one of the ele 
 ments should decide that it needed a certain proportion 
 of another element and should enter into conflict for 
 its possession and it should succeed in separating the 
 component part and attaching it to itself, it would only 
 impoverish the other element and lessen its possibili- 
 
The Unbidden Guest 21 
 
 ties and add to itself that of which it had no need and 
 which would eventually perish for the lack of the 
 proper environment to perform its pre-ordained func 
 tion. At first, possibly, the absence would not be per 
 ceptible, but as time went on the constant draining 
 would be felt by the remaining elements and they would 
 gradually become incapacitated, and the end of the 
 tree would be death. So it must be with the social tree 
 of man s planting, whose roots are sunk in the soil of 
 self and whose elements are constantly warring against 
 each other." 
 
 "You are not so ignorant of the world and its doings 
 as I thought," replied Frank with a smile. 
 
 "I am well acquainted with that tree," she answered 
 sadly. "Its great bare trunk is o erspread with scars 
 and its gigantic outstretched limbs touch with their 
 shadows many lands. The branches at the top with 
 their ceaseless tossing, stirred by the winds from the 
 Land of More, keep those underneath constantly mov 
 ing and cause the fluttering of their leaves in the breeze 
 from the Isle of Want. Right below these are the 
 branches whose leaves are blown hither and thither by 
 a gale from the Ocean of Need, and hidden beneath are 
 the timid and frail stems with their tiny blighted leaves. 
 Nearly at the bottom are huge limbs covered with 
 leaves turning yellow, vainly struggling against the 
 gusts of wind from the River of Greed, only to T^e 
 
22 The Success of Failure 
 
 carried off, again and again, to the City of Nowhere. 
 At the bottom the branches are withered and old and 
 reach out their long gaunt arms over the Province of 
 Death." 
 
 "And yet/ said Frank thoughtfully, "it is a tree in 
 which, rightly or wrongly, the interests of man are cen 
 tered and his life is sustained by its fruits." 
 
 "Are its fruits satisfying?" 
 
 "I cannot say that they are altogether so," gloomily 
 responded Frank. 
 
 "In what do they lack?" 
 
 "Much. They fail to produce unity or to meet the 
 aspirations of man." 
 
 "In other words, their life sustaining qualities are 
 those of discord and dissatisfaction." 
 
 "That is the result of my experience and observa 
 tion." 
 
 The face which she turned up to him looked wan and 
 gray and her eyes were swimming in unshed tears as 
 she asked : 
 
 "How long will man continue to partake of its 
 fruits, fruits which are so barren of good and which 
 cannot truly benefit anyone?" 
 
 "You are tired. Come back to your chair," said 
 Frank sympathetically, turning and leading the way. 
 
 "My weariness is nothing unusual," she replied as 
 she followed him and sank wearilv down into her 
 
The Unbidden Guest 23 
 
 chair. Indeed, I am often very, very weary," and 
 sighing she leaned her head back and gazed sadly into 
 the fire. 
 
 Frank turned over with the poker what remained 
 in the grate of the burning logs and added those which 
 were lying on the rug. He then sat down in the rock 
 ing-chair at the corner of the fire-place, and looking 
 smilingly at her, said gently : 
 
 "Why worry about this tree which has existed long 
 before our entrance upon the scene of its activities and 
 which will continue to exist long after we have ceased 
 to be leaves upon its branches, for, grieve as we will 
 and labor as we must, we cannot change it nor stop its 
 growth." 
 
 That is the never-ceasing monotonous song which 
 the leaves sing as they swing backwards and forwards 
 upon its branches," she said a trifle impatiently. "-It 
 is a dismal song and one in which all of its notes 
 disagree." 
 
 "Why weep, then, over what cannot be helped?" 
 asked Frank smiling. "We cannot remove the singers 
 nor alter the song." 
 
 "But is that true?" she asked, sitting upright in her 
 chair. "If so, it would indeed be foolish to sorrow 
 over that that admits of no remedy. But is it not 
 possible for man to live without lodging in its branches, 
 without partaking of its fruits or of singing its song? 
 
24 The Success of Failure 
 
 Is not the planting of his own tree given to every man ? 
 Does not the decision of the soil in which it shall grow 
 rest with him, whether it -shall be that of service or 
 that of self in which its roots shall grow and spread 
 out? Can he not decide whether his tree shall be hus 
 banded by his own efforts rather than by those of an 
 other ? Is it not his right to say whether its branches 
 shall be abiding places, and the fruit growing thereupon 
 be life sustaining?" 
 
 "You are an idealist, I see," said Frank, with an 
 amused smile. "Such conditions as you portray might 
 be possible where men and women do not have to battle 
 for their bread and butter; but down here, in this 
 world, where man has to give himself that his body 
 may live, it is, I assure you, a different matter." 
 
 "What is an idealist?" she queried perplexedly. 
 
 "The world s definition of an idealist is, I think," said 
 Frank slowly, "a person who sees life as it should be 
 and not as it is." 
 
 "That seems rather contradictory, does it not? For 
 if a physician be ignorant of a disease and the reason 
 of its existence, what assurance has the afflicted patient 
 that his prescriptions will be remedial ?" 
 
 "The world has many just such physicians, however, 
 who, without a proper understanding of conditions, 
 constantly prescribe remedies whose application they 
 believe would greatly lessen, if not wholly remove, the 
 
The Unbidden Guest 25 
 
 innumerable disorders with which society is strug 
 gling; and their lack of efficacy they attribute to the 
 fact that the majority of people, if not totally negligent, 
 do not altogether depend upon their rigid application 
 to allay their ills, but prefer, somewhat, to rely upon 
 home-made remedies." 
 
 "And is not the home-made remedy the only one upon 
 which we can safely rely to find the true source of 
 health?" she asked. "For if we are to have a perfect 
 We, we must have a perfect I." 
 
 "Oh, I see," said Frank, with a light laugh, "you 
 are not only an idealist but an individualist as well." 
 
 "If by that big word you mean," she replied smiling, 
 "that good and bad start with the individual but can 
 not exist at the same time and the effect of their opera 
 tions is decidedly distinct and separate, then I am an 
 individualist." 
 
 "By that you would say, I suppose," said Frank, 
 taking up the poker and turning over the unburnt side 
 of the logs until they rested upon the burning red 
 coals, society is no stronger than its weakest member 
 and no better than its worst." 
 
 "Society is a unit and admits of no classification. 
 It has but one source, one gate of entrance and one of 
 departure. But enough of this for the present : I must 
 leave you shortly and my message is to you." 
 
 "To me !" exclaimed Frank, much surprised. 
 
26 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Yes, to you," she replied gently. 
 
 "What message can you possibly have to give me ?" 
 he asked doubtingly. "I was not aware that any of my 
 acquaintances knew of my intention to leave the city, 
 nor my purpose of leaving." 
 
 "It was not known to an acquaintance," she said 
 quietly; "it was known to a friend." 
 
 "A friend," repeated he, his forehead drawing to 
 gether in puzzled lines. "You are surely mistaken, for 
 I can assure you there is no one to whom my coming 
 and going would be of interest nor to whom my liv 
 ing or dying would make a difference. The only per 
 son who would have cared is gone, and her body lies 
 out there in the woods and rests amidst the wild 
 flowers which she loved. That one was my mother. 
 She and I made this little shack our home for many 
 years, and when she died and went away I found the 
 little place too lonesome, so I went into the city and 
 engaged apartments. However, it was lonely there, 
 too, for acquaintances one might make, but friends, 
 never." 
 
 "I know," she replied sympathetically. "Neverthe 
 less, the author of the message which I bring you is 
 a friend." 
 
 "His name?" 
 
 "The message I may give you, but the name of the 
 
The Unbidden Guest 27 
 
 sender the coming years of your life upon earth must 
 disclose," she replied. 
 
 "What is the message, then?" 
 
 "This is the message," she replied, and slowly re 
 cited the following lines : 
 
 "Success is the heritage of every man and awaits 
 him who rightly seeks. But why seek to pluck its fair 
 flowers in groves where only the weeds of failure grow, 
 which appear from a distance so beautiful in their 
 rosy-hue and so greatly to be desired, but which, upon 
 possession, stain with their redness all that they touch. 
 Their leaves are full of holes, through which filter tiny 
 streams of human tears, and at their roots lie the de 
 cayed hopes and aspirations of man." 
 
 Frank, much perplexed, listened attentively to the 
 recital of the message. At its completion, he said : 
 
 "What is its meaning and in what way does it apply 
 to me?" 
 
 "Its meaning is, I should say," she replied, "one 
 should not seek to purchase with the world s coinage 
 that which it cannot buy " 
 
 "Would you have me infer," indignantly interrupted 
 Frank, "that I was other than honest and truthful in 
 my efforts to attain success? Had I been so, the 
 failures and disappointments would have hurt me less. 
 
28 The Success of Failure 
 
 It was because of my inability to reconcile conditions 
 that I lost hope and love of life. I could not under 
 stand why fifteen years of patient, honest effort should 
 result in fifteen years of fruitless effort ; that I should 
 not be materially any better off in the end of that time 
 than I was in the beginning, and that for my labor I 
 had nothing to show but a pair of well-worn, empty 
 .hands. The uselessness of the struggle oppressed 
 me, and I decided to open the door and go out. I 
 had no desire for a future existence and longed for 
 annihilation." 
 
 "Nor to proffer," continued she, "in exchange for 
 world-called success, a coinage which the world is slow 
 to recognize and fails to make its own." 
 
 "That sounds remarkably well," impatiently replied 
 Frank, "but is not to succeed the ambition of every 
 normal man?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered with a strange smile. "But 
 man, as the world knows him, is not normal. He is 
 abnormal, and all that he does must partake of that 
 abnormality, which accounts for the bewildering fact 
 that he ascribes his abnormality to the abnormalities of 
 conditions, when just the opposite is the truth. No 
 words prescribe a remedy more fully than these: Ye 
 must be born again/ " 
 
 As she quoted the last five words, Frank, somewhat 
 irritated and thoroughly mystified, rose from his chair 
 
The Unbidden Guest 29 
 
 and walked to the door, opened it and looked out. 
 Standing there in the doorway with the cool breeze 
 blowing his hair back from his forehead, he mentally 
 explored every rememberable nook and cranny of his 
 past to locate, if possible, some incident which would 
 enlighten the present situation. That he had never 
 heretofore met this woman, to whose interfering hand 
 he owed his life, he was positive. Why was she here 
 and from whom had she obtained the information of 
 his morbid intention upon his arrival at the shack? 
 Why had she brought to him such a message, the pur 
 port of which he could not perceive ? Try as he would, 
 he could not recall a single instance which, in any way, 
 could account for her presence. Baffled, he abandoned 
 the search, trusting that she, voluntarily or inadver 
 tently, would disclose her identity and explain away the 
 disquieting circumstances. Turning, he came in and 
 closed the door and again took his seat in the rocking- 
 chair. She was lying quietly back in her chair gazing 
 dreamily into the fire, and evidently her thoughts were 
 far away, for neither by word nor sign did she intimate 
 she was aware of his presence as he sat down. Not a 
 sound broke the stillness of the room for several 
 minutes, then, with a gentle sigh, she straightened up 
 and regarded him inquiringly. 
 
 "Of what are you thinking?" she smilingly asked. 
 
 "I am thinking of you," he replied moodily. 
 
30 The Success of Failure 
 
 Thinking of me," she repeated. "So, at last, you 
 are thinking of me." 
 
 "Yes, I am thinking of you. I am wondering 
 who you are, where you came from and why you are 
 here." 
 
 "I regret the only explanation I am able to give of 
 myself, instead of lessening, would greatly increase 
 your wonderment," she said musingly. "However, I 
 am glad to know that the who, where and why of my 
 existence is to you no longer a matter of indifference." 
 "Tell me, anyway," he pleaded. 
 "A friend to everybody, am I," she replied gravely, 
 "and my dwelling-place is everywhere. To me is given 
 the opening and the closing of the door to which all 
 come, early or late, who have sought to learn spiritual 
 truths at a material school." 
 
 Frank responded with a helpless shake of his head 
 and sigh of incomprehension. 
 
 "The crossing of the threshold of this door by man s 
 own hand is an uncertain venture," continued she. 
 "Man may force life out of his body, but that does 
 not mean he will be relieved from responsibility ; does 
 not assure him of any better conditions ; does not guar 
 antee freedom from his troubles, nor the cessation of 
 the agonizing memories of his mind. He may destroy 
 the temple, but the intelligent control is independent 
 of temples. Whence it comes and whither it goes no 
 
The Unbidden Guest 31 
 
 man can tell. He knows it exists, and he exists because 
 of it. Of the forces that are at work in the world to 
 which he would, when life here becomes to him intoler 
 able, so recklessly and ignorantly thrust himself, he 
 has no knowledge. He has no proof that he shall be 
 immune from suffering, nor that the taking-off of one 
 dress may not mean the putting-on of another, and that 
 the getting rid of the self he took with him may not 
 be a more difficult task than he believed." 
 
 "What, then, is man to do with this life, this inde 
 structible thing with which he is endowed?" asked 
 Frank despairingly. "Is he always to be a thing of 
 burdens and strife ? Is he never to know, in the course 
 of his day, the where of his being and the why of his 
 way?" 
 
 "Man is slow to learn the purpose of life," she re 
 plied with a sad shake of her head. "He has made of 
 it an intricate problem, and one which he is unable to 
 solve." 
 
 "And is it not, too, an intricate problem to you ?" 
 
 "Life, to me, is a wonderful thing, with its story un 
 told. It is the one thing which cannot be bought nor 
 cannot be sold, and is to every man a gift so precious, 
 could he but learn its truths and know its purpose." 
 
 "Life, if not a curse, is considered everything else 
 but a precious gift by a great many people," gloomily 
 -responded Frank; "for well do they know what its 
 
32 The Success of Failure 
 
 meaning shall be to them in their declining days, should 
 they live ; and that is an inability to work and a dreaded 
 poverty-stricken old age. In large cities such instances 
 are not rare, and it is not surprising that people should 
 regard life as a regrettable thing, something with which 
 they would have dispensed had they been consulted, 
 when they are so frequently confronted with the real 
 istic and ever depressing pictures of aged men and 
 women, whose years of labor have left them naught 
 but a quavering voice, trembling hands and an uncer 
 tain step, eating the bread of charity. As they view the 
 pictures, they are painfully aware that only a few 
 short years stand between them and frames from which 
 their faces may look out; for, labor as they will and 
 deprive themselves of the present necessities as they 
 feel they must to provide for future demands, the fruit 
 of their labor, at times, barely suffices to meet their 
 daily needs. Indeed, they feel they are paying a big 
 price for the privilege of living." 
 
 "The world, I see, has no use for the falling leaves," 
 she said, "and endeavors to forget they were once the 
 buds of spring. Their beauty being gone and their 
 usefulness at an end, they are permitted to lie where 
 they have fallen and to be trodden under foot, or, if the 
 cool winds of autumn do not bear them to a kindlier 
 country, they are raked up into a pile and forgotten." 
 
 "That is the situation, exactly." 
 
The Unbidden Guest 33 
 
 And what has life meant to you ?" she asked smiling. 
 
 "Life," replied Frank, with a doleful shake of his 
 head, "has meant but one thing to me." 
 
 "And what was that one thing?" 
 
 "An everlasting struggle to get nowhere." 
 
 4 When you started out, you meant to get somewhere 
 and be somebody, didn t you?" asked she, regarding 
 Frank with her big brown eyes. 
 
 "I meant to succeed." 
 
 "And you did not?" 
 
 "No," grimly acknowledged Frank, "I failed." 
 
 "Why did you fail? Was it the result of the 
 seeking?" 
 
 "I don t know what you mean," replied Frank, los 
 ing his temper as he always did when he thought his 
 business integrity was questioned. "I sought earnestly, 
 honestly and faithfully to succeed, and there, I can 
 assure you, were no questionable methods in my 
 seeking." 
 
 "Every life has its own shadow and reflects what 
 it seeks," she replied. "The conditions under which 
 man labors are the products of his own seeking. He is 
 forever striving for the shadow when he might have 
 the substance. Things of account he deems of no- 
 account, and at the feet of those of no-account he lays 
 the best the world has to give, himself. To his dead 
 gods he sacrifices himself daily." 
 
34 The Success of Failure 
 
 "I must say/ impatiently replied Frank, "it is all 
 beyond me." 
 
 "It is so now and it has been so in the past, but in 
 the future it shall not be so/ she replied, and her voice 
 rang with authority, which immediately silenced Frank 
 and claimed his attention. "You are/ she went on, 
 "to learn of me. I shall teach you to know the things 
 that are from the things that are not and to discern 
 the riches that lie in poverty and the poverty that lies 
 in riches. Through me you shall sift the chaff of 
 seeming until you find the grain of meaning. No more 
 will the thought of self-destruction possess you, for 
 you will know that life to you is a precious gift, some 
 thing neither to be abused nor to be abased, but to be 
 understood. Your residence, choice and place of labor 
 you may select, but from me you are to learn all the 
 lessons of life." 
 
 She finished speaking and rose from her chair. 
 Frank sat staring at her in speechless amazement, and 
 it was not until her hand was laid upon the handle of 
 the door leading to the little path which led to the road 
 that he found his voice sufficiently to stammer out : 
 
 "Itis incredible " 
 
 "You think so now," interrupted she, "but as the 
 years go by your present belief will not only become 
 incredible, but an impossibility." 
 
 She opened the door and stood in the doorway. 
 
The Unbidden Guest 35 
 
 Frank joined her and for several seconds they silently 
 looked off into the wooded distance. She was the first 
 to speak, and said hurriedly : 
 
 "I must not remain longer, for I am needed else 
 where." 
 
 She stepped down into the little path and had reached 
 the road before Frank recalled she had not told him 
 her name. Hastening after her, he said : 
 
 "You have not told me your name." 
 
 "The world calls me, Failure," she said, smiling 
 sadly; "but my name you shall decide when you see 
 me again." 
 
 Frank stood and watched her, his mind distraught 
 with many perplexing questions, as she went down the 
 Woods Road. Soon her erect figure was lost to view 
 among the trees and heavy foliage; and he, vainly en 
 deavoring to unravel the snarled events of the past few 
 hours, went back to the shack. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 TWO DOCTORS AND A NURSE 
 
 "|T will never do," said Doctor Gordon to Doctor 
 1 Ross, "to attempt to curtail her activities. How 
 ever, the proposition which she submitted for my con 
 sideration last Monday I hardly believe will meet with 
 your approval." 
 
 "No, what was it?" 
 
 "She proposes to establish an institution which she 
 believes will eventually banish the ills of man." 
 
 "You did not encourage her in any such nonsense, 
 I hope," said Doctor Ross sternly. "She would only 
 succeed in making herself ridiculous. She hasn t an 
 idea what it would mean, and I shall use all the argu 
 ments of which I am capable to dissuade her from at 
 tempting anything of the kind." 
 
 "That is how you would feel, I knew," replied Doc 
 tor Gordon. "At first, I felt very much the same way 
 about it. But, upon reflection, I am not so sure that 
 it might not be, after all, a rather good thing. At any 
 rate, the arguments she advanced in favor of the ar 
 rangement were very convincing." 
 
 36 
 
Two Doctors and a Nurse 37 
 
 "I cannot think of any that would reconcile 
 me to anything so impossible for her," replied Doctor 
 Ross. 
 
 "She urged, for one thing the truth of which is evi 
 dent the necessity for the expansion of her activities." 
 
 "Of course, you did not fail to remind her, Gordon, 
 of the consequences of her past activities." 
 
 "You may be sure I did not, but she only laughed 
 and bade me forget, as she was trying to do, the ill- 
 effects of her past activities. She appeared to be very 
 anxious to obtain my approval of the plan and to induce 
 me, by persuasive argument, to admit it was a good 
 one. I told her I preferred, before endorsing or further 
 discussing its merits or demerits, to talk it over with 
 you. I suggested, too, that she might personally sub 
 mit for your consideration and endorsement the reasons 
 why she believed such an arrangement would be to her 
 of great benefit." 
 
 "Did she agree to do that?" 
 
 "She did. Although, she said, she knew it would 
 not be of any use, for you would never approve of such 
 a venture." 
 
 "And she is right there," replied Doctor Ross de 
 cidedly. 
 
 "You think, then, it is entirely out of the question?" 
 queried Doctor Gordon. "Well, perhaps it is." 
 
 "It certainly is," emphatically replied Doctor Ross. 
 
38 The Success of Failure 
 
 "What possible reason she can give for the further 
 expansion of her activities, I am curious to know." 
 
 "Supposing we go over there, then, this afternoon," 
 suggested Doctor Gordon. 
 
 "All right, if it is convenient for you," agreed Doctor 
 Ross. 
 
 "Will four o clock suit you?" inquired Doctor 
 Gordon. 
 
 "Make it four-thirty. I am due at the hospital at two 
 and do not leave before four." 
 
 "Very well, I shall telephone her she may expect us 
 at four-thirty," said Doctor Gordon. 
 
 "Shall I call for you or will you call for me at the 
 hospital?" asked Doctor Ross. 
 
 "I haven t many calls this afternoon, so I will call 
 for you." 
 
 "I ll give John the afternoon off, then," said Doctor 
 Ross. "It will be the first one he has had in a month." 
 
 "He will have no objections, such being the case, if 
 you make use of my automobile this afternoon," said 
 Doctor Gordon smiling, and he stood up and took his 
 coat and hat from a stand close by him. 
 
 "What s your hurry?" asked Doctor Ross. "Stay 
 and take luncheon with me." 
 
 "I should like to, but I can t. My days of semi-de 
 tached bachelorhood are ended for this year." 
 
 "What, is Margaret back?" 
 
Tivo Doctors and a Nurse 39 
 
 "Yes, and what s more, she made me promise to 
 bring you back to luncheon with me. So get your coat 
 and hat and come along." 
 
 Til have to call up the garage, first," said Doctor 
 Ross. 
 
 "What is the use of calling up the garage, now?" 
 asked Doctor Gordon. "John won t be there." 
 
 "That s so," admitted Doctor Ross, going over to 
 the washbowl and turning on the cold and hot water 
 faucets, "he goes to lunch between twelve and one, 
 and," looking at his watch, "it is now half-past twelve. 
 I could leave a message, I suppose," he continued, 
 turning off the water and pulling up his shirt sleeves 
 preparatory to washing his hands, "only he never takes 
 an order from anyone but me, and " 
 
 "At one forty-five," supplemented Doctor Gordon, 
 "he would be found seated in the machine in front of 
 the door waiting for orders." 
 
 "That s just it," assented Doctor Ross, replacing his 
 white linen coat with one of blue serge, "John does not 
 believe in taking chances." 
 
 "Well, I am afraid," said Doctor Gordon, stepping 
 toward the door, "if you don t hurry we will run a 
 chance of getting a good, warm meal and a pleasant 
 reception from Margaret." 
 
 "Til be with you in just a moment," said Doctor ^ 
 Ross, reaching for his hat. "But I must speak to Mrs. 
 
40 The Success of Failure 
 
 Archer first," and he pressed a button at the side of his 
 desk, which summoned from an inner office a young 
 woman attired in the white uniform of a nurse. She 
 acknowledged with a smile and a graceful inclination 
 of her head Doctor Gordon s pleasant greeting, and 
 then looked inquiringly at her employer. 
 
 "Mrs. Archer," said he, "kindly inform Mrs. Bar- 
 stow I shall not be in for luncheon." 
 
 "Very well, doctor," she replied. 
 
 As they were going out of the front-door, he turned 
 and said : 
 
 "I shall not be in before six; you may have Ronald 
 over, if you wish." 
 
 "Thank you, doctor. You are very good," she said, 
 following them to close the door. As they took their 
 seats in the automobile they raised their hats and, as 
 she closed the door, a happy laugh came from her lips 
 at the thought of spending the afternoon with her boy, 
 and she ran down the basement stairs to the dining- 
 room. 
 
 After conveying the doctor s message to the waitress, 
 Mrs. Archer greeted with a cheery nod and smile the 
 other diners at the table, two young men and three 
 young women, who were discussing in a somewhat 
 animated manner women s suffrage. Not wishing to 
 be drawn into the conversation, she picked up a medical 
 journal lying by her plate and tore off the wrapper, and 
 
Tivo Doctors and a Nurse 41 
 
 in a very few moments was, apparently, absorbed in the 
 perusal of its pages. 
 
 Sitting there, dressed in her white uniform, she made 
 rather an attractive picture. Her hair, a light-brown, 
 was loosely taken back and held in neat braids firmly 
 to the back of her head with long, bone hair-pins. Her 
 gray-blue eyes, surmounted by a broad, low forehead, 
 were particularly serious in their expression ; her nose, 
 indicative of her ancestry, turned up slightly, and her 
 mouth, set above a somewhat pointed chin, was large. 
 Her skin, though fair, lacked the rosiness attributed to 
 the children of Erin. 
 
 As the meal advanced, the other persons seated at the 
 table, one by one, arose and left the dining-room, and 
 Mrs. Archer was left alone. Throwing the journal, 
 which she was pretending to read, to one side, she 
 pushed back her plate and hastily drank the mouthful 
 of coffee remaining in her cup and hurried upstairs. 
 There were a number of things she had to do before 
 she could summon Martha by telephone to bring 
 Ronald over, and she wanted to spend as much time 
 with him as she possibly could, for it was not often, 
 now, they spent an afternoon together. Her hurrying 
 feet had barely reached the top step of the stairs when 
 the telephone-bell rang. She took down the receiver 
 and held it to her ear and, in response to her gentle 
 "Hallo?" the voice of Doctor Ross said: 
 
42 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Mrs. Archer?" 
 
 "Yes, doctor." 
 
 "Tell John, when he comes around, I telephoned 
 you he might have the afternoon off and that I shall 
 not need the car before eight o clock to-night." 
 
 "Very well, doctor," she replied a trifle reluctantly. 
 "But you know how John objects to taking orders 
 from anyone but you." 
 
 "I know/ he answered ; "but he was not to be found 
 at the garage when I called up a few moments ago." 
 
 "I ll tell him, then." 
 
 "By the way," he continued, "if you do not object, 
 try and prevail upon him to take Ronald for a little 
 spin." 
 
 "You are very kind, doctor," she said, very 
 much pleased. "That will be splendid, he gets out so 
 little." 
 
 "That s what I thought," he replied. "Goodby." 
 
 She answered back, "Goodby," and hung up the 
 receiver. 
 
 Glancing at the clock, she found it was now fifteen 
 minutes past one. In half-an-hour John would be 
 around. She must telephone Martha at once to get 
 Ronald ready and bring him right over. John, of 
 course, could call for him, but, motherlike, she wanted 
 to assure herself that he was sufficiently wrapped be 
 fore going for his ride. She again took down the 
 
Two Doctors and a Nurse 43 
 
 receiver and gave the number, and almost immediately 
 a voice in response, said : "Creighton." 
 
 "Kindly," she requested, connect me with apart 
 ment twenty-six." 
 
 There was a faint buzzing, and then Martha s voice, 
 asking, "Who is it?" 
 
 "It is I, Martha. Get Ronald ready as quickly as 
 you can and bring him over to the office. John is 
 going to take him out for a ride in the doctor s 
 automobile." 
 
 "Won t that be fine !" delightedly exclaimed Martha. 
 
 "It will, indeed. Let me speak to him." 
 
 Very soon, the gentle voice of a child came over the 
 wire, saying, "Hallo, mamma!" 
 
 "Hallo, darling," she replied. "Hurry up and let 
 Martha dress you, for you are to spend the afternoon 
 with your mother." 
 
 She could hear the childish exclamation of delight, 
 the merry laugh and the clapping of tiny hands as 
 Martha lifted him down from the stool. 
 
 "Goodby, little son," she murmured fondly, as she 
 hung up the receiver and went back to her work in the 
 inner office. 
 
 The last bottle had been put back in its place and the 
 last instrument cleaned and put away when John, 
 seated in the car, stopped in front of the door. He 
 
44 The Success of Failure 
 
 glanced neither to the right nor to the left but looked 
 straight ahead. To get his attention, she walked to 
 the window and rapped gently on the pane. He did not 
 turn his head, and thinking, perhaps, he had not heard, 
 she rapped louder, but without effect, for he still con 
 tinued to retain his dignified attitude. Fearful of at 
 tracting the unwelcome notice of others if she kept on 
 rapping, she left the window and went into the hall 
 and, opening the street-door, called softly, "John," but 
 he either could not, or would not, hear. Indignant at 
 being compelled to appear in the street in her uniform, 
 she ran down the steps and in no gentle tone of voice 
 demanded of John what he mean,t by sitting in the 
 automobile ignoring her raps on the window-pane and 
 her call from the door ? 
 
 Without turning his head John said with respectful 
 emphasis, "I heard you rap and I heard you call, but 
 I take no raps and I take no calls from anyone but 
 from the person whose servant I am." 
 
 "Nevertheless," replied Mrs. Archer, striving to con 
 trol her impatience, "I, too, must obey orders. Doctor 
 Ross telephoned me nearly an hour ago that he would 
 not need the car before eight o clock tonight and that 
 you might have the afternoon off, but " 
 
 "I take no messages, I tell you," interrupted John, 
 "from anyone but my master." 
 
 "He also said, before taking the automobile back to 
 
Two Doctors and a Nurse 45 
 
 the garage, you should take Ronald out for a short 
 ride," continued she. 
 
 "No man, woman or child/ replied John decisively, 
 puts a foot in this car unless my master, himself, or 
 ders me to let them do so." 
 
 "Very well," retorted Mrs. Archer haughtily, I 
 shall report your behaviour to the doctor when he re 
 turns at six." 
 
 John did not deign to reply, and Mrs. Archer, her 
 throat contracting and her eyes filling with tears, re 
 traced her steps. Had she not fully realized the futility 
 of attempting to urge John to carry out his master s 
 instructions when they were not delivered to him per 
 sonally, she would have tried to prevail upon him to 
 give Ronald his ride. She knew it would be useless 
 and the doctor, when he arrived home that night at 
 six o clock, would find him sitting motionless, waiting 
 for orders, out there in the car. She was sorry, now, 
 she had mentioned the ride to Martha and prayed fer 
 vently that she had not said anything about it to 
 Ronald, knowing how disappointed he would be. He 
 was not like other children, this little son of hers, for 
 so many of the games and amusements belonging 
 to their world had no part in his. Little Ronald was 
 blind. The occasional afternoons spent with his 
 mother, his daily walk with Martha in the park or a 
 
46 The Success of Failure 
 
 trip with her on the cars were regarded by him with 
 wonder and delight. 
 
 Mrs. Archer adored this boy of hers and he, in turn, 
 worshipped his mother; and although the little chap 
 could not see her, she examined her face critically be 
 fore the mirror in the hall. She straightened her cap, 
 which the wind had set awry, smoothed back the few 
 straying strands of hair and wiped her tear-filled eyes. 
 All traces of tears, she decided, must be at once re 
 moved, or his tiny hands with their tender, lingering 
 touch in their passing over her face would surely 
 find them. So she passed quickly into the office and, 
 turning the cold water faucet, permitted the water to 
 flow until the bowl was a little more than half- full. 
 Then she bathed her face in it, after which she patted 
 it xiry with a soft towel. The bell rang as she hung up 
 the towel, and she ran to the door and threw it open, 
 and into her arms she gathered her one great posses 
 sion, her boy. She dismissed Martha and told her to 
 call for him at five o clock. Then she closed the door 
 and carried Ronald into the inner office and sank with 
 him into a large, comfortable arm-chair. As she pro 
 ceeded to remove his outer garments, he laid his little 
 hands protestingly upon hers and, in his quaint, old- 
 fashioned way, asked : 
 
 "Am I not going out for a ride with John in the doc 
 tor s aunobile/ mother?" 
 
Two Doctors and a Nurse 47 
 
 "Not this afternoon, darling," replied Mrs. Archer, 
 releasing her hands and taking off his hat and kissing 
 the top of his curly head. 
 
 "Why not, mother?" asked the child, raising a 
 quivering little face to hers. "Mart a said you 
 told her John was going to take me for a 
 ride " 
 
 "So mother thought, dear, but John says he cannot 
 do it," answered his mother, stifling a sigh as she stood 
 him down by her side and took off his coat which, 
 with his hat and gloves, she laid on a chair nearby. 
 
 "Why can t he, mother?" wailed the child, as he 
 climbed back into her lap and put two little, f*ail arms 
 about her neck and laid a wet cheek against hers. 
 
 "Mother does not know just why," replied she, rais 
 ing the tear-stained face and kissing it tenderly. "John 
 has queer notions about some things." 
 
 Nothing more was said for several minutes. Ronald, 
 his face buried in his mother s neck, was perfectly 
 still; and save for the passing of her hand over his 
 hair, in the soothing fashion mothers have, Mrs. 
 Archer was as motionless. This little chap s sorrow 
 and, likewise, his joys were all hers, and she felt keenly 
 his failure to realize the pleasure of the anticipated 
 ride. However, she was not going to permit it to mar 
 his whole afternoon, so, turning her head, she said 
 playfully in his ear: 
 
48 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Come now, honey, you are not going to let your 
 disappointment spoil your afternoon with mother, are 
 you?" 
 
 Ronald responded by straightening up and with 
 drawing his arms from around her neck. The doleful 
 face, with its sightless, blue eyes, brightened, and the 
 mouth, with its trembling lips, extended into a quiver 
 ing smile. Lovingly his little hands, with their deli 
 cate touch, passed over her face, and, apparently, he 
 was satisfied with what he found there for, as he left 
 a birdlike kiss upon her lips, he said : 
 
 "You are very bootiful, mother." 
 
 "Mother is glad you think so, little son," she fondly 
 responded. "But what shall I do to amuse you this 
 afternoon ?" 
 
 "Tell me a story, mother," he replied, nestling down 
 in her arms. "Tell me about the bootiful things which 
 
 I cannot see, the big trees and the pretty flowers 
 
 You know, everything." 
 
 His mother drew him closer to her and laid his light- 
 brown, curly head against her breast. Then she pro 
 ceeded with her story and, childlike, in the telling his 
 disappointment was forgotten. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE DOCTORS CALL UPON DOROTHY 
 
 PROMPTLY at four o clock Doctor Gordon, seated in 
 his automobile, arrived at the hospital. Five min 
 utes later Doctor Ross took a seat beside him, and the 
 car, joining the dense traffic of countless automobiles, 
 cabs, trucks and numerous other vehicles of every kind 
 and description, began to slowly wend its way west 
 ward. 
 
 It would be difficult for an observer watching the 
 two men as they sat conversing to determine from their 
 appearance the difference, if any, in their ages. Doug 
 las Gordon possessed the face of the optimist. The 
 merry blue eyes, set well back under heavy dark eye 
 brows and o er-topped by a forehead of extraordinary 
 height and breadth, looked out brightly and hopefully 
 upon everybody and everything. The mouth, above 
 which was a large and decidedly prominent nose, was 
 exceedingly pleasing in its expression, and disclosed, 
 when smiling, an excellent set of strong, white teeth. 
 The chin was inclined to be square, and was really the 
 only severe looking thing about the face. The skin 
 
 49 
 
5O The Success of Failure 
 
 had the healthy color which is attributed to those who 
 spend the greater part of their time out in the open air, 
 and his great head, supported by a rather substantial 
 neck, was thickly covered with reddish-brown hair. In 
 height and weight he was slightly above the average, 
 and his years were forty, some years older than his 
 brother-in-law, Doctor Ross, but there were few who 
 could be made to believe it. 
 
 In appearance Robert Ross was decidedly unlike his 
 brother-in-law, and he viewed the world, its doings and 
 its people from a somewhat different standpoint. He 
 was tall and slender and his shoulders, unlike Doctor 
 Gordon s, stooped slightly forward. His face, with its 
 high cheek bones, was thin and long, and ttie pale, 
 dark skin which covered it did not suggest robustness 
 The eyes, set wide apart under heavy black eye-brows, 
 were big and black, and gave the rather disquieting 
 impression when their gloomy, speculative gaze was 
 directed at one that not only were they inspecting the 
 physical defect, or defects, but the moral ones were 
 being scrutinized and mentally passed upon, also. The 
 forehead was high and receding, and the finely-shaped 
 head was covered with thick, black hair, through which 
 a white one could be seen here and there. The nose 
 was long, but well-formed, and the largeness of the 
 mouth was redeemed by the pleasant, if a trifle serious, 
 smile which it wore when its owner greeted an ac- 
 
The Doctors Call Upon Dorothy 51 
 
 quaintance or friend. The firm, square chin indicated 
 its possessor might be depended upon to perform any 
 thing which he deemed it worth while to undertake. 
 
 Doctor Gordon, whose sunny nature so endeared 
 him to his patients and fellow-practitioners, had an 
 unfaltering faith in the inherent good of humanity and 
 in the final elimination of its ever-appearing evils, and 
 believed the social leavening elements of society would 
 eventually produce conditions wholly conducive to the 
 well-being of mankind. In this respect he differed 
 greatly from his brother-in-law, for Doctor Ross had 
 little, if any, faith in human-kind, and regarded society 
 as a rather uncertain structure. He had scant patience 
 with people who lived in the past or dreamed of the 
 future. It was the things of today, and not those of 
 yesterday or tomorrow, which interested him, and he 
 did not believe in waiting for future remedies to correct 
 present ills. 
 
 Despite the dissimilarity, however, the friendship 
 existing between the two men was no common one, 
 and there was little in the life of one which did not 
 interest the other. 
 
 When the car left the street and turned into the 
 avenue, Doctor Ross, having finished stating, in re 
 sponse to Doctor Gordon s inquiry, the number of 
 patients who had applied at the clinic that afternoon 
 for treatment and citing some of the interesting cases, 
 
52 The Success of Failure 
 
 lapsed into silence and gazed gloomily off up the 
 crowded avenue. His brother-in-law was well ac 
 quainted with his quiet moods and knew it would be 
 futile to introduce any new topic of conversation, so 
 leaving him to his thoughts he sat silently looking out, 
 noting and mentally commenting upon the numerous 
 objects of interest as they passed, and giving an occa 
 sional glance at the varying faces of the hurrying 
 crowds of people passing and repassing each other on 
 their way north and south. In less than half-an-hour 
 the automobile drew up in front of a large, red-brick 
 building. 
 
 "Here we are. Wake up, Ross," said Doctor Gordon, 
 rising and stepping out upon the sidewalk. 
 
 "So I see," replied Doctor Ross, getting slowly up 
 and following Doctor Gordon through the entrance of 
 the "Bentley Apartments." They ascended in the ele 
 vator to the fourth floor, where they alighted, and a 
 few short steps brought them to the door of the apart 
 ment on the right. In response to the ring of the bell, 
 a little lady, attired neatly in black, stood in the door 
 way. White linen, hemstitched bands, which covered 
 the collar and cuffs of her gown, slightly relieved its 
 somberness. Smiling brightly in greeting, she stretched 
 out a hand to each and drew them in and closed the 
 door. 
 
 As she led the wav to the small, but cozily furnished 
 
The Doctors Call Upon Dorothy 53 
 
 sitting-room, she asked, smiling mischievously up at 
 Doctor Ross, "Have you come up to scold me, Bob?" 
 
 "Hardly that, Dorothy," he replied, looking down 
 into the twinkling, brown eyes with his grave, black 
 ones. "I have come up to try and dissuade you, if I 
 can, from attempting anything like a boarding-house." 
 
 "But it isn t going to be a boarding-house, Bob !" 
 
 "What is it going to be, then ?" he asked, placing his 
 hat on the table and seating himself beside her on the 
 couch. 
 
 "A home," she replied emphatically. 
 
 "What do you mean by a home, Dorothy?" asked 
 Doctor Gordon, sinking into the commodious, leather- 
 cushioned arm-chair by the window. 
 
 "I mean, Douglas," she replied smiling, "a home- 
 living place." 
 
 "It is possible, Dorothy," said Doctor Ross, regard 
 ing his shoes intently, "in the establishing of this home- 
 living-place to unknowingly eliminate all that may 
 mean a home." 
 
 It is so like you to think of that, Bob," replied she, 
 laying a small, white hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 "And that is something well worth your considera 
 tion, Dorothy," said Doctor Gordon. "However, go 
 ahead and tell Bob just what you wish to do." 
 
 "I propose," she replied, wrinkling up her smooth, 
 white forehead, "to make conditions livable for all. 
 
54 The Success of Failure 
 
 Some of the children of men have too much, others too 
 little, and for that reason I intend to make a more 
 even distribution. To do this, I shall introduce my 
 idea of the home-living place and the great need of its 
 furtherance, and shall encourage all who will to make 
 their home with me. Applicants, of course, will be 
 expected to furnish references as to their good faith." 
 
 "References! What is the good of references!" 
 impatiently demanded Doctor Ross. "They are not 
 always to be depended upon; nor can they always be 
 accepted as a guarantee of the individual s honesty of 
 purpose. You ll want something more than refer 
 ences, Dorothy, to make this venture a success." 
 
 "And what is the essential something, Bob?" 
 
 "A greater knowledge of the world and the needs of 
 its people," he replied, smiling slightly, "of which, al 
 though you won t admit it, you are wofully ignorant." 
 
 "Do you think so, Bob?" she asked teasingly. 
 "Sometimes I wonder if that is not true of you." 
 
 "It could hardly be possible, could it, considering my 
 profession ?" 
 
 "I don t know," she replied dubiously. "Anyway, I 
 think you are a bit mistaken in believing that I am so 
 deplorably ignorant." 
 
 "You have a bowing-acquaintance, Dorothy, but I 
 am positive you have not a visiting one with the world," 
 replied the doctor. 
 
The Doctors Call Upon Dorothy 55 
 
 "Oh, I don t know, Bob," she replied laughing, "in 
 the years spent traveling around this old globe I picked 
 up a little knowledge and became somewhat worldly- 
 wise." 
 
 "True, you have traveled and visited many foreign 
 countries and rubbed elbows with their strange chil 
 dren, but you have never given, I am sure, any serious 
 consideration to the conditions under which they live." 
 
 "That is true, Bob," acquiesced she. "And for that 
 very reason I think my proposed undertaking is an 
 excellent one. Through it, perhaps, I shall gain the 
 knowledge which you think I lack, and through it be 
 able to lighten the burdens and brighten the lives of the 
 world s workers." 
 
 "Not so, but you will wish as time goes on that it 
 were possible to close your ears to the constant lamenta 
 tions of the world s children." 
 
 "What makes you so pessimistic about my under 
 taking, Bob?" 
 
 "Your present total unfitness, Dorothy, that is all." 
 
 "Why not make your home with Margaret and me ?" 
 asked Doctor Gordon. "You know we are very anx 
 ious to have you. This living by yourself is, by no 
 means, good for you." 
 
 "I know," replied Dorothy, "and it is very good of 
 you to want me." 
 
 "But you won t come, eh, Dorothy ?" 
 
56 The Success of Failure 
 
 "No, Douglas," replied she, gravely shaking her 
 head, "I have decided to live my life serving and to 
 endeavor to know the working world and its people 
 better." 
 
 "Very well, Dorothy," said Doctor Gordon gently, 
 "I trust the knowledge gained will be worth the 
 serving." 
 
 "I think it will," said Doctor Ross. The world is 
 not such a bad place, after all, and I am half-inclined to 
 believe if the knowledge she imparts to the student is 
 not always the best, it is, perhaps, as much the fault of 
 the scholar as of the school." 
 
 "You mean," queried Dorothy, "the scholar is to 
 blame for the school ?" 
 
 "No, for what he learns there." 
 
 "From what source do you expect to get the people 
 whom you intend to occupy this home-living place 
 with you ?" asked Doctor Gordon. 
 
 "The newspapers." 
 
 "Why not include the Workers League ?" asked 
 Doctor Ross. 
 
 "So you are willing to make a suggestion, Bob ?" 
 
 "Nevertheless, Dorothy," said Doctor Ross gravely, 
 "I want it understood that I utterly disapprove of the 
 whole plan. I do not like it at all, and wish it were 
 possible to dissuade you from attempting anything of 
 the kind. But as you are not to be deterred from your 
 
The Doctors Call Upon Dorothy 57 
 
 purpose, I shall say no more about it, but leave to the 
 future the disclosing of the folly, or wisdom of your 
 decision." 
 
 "Dear old Bob," said Dorothy gently. "What a good 
 friend you are." 
 
 "And am I never to become anything more than that 
 to you, Dorothy ?" 
 
 "Hush," and she glanced meaningly at the occupant 
 of the chair by the window whose attention for the 
 moment was attracted by something he saw in the street 
 below. 
 
 Never mind him, tell me." 
 
 "Don t, Bob," pleaded she, raising troubled eyes to 
 his gloomy ones. "Don t look like that. Rest assured, 
 I shall have to call upon you, again and again, to help 
 me cross my bridges, in the crossing of which I hope to 
 learn something of the structures and the cause of 
 their building." 
 
 "What is that about bridges?" asked Doctor Gor 
 don, withdrawing his eyes from the street and looking 
 enquiringly at Dorothy. 
 
 "Oh," she replied, laughing, "I was just telling Bob 
 I should, in all probability, need him to help me cross 
 my bridges." 
 
 "Time enough to think of crossing bridges when you 
 come to them, Dorothy," cheerily responded Doctor 
 Gordon. "But go and put on your hat and coat, for I 
 
58 The Success of Failure 
 
 am going to take you back with us in the automobile. 
 Margaret is home, and " 
 
 "I know, she telephoned me," similingly interrupted 
 Dorothy," her big, brown eyes shining as she rose and 
 took from the mantel-piece at her right a small, plainly- 
 trimmed hat which she placed upon her head, glancing 
 meanwhile into the mirror while she fastened it se 
 curely to her heavy hair with two long hat-pins. 
 
 While she was thus occupied, Doctor Ross rose to 
 his feet and from the back of a chair took a long coat, 
 which he opened out and held while she slipped her 
 slender arms into its sleeves. She thanked him and 
 drew the coat more closely around her. 
 
 "Did Margaret tell you, when she called you up, 
 Dorothy," inquired Doctor Gordon, "that she intended 
 to keep your over night?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Dorothy, with a nod of her head. 
 There is my grip over there," and she pointed to a 
 corner of the room near the door. 
 
 Doctor Gordon rose and took immediate possession of 
 the grip and, after the usual examination of windows 
 to see that all were securely locked and that nothing 
 was amiss with the lock of the door leading into the 
 apartment, they proceeded on their way. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 DOROTHY, THE NEW APPLICANT, AND A CALL FROM 
 MRS. GORDON 
 
 DOROTHY, at the beginning of our story, was at the 
 age when one forgets one s years. She was one of 
 a large family whose members, as they grew up, sepa 
 rated and made their homes in every country of the 
 globe. Dorothy made hers in the United States of 
 America, and was for a time the protege of the father 
 of Margaret Gordon and of her adopted brother, 
 Robert Ross. However, their inability to agree upon 
 many of the important issues of life brought about their 
 partial separation. For instance, their understanding 
 of the meaning of the word "service" was totally at 
 variance. Dorothy believed that it applied to everyone, 
 irrespective of birth, condition or place, and this belief 
 she carried out in her own daily life. She was born 
 to serve, and "Born to Serve" was her motto. Never 
 ask another to do what you would not care to do your 
 self," was her favorite precept. Whereas, Margaret 
 Gordon s acceptation of the meaning was entirely dif 
 ferent. "If," said she, "service can be procured for 
 
 59 
 
60 The Success of Failure 
 
 money, or otherwise, why should I serve ?" She changed 
 the old adage to read, "Never do for yourself what you 
 can get others to do for you." Such an acceptation 
 was impossible to Dorothy, and she found Margaret s 
 questioning of "Why do you tire yourself out doing 
 this ?" or "Why don t you get somebody to do that for 
 you?" and "Why do you trouble yourself doing for 
 others what they would not lift a finger to do for you?" 
 particularly irritating, and were, she considered, an 
 interference with her liberties. Doctor Ross differed 
 from them both in his belief that "service" without 
 "love" was naught. This view of "service" Dorothy 
 could not accept, and Margaret preferred to ignore it 
 altogether. 
 
 Although short, Dorothy did not appear so. Her 
 erect and unconscious dignity of bearing and her light- 
 brown hair piled high upon her head, gave the im 
 pression that she was much taller. The expression of 
 her face, which was of great beauty and of wonderful 
 strength, was mostly tranquil, and the smooth, broad 
 forehead rarely ever wore a frown. The big, brown 
 eyes looked out quietly and fearlessly upon the world 
 and its people. The nose was faultless and the mouth 
 and chin perfect. The skin was pale and lacked the 
 requisite coloring to make her face the most beautiful 
 one in the world. 
 
 In the securing of proper quarters for the establish- 
 
Borothy, the New Applicant, and a Call 6t 
 
 ing of her home -living place, Dorothy permitted very 
 little time to elapse after the doctors visit, and among 
 the many applicants who applied for admittance was 
 Franklin Thompson. Dorothy was busily engaged one 
 morning in curtain mending, when Bertha, the colored 
 maid of all work, announced : 
 
 "A gentleman to see you, Miss Richardson." 
 
 "Very well, Bertha/ replied Dorothy without rais 
 ing her eyes from the curtain. "Ask him- to step this 
 way." 
 
 "I did, ma am, he s right here." 
 
 Dorothy glanced up quickly and saw a man of 
 medium height, with hat in hand, standing in the door 
 way. "How-do-you-do?" she said pleasantly. "Won t 
 you come in and sit down?" 
 
 "Thank you," he replied, remaining where he stood, 
 "it is hardly worth while. I was directed here by 
 the Workers League. You have a vacancy, I be 
 lieve?" 
 
 "I have only one that would suit you," replied 
 Dorothy, rising and stepping past him into the hall. 
 "It is right here," opening a door a few feet to the left, 
 which disclosed a small but neatly furnished room. 
 Its new furnishings and cleanliness attracted the man, 
 and he said : 
 
 "That will do very nicely, and with your permission 
 I shall take possession of it at once." 
 
62 The Success of Failure 
 
 "The room is ready for occupancy/ replied Dorothy 
 smiling. "You may come whenever you wish." 
 
 "Thank you," he ^aid, regarding Dorothy somewhat 
 quizzically from a pair of keen gray eyes. "You pro 
 vide keys, of course." 
 
 Certainly. Wait a moment and I will get them for 
 you," and stepping back into the room from which she 
 had come, she returned almost immediately, holding 
 two keys in her hand, which, after stating to which 
 locks they belonged, she handed them to him. 
 
 He thanked her and was making his way slowly to 
 ward the door leading into the public hall, when she 
 stopped him with the inquiry : 
 
 "May I know your name?" 
 
 "You may," he said turning. "My name is Franklin 
 Thompson." 
 
 The door closed after him and Dorothy went "back 
 to her curtain-mending, reflecting that this applicant 
 was some years older than any of the others. They 
 were mere youngsters in comparison, but this one was 
 a man whose years must be as many as her own. It 
 had not been her intention to admit into her "home- 
 living place" anyone as old as herself, and now she is 
 beginning to question the wisdom of admitting Mr. 
 Franklin Thompson as an inmate. To his appearance 
 she had not given much heed, and could only remem 
 ber that his hair was slightly gray at the temples and 
 
Dorothy, the New Applicant, and a Call 63 
 
 at each side of his mouth were deep lines. A gentleman 
 though he may be, she regrets that his age will pre 
 clude the friendly intimacy that exists between the 
 "kiddies," as she calls the other members of the "home- 
 living place," and herself. Just then a voice, which 
 she recognizes, accompanied by footsteps in the hall> 
 breaks in upon her thoughts, and she hears : 
 
 "Don t trouble, Bertha, I ll find her." 
 
 The voice and footsteps belonged to Mrs. Gordon, so 
 Dorothy called out : 
 
 "I m in here, Margaret!" 
 
 "So this is where you are, and as busy as usual. 
 What are you doing?" said a tall, dark, handsome- 
 woman becomingly dressed in brown, entering and 
 crossing the room to where Dorothy sat. 
 
 "Not so very busy now," replied Dorothy, removing 
 from a chair beside her the mate to the curtain she was 
 mending. "Here, sit down. These curtains were 
 dotted with tiny holes which have taken some time to 
 mend. However, I have nearly finished mending them 
 and they will be ready for the wash tomorrow." 
 
 "Well, Dorothy," asked Mrs. Gordon, leaning back 
 in her chair, "do you find your guests as keenly anx 
 ious for a home-living place as you thought?" 
 
 "So far, it appears to meet with their appreciation," 
 replied Dorothy. "But," surprisedly, "what brings you 
 out so early this morning?" 
 
64 The Success of Failure 
 
 What makes you ask that?" laughingly asked Mrs. 
 Gordon. It is not so very early. It is nearly ten." 
 
 "Oh, I don t know," replied Dorothy. "It is rather 
 unusual for you to get out in the morning, isn t it?" 
 
 "Well, it is rather exceptional, I will admit," replied 
 Mrs. Gordon smiling, "but I should not say remarkable 
 when an early morning s call upon one s brother is the 
 
 cause Now don t look frightened, there is nothing 
 
 the matter with Bob," added she quickly, noting the 
 look of alarm that spread rapidly over Dorothy s face, 
 "unless, perhaps, it is stubbornness." 
 
 "Oh, Margaret," deprecated Dorothy. 
 
 "Pig-headedness, then," said Mrs. Gordon, laying 
 emphasis on the pig. 
 
 "Why, Margaret, what is the trouble?" asked 
 Dorothy, her eyes opening wide in amazement. "What 
 has he done or what won t he do?" 
 
 "Ever since I returned from my trip," replied Mrs. 
 Gordon gravely, "I have been anxiously waiting for 
 the opportune time and place to present themselves 
 when I could, without offending him, not only call to 
 Bob s attention the folly of engaging to perform the 
 duties of an office-nurse such a young and pretty 
 woman as Mrs. Archer, but also to impress upon him 
 the impropriety of retaining her in his employ, he being 
 a man and an unmarried physician. However, as the 
 days and weeks went by, the looked-for opportunity 
 
Dorothy, the New Applicant, and a Call 65 
 
 grew more and more remote, so becoming apprehen 
 sive of unkind criticism and goodness only knows what 
 else I " 
 
 "You decided the proper time should be this morning 
 and the proper place should be Bob s office," inter 
 rupted Dorothy, looking smilingly across at her caller. 
 
 Yes," emphatically replied Mrs. Gordon. I de 
 termined last night that I should not let another day 
 go by without speaking to Bob about it. But I might 
 just as well have spared myself the trouble, for I was 
 given to understand it was none of my business." 
 
 "Bob fails to see the impropriety, I suppose," said 
 Dorothy, lowering her eye-lids to hide the merry 
 twinkle in her eyes. 
 
 "Well, if he does, he won t admit it," snapped Mrs. 
 Gordon. 
 
 "He has no intention, then, of following your advice 
 and dismissing Mrs. Archer?" queried Dorothy, hold 
 ing the curtain up in her outstretched hands to look for 
 more holes and, at the same time, hide from Mrs. 
 Gordon s view her laughing face. 
 
 "None whatever, I regret to say," gloomily replied 
 Mrs. Gordon. "At first he seemed very much amused 
 and ridiculed the idea of discharging a capable nurse 
 because she was young and pretty. And when I hinted 
 that his reputation might suffer, he only laughed and 
 said : I was unduly concerned ; that he was well able 
 
66 The Success of Failure 
 
 to take care of his reputation and could certify to the 
 good conduct of his nurse/ But when I suggested 
 that the friendliness which existed between him and 
 Mrs. Archer might, by some, be misconstrued, he be 
 came indignant, and stated, in anything but pleasant 
 tones, That as long as there was as little cause for 
 misconstruction he refused to discuss the situation 
 further, excepting to say that he was surprised that I 
 should have taken the trouble to come to him with such 
 a foolish suggestion or to expect him to give it, for a 
 moment, any serious consideration ; that the affairs of 
 his office were his own concern, and he considered it 
 proper and fitting that they should be so regarded by 
 others. He was very angry, and so was I. I told him 
 he could rest assured that neither he nor his affairs 
 would suffer through any interference of mine in the 
 future." 
 
 "Poor Margaret," said Dorothy consolingly, as Mrs. 
 Gordon wiped away with her handkerchief the tears 
 which had slowly been gathering in her eyes during the 
 recital, "y ur good intentions were, no doubt, mis 
 understood, and Bob evidently looked upon your sug 
 gestion as an impertinent interference." 
 
 "He, undoubtedly, did," sharply replied Mrs. Gor 
 don. "And it was not intended to be anything of the 
 sort. Mrs. Archer may be an excellent nurse, I am not 
 questioning her ability. But, to prevent unfavorable 
 
Dorothy, the New Applicant, and a Call 67 
 
 comment, I do think it would be wiser for him to have, 
 as an office nurse, a woman of more mature years. 
 Don t you think so, Dorothy ?" 
 
 "I don t know, Margaret," replied Dorothy musing 
 ly. "Sometimes, I think, we give too much considera 
 tion to the opinions of others. Perhaps it would be as 
 well if we gave less and depended more upon the 
 still, small voice of the inner man or woman to bear 
 witness to our righteousness/ 
 
 "Or unrighteousness," returned Mrs. Gordon. 
 "However, you haven t answered my question/ 
 
 "I think I have, Margaret," replied Dorothy laugh 
 ing. "Anyway, I have answered it as well as I should/ 
 
 "In other words," said Mrs. Gordon with a dry, 
 short laugh, "mind your own business and observe 
 closely the steps that lead unto and from thine own 
 dwelling." 
 
 "That s good advice, Margaret," said Dorothy, smil 
 ing gravely as she snipped with her scissors the thread 
 from the last of the many tiny darned spots and folded 
 up the curtain, "but like many other good things not 
 agreeable to the taste, although good for the system, it 
 is not in demand. Now, I am going to ask you a ques 
 tion. Was this interview of yours with Bob over be 
 fore Mrs. Archer arrived at the office ?" 
 
 "Goodness gracious, yes!" replied Mrs. Gordon im 
 patiently. "I called at the office shortly after eight 
 
68 The Success of Failure 
 
 o clock. She is not due until some time later. Bob 
 had recovered his usual manner and we were chatting 
 pleasantly when she stepped in a few minutes before 
 nine. You don t suppose the propriety, or impropriety, 
 of her retainment by Bob as his office-nurse was dis 
 cussed in her presence, do you?" 
 
 "Not knowingly, of course," Dorothy hastened to 
 reply. "I was afraid she might have been in that 
 cubby-hole of a place at the left of the reception-room 
 and unintentionally have overheard the conversation." 
 
 "Oh, no," assured Mrs. Gordon, "she was not there, 
 nor anyone else. The door was wide open and I looked 
 in." 
 
 "I am glad to hear that, for I should not like her to 
 even suspect, let alone know, the purpose of your visit 
 to the office ; nor would I have her dream that she was 
 the cause of the little unpleasantness that sprang up this 
 morning between you and Bob." 
 
 "Considerate Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, smiling a 
 trifle sarcastically. "But why this considerateness? 
 It seems to me that you and Bob, alike, are more than 
 usually interested in a total stranger." 
 
 "That she is a stranger should be an excellent reason 
 for one s interest, I think," soberly replied Dorothy. 
 
 "But nothing is known about her," persisted Mrs. 
 Gordon. "Bob admits that he engaged her solely upon 
 the recommendation of Doctor Lewis, and he, you 
 
Dorothy, the New Applicant, and a Call 69 
 
 know, would recommend Satan, himself, if he hap- 
 pended to be out of work and he thought he needed it." 
 
 "Poor Mrs. Archer, I don t believe she is any nearer 
 related to that gentleman than we are, do you ?" 
 
 "I don t know about that," dubiously retorted Mrs. 
 Gordon. "I don t like people who are so reticent about 
 their past." 
 
 Come now, Margaret, be fair," urged Dorothy 
 gently. "A failure to speak of the past and of its asso 
 ciations, does not always imply that it holds what we, 
 or the world, would deem questionable. I cannot be 
 lieve that Mrs. Archer s reticence is due to anything 
 unworthy." 
 
 Perhaps not," tartly replied Mrs. Gordon, "never 
 theless, I should feel easier in my mind if I could 
 learn something about her which would justify that 
 statement." 
 
 "The past, I have no doubt," said Dorothy musingly, 
 her eyes fixed thoughtfully upon Mrs. Gordon s face, 
 "does not always contain the most agreeable memories ; 
 and for that reason, I believe, many people close and 
 lock the door upon it and throw away the key, and in 
 the way of today they try to forget the road of yester 
 day, a road, no doubt, strewn with shattered idols and 
 bordered with fading ideals and painful recollections. 
 The brighter spots along the way are nearly, if not alto 
 gether, obscured by the darker and greater ones. So 
 
70 The Success of Failure 
 
 they wisely leave those things behind, the recalling of 
 which would only serve to retard their progress, and 
 bravely take up the duties of the present, neither hoping 
 for nor dreading the future, only desiring to work 
 and wait." 
 
 "And you think that is Mrs. Archer s case?" 
 
 "I cannot say. It may be," replied Dorothy, remov 
 ing her eyes and permitting them to travel out of the 
 window. 
 
 "Well, all I can say or do will not change the state of 
 affairs, now, so we will drop the subject for the pres 
 ent," said Mrs. Gordon resignedly. 
 
 "And promise me you won t worry any more about 
 it, Margaret," pleaded Dorothy, leaning over and lay 
 ing her small white hands affectionately upon Mrs. 
 Gordon s larger ones lying in her lap. "I assure you, 
 it is needless." 
 
 "I only hope it may prove to be so," replied Mrs. 
 Gordon, doubtfully shaking her head as she took the 
 little hands in her own. 
 
 "I know it will," assured Dorothy confidently. 
 
 "Let us hope so," said Mrs. Gordon rather hopeless 
 ly, adding with a quizzical smile, "Why don t you 
 marry Bob, Dorothy, and thus relieve me of all respon 
 sibility in that direction?" 
 
 Dorothy laughed and withdrew her hands. 
 
 "Who knows, perhaps I may, some day," she said, 
 
Dorothy, the New Applicant, and a Call 71 
 
 rising and smiling teasingly. "Just now, however, I 
 am going out in the kitchen to make you a cup of tea. 
 You look completely tired out. If you go home look 
 ing the way you do, Douglas will fail to recognize 
 you. Why didn t you take your hat off when you came 
 in? You don t expect to be asked every time you 
 come here, do you?" 
 
 Mrs. Gordon smiled and raised her hands to take out 
 the hat-pins. 
 
 Thank you, Dorothy," she said, "I shall be glad to 
 have a cup of tea, for my head feels a trifle queer. 
 And I think, while you are outside, I shall take off my 
 hat and smooth my hair. When I came in I didn t 
 intend to stay more than a few minutes, and I have 
 been here over an hour." >i 
 
 "You surely can afford it, once in a while," laughed 
 Dorothy. "It is not often you honor me with your 
 presence in the morning. 
 
 On her way to the kitchen, Dorothy met her new 
 guest, Franklin Thompson, coming in carrying his 
 grip. In response to her nod and bright smile of recog 
 nition, he removed his hat and bowed slightly. Leav 
 ing instructions with Bertha to put on the kettle, she 
 hastened after him to see if he was rightly located. 
 When she reached him, his hand was on the handle of 
 the door of the room to the right instead of being upon 
 that of the door of the room to the left, which was the 
 
72 The Success of Failure 
 
 one selected by him. She laughed lightly, and at the 
 sound he turned around. 
 
 "You are going into the wrong room," she said, 
 opening the door to the left. This is the one/ 
 
 "Pardon me," he said, slightly embarrassed, "I was 
 not aware I was trespassing." 
 
 "Nothing serious, I can assure you," Dorothy smil 
 ingly hastened to reply. "I trust you will find every 
 thing to your liking and will soon feel at home." 
 
 "Thank you," he replied, glancing approvingly 
 around the room, "I am sure I shall shortly feel very 
 much at home." 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 FRANK INSTALLED IN THE "HOME-LIVING PLACE" 
 
 As Dorothy closed the door and went out, Frank, 
 with a long, deep sigh of relief, tossed his hat 
 upon the bed and sank wearily into a chair. The greater 
 part of yesterday and two hours of today had been 
 spent in seeking to locate a place he might call home. 
 The places he had hitherto seen were either dark and 
 uncleanly or the price asked was too high ; and it was, 
 therefore, with reluctance and doubt, when he came to 
 the last name on the list secured from the Workers 
 League, that he climbed the long flight of stairs lead 
 ing to Dorothy s "home-living place." His doubts and 
 fears were soon quieted, however, when he beheld the 
 bright, newly-furnished room facing the street. On 
 the floor, in the center of the room, was a pretty green 
 rug ; pushed close against the wall, with its white spread 
 and linen covered pillow, was a single brass bed ; in the 
 corner, with its white linen-covered top and hand em 
 broidered-covered pin-cushion, stood a dark chiffonier ; 
 at the window, to match the chiffonier, was a medium- 
 sized rocking-chair; screwed into the wall, holding 
 
 73 
 
74 The Success of Failure 
 
 clean linen towels, were two racks ; from a brass rod, 
 placed across the window, hung white, dotted swiss 
 sash curtains, and built into the wall was a wardrobe 
 for clothes. A few inexpensive pictures adorned the 
 walls, among the number being a blue and white motto, 
 which read : "Born to Serve." 
 
 Two months had passed since Frank had stood in 
 the middle of the Woods Road in front of the shack 
 and watched the figure of his unbidden guest of that 
 memorable night mingle and disappear among the trees 
 and heavy foliage of the woods. He did not tarry long 
 after she had gone, but closed up the shack and took 
 the midday train back to the city, determining to for 
 get, if he could, his terrible experience of the previous 
 night, the visit of the woman and the conversation he 
 had had with her. 
 
 Upon arriving in the city, he proceeded to his old 
 quarters, fully intending to quarrel, no longer, with 
 conditions. However, as he took up the routine of 
 everyday living he found, as the days passed, he could 
 not suppress the spirit of unrest that was surely grow 
 ing upon him. And it was this spirit of unrest which 
 prompted the seeking of new surroundings. As time 
 went on, he dimly realized that his attitude toward 
 everybody and everything was undergoing a decided 
 change; what he had hitherto regarded negatively he 
 was now beginning to regard positively. Conditions 
 
Frank Installed in the "Home-living Place" 75 
 
 wherein he had been mentally passive he was now be 
 coming mentally active. In some indescribable way 
 he was learning 
 
 As far back as he could remember, Frank and his 
 mother had lived alone in the little shack in the woods. 
 She had bought it when he was a tiny baby, she had 
 told him, and there the happiest days of his life had 
 been spent. As a child he was not permitted to attend 
 the village school, his early education being undertaken 
 by his mother. When he became old enough to be 
 trusted to travel unaccompanied on the train, his 
 mother selected a school in a nearby city. For six 
 years he went to this school, taking the early morning 
 train and returning late in the afternoon. He was not 
 considered a particularly promising student by his 
 teachers, possessing but the intellect of an ordinary, 
 everyday boy. His failure to graduate was a keen dis 
 appointment to his mother, for only through her un 
 complaining self-denial had his education been made 
 possible. 
 
 From the time he left school until the present, he had 
 been exceedingly unfortunate in his inability to hold a 
 position after it had once been secured. Varied and 
 many were the private concerns and corporations by 
 which he had been employed, and yet he could only 
 boast of one where he had remained a year. In the 
 others, he had stayed anywhere from one day to six 
 
76 The Success of Failure 
 
 months, and, singularly, he was not discharged from 
 anyone of them because he lacked application or be 
 cause he had not performed his duties satisfactorily. 
 These constant changes were not due to any fault of 
 his, for he was not only a willing and faithful worker, 
 but he was truthful and honest. They were due, in 
 many instances, to dullness in business, when an order 
 would come from the private office to cut down ex 
 penses, which frequently meant a reduction in the office 
 force; and, as Frank was usually the last one em 
 ployed, he was generally the first to go. Owing to this 
 state of affairs, he could not afford to remain idle and 
 wait for the "good and permanent thing" to present 
 itself, but was forced to work whenever the oppor 
 tunity offered. Sometimes he would substitute, or fill 
 in, when some other man, through sickness or some 
 thing quite as undesirable was compelled to be absent. 
 This might be for a day, perhaps a week, or even 
 longer ; it all depended upon the inability of the other 
 unfortunate fellow to be present. Not infrequently the 
 concerns went out of business or merged into other 
 corporations. 
 
 Of the identity of his father and the source of his 
 mother s income, Frank had been kept in ignorance. 
 To all questions relating thereto his mother had always 
 maintained a dignified silence, and never, in any way 
 referred to the days previous to those of his babyhood. 
 
Frank Installed in the "Home-living Place" 77 
 
 She discouraged the idea of visitors and. excepting the 
 woman who came every week to wash and to do the 
 week s cleaning, a stranger was never seen around the 
 shack. 
 
 After her death, Frank, in his loneliness, searched 
 every nook and corner of the shack, looked through 
 every book in the bookcase, threw everything out of the 
 drawers of her desk and of her bureau and examined 
 every article of furniture in the hope that he might 
 find, concealed somewhere, something an old letter, 
 a photograph anything, which would reveal his re 
 lationship to, and bring him intimately in touch with, 
 some other human-being living in the world. He found 
 nothing. If there had been anything, at any time, 
 which could have been the means of telling a story, 
 good or ill, it had been carefully destroyed. With the 
 exception of a sealed envelope addressed to the firm of 
 lawyers whose signature had always appeared upon 
 the face of his mother s monthly checks and a long, 
 plain, white envelope placed in the top drawer of her 
 desk, there was not a scrap of paper to be found any 
 where. The long, white envelope contained two sheets 
 of paper. Upon one was written, in his mother s strong 
 hand-writing, the request that he forward the letter 
 addressed to the attorneys ; the other informed him that 
 he was the owner of the shack and of a few hundred 
 dollars. The money was deposited in his name in a 
 
78 The Success of Failure 
 
 savings bank and had been saved out of her monthly 
 income, which he knew, for she had told him, would 
 cease with her death. 
 
 As he looked around the room, after Dorothy left, 
 he felt more satisfied with life than he had since his 
 mother died. He proceeded to open his grip and take 
 out the contents, which he laid away in the clean, newly- 
 papered drawers. While he was thus occupied, there 
 was little to indicate in Frank s clean shaven face any 
 cause for Dorothy to question the advisability of admit 
 ting him into her "home-living place." Although 
 habitually wearing an expression of anxious uncer 
 tainty, the face is one of undoubted refinement. Below 
 the dark-brown hair covering his head, and which is 
 slightly gray at the temples, is a forehead seamed with 
 deep lines, which should not be there. They are not the 
 lines produced by work, but by the constant pursuit of 
 it. The honest gray eyes, above which are black eye 
 brows, carry a question, and ask the eternal question, 
 "Why?" The nose is long and inclined to turn under 
 at the end, and the mouth beneath, though large, is 
 clean and as sensitive as a woman s. The chin pro 
 trudes a little and rounds off somewhat at the sides. 
 
 After placing the now empty grip in the wardrobe, 
 he concluded he would not wait any longer for his 
 trunk to arrive, but would ask, as he went out, the 
 pleasant little lady, whom he had met that morning, to 
 
Frank Installed in the "Home-living Place 79 
 
 see that it was properly located when it came. Open 
 ing the door, he stepped into the hall and stood there 
 for a moment or so trying to determine in which room 
 he had seen her. Dorothy heard him, and divining the 
 cause of his hesitation came quickly from her room in 
 the front, and inquired : 
 
 "Do you wish to speak to me, Mr. Thompson?" 
 
 "Yes," he replied, and then stopped abruptly for, as 
 she approached, it occurred to him that this dignified, 
 little lady might consider his request impertinent. 
 
 Wondering at his hesitation and fearing it might be 
 due to something not altogether satisfactory in his 
 room, Dorothy stepped into the doorway and looked 
 around. As she did so, the light from the window 
 fell full upon her face and revealed, to Frank s amaze 
 ment, its pale, tranquil beauty. He thought, as she 
 waited for him to continue, he had never seen so beau 
 tiful a face. 
 
 Satisfying herself that everything was as it should 
 be, Dorothy looked inquiringly up into his face. 
 
 "I was going to ask you," he said, "if I might trouble 
 you to see that my trunk is placed in my room when 
 it comes." 
 
 "It won t be any trouble, at all," she replied with a 
 bright smile. "I shall be glad to do it for you." 
 
 "Thank you," he said, taking his hat from the bed; 
 "you are very kind." 
 
8o The Success of Failure 
 
 "Not at all," and turning she went back to her room. 
 Mrs. Gordon was standing in front of the mirror put 
 ting on her hat, and, as the front door opened and 
 closed, she exclaimed indignantly: 
 
 "I like that man s nerve ! What right had he to ask 
 you to look after his trunk, I d like to know? Why 
 didn t he stay and see about it himself?" 
 
 "Why, Margaret," said Dorothy in surprise, "it isn t 
 any trouble, and I like to do these little things for 
 people." 
 
 "You do?" queried Mrs. Gordon angrily. "Like to 
 make yourself a servant for a lot of tramps? I d like 
 to see myself." 
 
 "So should I," thought Dorothy. 
 
 "Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon severely, turning from 
 the mirror and pulling on her gloves, there are times 
 when I feel like shaking you, and this is one of them." 
 
 "Why don t you, then?" asked Dorothy, smiling 
 provokingly. "I ll give you permission." 
 
 "It isn t because you don t deserve it," sternly replied 
 Mrs. Gordon, standing at the table and looking down 
 into Dorothy s laughing brown eyes with a shade of 
 anxiety in her own, "I can tell you that. To have ad 
 mitted a man who is as old as yourself as an inmate 
 into your home-living place, is bad enough, goodness 
 know r s, but to graciously accede to his request that you 
 look after his baggage, instead of telling him to see the 
 
Frank Installed in the "Home-living Place" Si 
 
 maid well I don t know but it seems to me you 
 must be lacking in ordinary common sense." 
 
 "Ordinary common sense/ repeated Dorothy teas- 
 ingly. "That isn t so bad, Margaret. I thought you 
 were going to say something ever so much worse. 
 Don t you know that common sense is always uncom 
 mon and is not supposed to be possessed by ordinary 
 common people. I don t feel, after all, I am so differ 
 ent from the rest of the world." 
 
 At Dorothy s last words, Mrs. Gordon s face relaxed 
 and her lips parted and extended into an amused smile. 
 
 "You are, nevertheless, Dorothy, very different/ she 
 said, touching caressingly with her gloved fingers the 
 crown of light-brown hair which framed the teasing, 
 laughing face up-raised to hers; "and for that reason 
 you should possess that extraordinary uncommon 
 thing, common sense." 
 
 "Perhaps I do," laughingly replied Dorothy. "The 
 trouble is you fail to recognize it. Your vision must be 
 at fault." 
 
 "That is possible, of course," admitted Mrs. Gordon, 
 smiling enigmatically. 
 
 "But not probable," returned Dorothy. 
 
 "I refuse to say," replied Mrs. Gordon as she pro 
 ceeded on her way out. "However, I would suggest, 
 hereafter, that all reference to baggage and other such 
 things should be referred to Bertha, if your home- 
 
82 The Success of Failure 
 
 living people do not wish to remain and take care of 
 it themselves." 
 
 Dorothy was about to make some laughing reply 
 when the telephone bell rang. With a murmured 
 apology, she hastily brushed past Mrs. Gordon and 
 ran out into the hall and took down the receiver. 
 
 "Hallo," she said. 
 
 "Is this you, Dorothy?" asked the voice of Doctor 
 Ross at the other end of the wire. 
 
 "Yes, it is I, Bob," she replied. "How are you this 
 morning?" 
 
 "Don t tell him I am here," whispered Mrs. Gordon 
 from the doorway. 
 
 Dorothy turned her head and with a nod smilingly 
 assented as she listened to his voice telling her he felt 
 very well and would be around in his automobile short 
 ly after office hours to take her for a ride that evening. 
 
 "That s awful good of you, Bob. I will be ready and 
 won t keep you waiting a minute." 
 
 "All right, then," he said, "I will be around about 
 half-past eight. Goodby." 
 
 "Goodby," she answered back and hung up the re 
 ceiver. 
 
 "What did he want, Dorothy?" asked Mrs. Gordon, 
 leaving the doorway and leaning up against the wall. 
 
 "Oh, he just called me up to tell me he was coming 
 around this evening to take me for a ride." 
 
Frank Installed in the "Home-living Place" 83 
 
 "I wish," said Mrs. Gordon thoughtfully, "Bob 
 would not call here for you in his automobile." 
 
 "Why, Margaret?" innocently inquired Dorothy. 
 
 "For by so doing, he places your reputation in the 
 mouths of the evil-minded public." 
 
 "And so you think the evil-minded public is worthy 
 of consideration, do you?" smilingly asked Dorothy. 
 "I must say I do not. How I live is of more import 
 ance to me than what it thinks, what it says or what it 
 does." 
 
 "That may be all very well," replied Mrs. Gordon, 
 slowly making her way, followed by Dorothy, along 
 the hall toward the door, "but it has been my expe 
 rience if one does not consider public opinion, it is 
 not long before public opinion is considering you and 
 inquisitively concerning herself with the way in which 
 you conduct your life. If you refuse to satisfy her 
 curiosity determined to accept no standard of living 
 but your own with brazen effrontery she looks with 
 prying eyes into your most sacred affairs and then 
 hastens to reveal, with a lying tongue, what she thinks 
 she has found there. No matter how pure, simple or 
 true the life, if she cannot know all about it, or if the 
 outward living of that life differs in many respects 
 from what is usually considered proper and right, she 
 believes, and does not hesitate to relate, there must be 
 some unworthy motive for keeping her in the dark, and 
 
84 The Success of Failure 
 
 it is not long before the object of her scrutiny is pay 
 ing the penalty." 
 
 "I care nothing for public opinion," replied Dorothy, 
 with an emphatic stamp of her tiny foot. Public 
 opinion is for cowards ; I have never subscribed to her 
 and I never will." 
 
 Very well, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, placing her 
 arm affectionately around the determined, little figure. 
 "I certainly hope it may be your good fortune to have 
 her pass you by and that a whiff of her foul breath may 
 never come near you." 
 
 "She may come or stay away, I care nothing for 
 her," indifferently replied Dorothy. 
 
 "Well, for the sake of those who love you, you dear, 
 little soul," said Mrs. Gordon, stooping and tenderly 
 kissing the firm-set lips, "I hope she stays away." 
 
 As Mrs. Gordon finished speaking, Dorothy s face 
 lost the look of indifference and into it there came one 
 of concern, and she said : 
 
 "Now, don t go and worry about me ; I m all right." 
 
 "Indeed you are, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, as 
 she went downstairs. "It s the world that is all wrong. 
 Goodby. Come over to dinner tomorrow night." 
 
 "I will. Goodby," called Dorothy after her. 
 
 With a smile and a farewell wave of her hand, Mrs. 
 Gordon proceeded down the stairs, and Dorothy went 
 back into her "home-living place." 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 DOCTOR ROSS AND DOROTHY GO FOR THEIR RIDE 
 
 "T T AND me my hat first, Bertha/ said Dorothy, hold- 
 1 1 ing out her hand, "and then answer the tele 
 phone. If it is the doctor, tell him not to trouble to 
 come up, for I shall be right down." 
 
 "Yes, ma am, it s the doctor," said Bertha, returning 
 a few moments later. 
 
 "Very well, help me on with my coat," and Dorothy 
 slipped her arms into its sleeves. Buttoning it up, she 
 told Bertha she might have the evening off. Then 
 picking up her gloves, which were lying on the top of 
 the bureau, she pulled them on as she hurried out. 
 Doctor Ross was waiting for her at the foot of the 
 stairs. 
 
 T trust I didn t keep you waiting long, Bob," was 
 her greeting. 
 
 "You never do, Dorothy," replied Doctor Ross smil 
 ing. "In that respect you are an exceptional woman." 
 
 "Nonsense," laughed she as they left the building. 
 
 They were soon comfortably seated, and John, who 
 had received his instructions, started the car. As it 
 
 85 
 
86 The Success of Failure 
 
 turned the corner and sped up the broad avenue, 
 Dorothy asked : 
 
 "Where are we going tonight, Bob?" 
 
 "Not any particular place, unless you have some spe 
 cial one you care to suggest." 
 
 "No," replied Dorothy, settling herself back a trifle 
 wearily in her seat, "I can t think of any special place ; 
 all places are alike to me." 
 
 "Was today an unusually hard day, Dorothy?" the 
 doctor asked solicitously. 
 
 "Not particularly so. What made you ask that?" 
 
 "You appear tired." 
 
 "Well," she confessed, "I do feel a little tired. How 
 ever, the ride in the cool air and your sympathetic pres 
 ence beside me will soon dissipate that." 
 
 "I hope so. How is everything progressing at the 
 home-living place ? " 
 
 "So far, very satisfactorily. I have heard no com 
 plaints." 
 
 "They will come in time, never fear," he mentally 
 commented. Aloud, he asked : 
 
 "Any new applicants ?" 
 
 "One. He came this morning." 
 
 "From the League?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What kind of a youngster is the new one?" 
 
 "I am afraid, Bob," replied she hesitatingly, "you 
 
Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride 87 
 
 would hardly call him a youngster. He is older, very 
 much older, than the other kiddies." 
 
 "How much older?" 
 
 "A good many years, I should say. He is fully as old 
 as I am." 
 
 "What sort of a looking chap is he?" 
 
 A puzzled look past over the face of Dorothy. Then 
 she laughed and said : 
 
 "I really couldn t say, Bob, I paid so little attention 
 to his appearance. His manners, I remember, were 
 good, and gave me the impression it would be safe to 
 admit him into my home-living place. " 
 
 "Well, never mind about his looks; they are not 
 necessary. His age is sufficient to attract Margaret s 
 well-meaning but, nevertheless, impertinent .interfer 
 ence in your direction." And Doctor Ross leaned back 
 in his seat and laughed softly. "I wonder," continued 
 he, "how much sleep she will get when she learns you 
 have admitted a real live man into your home-living 
 place. " 
 
 "I don t know, I am sure," replied Dorothy laugh 
 ing. "I am going to dine with her and Douglas to 
 morrow night." 
 
 "You are!" exclaimed the doctor incredulously. 
 "You re surely not going to walk into that hive of ques 
 tions voluntarily?" 
 
 "I am, though." 
 
88 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Then I shall have to arrange to take dinner over 
 there, too, for my presence may possibly guarantee 
 your escape with few injuries. Otherwise, it is doubt 
 ful if you would not literally be battered up and the 
 reputation of the home-living place be severely dam 
 aged." 
 
 "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Bob/ said 
 Dorothy with feigned severity. 
 
 "Well, I am not. This solicitousness, which is un 
 called for and unsought, is becoming intolerable. She, 
 apparently, is incapable of comprehending for herself 
 or others any other existence but that subscribed to by 
 the conventional world. Its mandatory laws, in her 
 opinion, must be obeyed ; its rulings must be followed 
 and its voice, right or wrong, must always be heard." 
 
 "Personally, I feel very sorry for Margaret," said 
 Dorothy, "for she certainly spends a great deal of her 
 time worrying needlessly about other people and their 
 affairs. And I can t help believing, in a way, it is un 
 selfish solicitude, too." 
 
 "It may be. It is I know unnecessary," replied 
 Doctor Ross, gazing thoughtfully ahead. "One thing 
 is evident, however, and that is her utter inability to 
 appreciate the right of everyone to select the body of 
 water upon which his, or her, vessel shall sail. Some 
 people are perfectly satisfied with the placid waters of 
 the Lakes of Convention and upon them make their 
 
Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride 89 
 
 homes. Contentedly sailing around their peaceful bor 
 ders, they never care to venture their craft beyond the 
 narrow and limited confines of the lakes. Margaret is 
 one of these. Others, more curious, become dissatis 
 fied with the quiet waters of the Lakes of Convention 
 and leave them for the more troubled waters of the 
 constant rushing Rivers of Interrogation. Here, 
 launchel forth, they set their sails. But alas ! as they 
 sail, the gaze of their inquiring eyes becomes covetous, 
 and they grudge, one to the other, the space required 
 to safely navigate their barks. Dorothy, you are one 
 of these. And the others, many of them, long since 
 grown weary of the former and unsatisfied with the 
 latter, turn to the waters of the Great Sea of Life. 
 Scorning its gigantic waves and the fierceness of its 
 sweeping gales and caring naught for its tossings and 
 crossings, they thrust forth upon that mighty deep to 
 learn what it alone can teach them. As they embark 
 their questioning voices can be plainly heard, but later, 
 as their vessels continue to ride the waves, they are 
 hushed and soon are lost in the loud roar of the wind 
 which sweeps over the Ocean of Experience. Dorothy, 
 I am one of these." 
 
 Dorothy sighed deeply. Bob, to her, at times, was 
 such an inexplicable being. 
 
 The sigh did not escape the doctor, and he asked 
 tenderlv : 
 
po The Success of Failure 
 
 "What makes you sigh, Dorothy?" 
 
 "Because, Bob, you are, at times, so hard to under 
 stand/ 
 
 Doctor Ross laughed as he asked: "Do you really 
 think so?" 
 
 "I certainly do," she replied decidedly. "I have great 
 trouble sometimes in determining just what you mean." 
 
 "I am glad it is only sometimes," said the doctor, 
 possessing himself of one of her small hands. 
 
 "So am I, Bob," replied she, permitting her hand to 
 remain quietly in his. 
 
 "Never mind," said he assuringly, "a time will 
 come when you will never fail to understand me." 
 
 "I hardly think so," and Dorothy shook her head 
 doubtfully. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I don t know, unless it is because your life is so 
 different from mine. You seem to live such a purpose 
 ful life." 
 
 "And you do not, is that it?" laughingly inquired the 
 doctor. 
 
 "I don t mean that, exactly," irritably replied Dor 
 othy, trying to withdraw her hand and failing in the 
 attempt. 
 
 "That s not surprising, is it?" asked the doctor teas- 
 ingly. "I am a physician and you are a little landlady." 
 
Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride 91 
 
 "I can t see that that in any way affects the situation 
 they both involve service." 
 
 "That is true," admitted the doctor. "The service, 
 nevertheless, you must own, is very different/ 
 
 "That s just it. Yours is a service based upon 
 knowledge, while mine is one caused, more or less, by 
 accident." 
 
 "And, consequently," said the doctor, "you conclude 
 the outcome of your service is not always satisfying. 
 
 "Well, I cannot say it is altogether so," she reluc 
 tantly admitted. 
 
 "Have you sought to find the reason?" sympathetic 
 ally asked he. 
 
 "Oh, yes," hopelessly, "but one might just as well try 
 to find a ray of light in the dark as to seek this hidden 
 thing which, evidently, is not to be found." 
 
 "What makes you think it is not to be found?" 
 
 "Because of humanity s wants." 
 
 "You re swimming in deep water, Dorothy," said 
 the doctor warningly. 
 
 "I know I am, Bob, and I d dearly love to see the 
 shore and find a landing-place." 
 
 "There is one waiting for you now, Dorothy," said 
 the doctor, his voice unutterably tender, and he pressed 
 the little hand he held within his own. "It has been 
 waiting here for you for a long, long time, and its 
 owner would only be too pleased to have you avail 
 
92 The Success of Failure 
 
 yourself of its protecting shelter, its great love and 
 boundless peace." 
 
 "I should like to, Bob, I really should, but I am 
 afraid to take the risk." 
 
 "Take what risk, Dorothy ? I don t quite understand 
 you." 
 
 "Myself. I am afraid to risk myself, Bob. I am 
 afraid the owner of that landing-place would eventu 
 ally control my every thought and deed and I should, 
 in time, become perfectly satisfied with its cool shade, 
 its pleasant walks and quiet resting places. I should, 
 I fear, lose myself and my identity would gradually be 
 absorbed in the greater identity which I should find 
 there." 
 
 "I assure you, Dorothy," said the doctor kindly, 
 "your fears are groundless. What is really ours can 
 never be lost. Only the material things which we, in 
 our foolishness call Mine, we eventually lose. But 
 those are only the borrowed garments in which are 
 enfolded our lesser selves. As the years go by and we 
 become wiser, a greater self takes possession and re 
 places that lesser self, and its tattered, worn-out gar 
 ments drop away, one by one, and we recognize and 
 gladly wear those that truly belong to us. The things 
 of yesterday are forgotten, and it is well that they 
 should be, for they are but the shadows of the things 
 of today. These can never be lost, can never be worn 
 
Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride 93 
 
 out, for they are always abiding and forever inde 
 structible." 
 
 Dorothy shook her head helplessly but made no 
 reply. 
 
 "If you should become my wife," resumed he, "it 
 would not mean that we should lose our individual 
 identity, but it would mean that we would be more 
 completely identified with each other. That is, it would 
 simply be the blending of yourself and myself in our- 
 self ; it would be the union of You and I into We, and 
 our mutual efforts would be so directed that the happi 
 ness of the You and the I would be assured." 
 
 Impatiently withdrawing her hand from his, Dorothy 
 laid it over the other one lying quietly in her lap. She 
 knew from experience the futility of trying to argue 
 with Bob, so she continued to remain silent. 
 
 After they had travelled some distance without 
 speaking, Doctor Ross, bending his head down until it 
 reached hers, asked : 
 
 "What possible objection can you have to such a 
 union ?* 
 
 Forced to reply, Dorothy straightened herself up in 
 her seat, and said : 
 
 "I have only one, Bob, but that one is sufficient to 
 make such a union, at the present time, an impossi 
 bility. I fear, nay, I know, it would utterly interfere 
 with my service." 
 
94 The Success of Failure 
 
 "What nonsense! What ever put such an idea as 
 that into your head?" 
 
 "It would, nevertheless," replied she doggedly. 
 
 "You are altogether wrong, Dorothy. Instead of 
 interfering with your service it would enhance its value 
 a hundred-fold. Indeed, it is a barren service in which 
 Love is not admitted." 
 
 "I am sorry, Bob, but, just now, I cannot accept 
 your view of the situation." 
 
 "Not now, perhaps," he reluctantly admitted; "but," 
 exultingly, "the day is not far distant when you will 
 nay, when you must accept the situation as it is." 
 
 "As it is ! What do you mean, Bob?" 
 
 "I mean by the barrenness and unsatisfying results 
 of your service " 
 
 "It is useless to continue the conversation along this 
 line," she interrupted impatiently. She was now thor 
 oughly annoyed. "I cannot agree with you. Person 
 ally, I do not consider Service and Love good mixers. 
 Separately they work very well ; but when hitched to 
 gether they make an obstinate pair, and one not easily 
 managed. If one or the other does not bolt when di 
 rected, by a gentle pull of the rein, to move ever so 
 slightly from their chosen place in the road, they show 
 their aversion for each other by balking when they are 
 called upon to draw humanity s wagon up some steep 
 hill or over some piece of extraordinarily rough road. 
 
Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride 95 
 
 As they reach the foot of the hill or the piece of rough 
 road, they come to a halt. Service concludes here is a 
 place where they should pull together, and states that 
 fact to her neighbor on the other side of the tongue. 
 Love surveys the ground over which Service would 
 travel, and shakes his head He fails to agree. They 
 should/ he says, continue along the smooth, if longer, 
 road, and thus spare the occupants of the wagon the 
 bumps and jolts which they cannot hope to escape if 
 they travel the road selected by Service. He also points 
 out the possibility of someone falling from the wagon 
 and getting hurt and might, in the eagerness of Service 
 to reach the top of the hill, be overlooked and left at 
 the roadside to die/ Service, disgusted with what she 
 calls Love s lack of backbone, determines to draw the 
 wagon up the hill alone, and despite Love s protests 
 leaves him at the foot of the hill. Service, on the con 
 trary, is not so greatly concerned about the occupants 
 of the wagon ; her chief concern is to reach the desired 
 destination with as little delay as possible. Her busi 
 ness is to get there/ regardless of cost. What/ argues 
 she, does it matter if one or two do drop off ; there are 
 always plenty only too anxious to fill their seats in the 
 valley below? And/ concludes she, if they cannot 
 hang on to their seats they deserve to lose them, 
 anyway. ; 
 
 "Poor Love," said the doctor sighing. 
 
96 The Success of Failure 
 
 "I cannot see that Love is any worse off than 
 Service," said Dorothy, who had regained her good 
 humor. "Indeed, I think my sympathies are often 
 times more with the latter than they are with the 
 former." 
 
 "Poor Service, too, then," he said dolefully. 
 
 "It s too bad, Bob, but it s no use; they will not 
 agree." 
 
 "Poor Love," again said Doctor Ross with a sigh. 
 
 "Why do you so greatly sympathize with Love in 
 stead of with Service?" demanded Dorothy. "I am 
 sure, if anything, he is the more refractory of the two." 
 
 "He would not be," mused the doctor, "if he could 
 prevail upon Service to banish the tongue which sep 
 arates them." 
 
 "But why do you feel so sorry for Love ?" persisted 
 Dorothy. 
 
 "Because he is so often given credit with being some 
 thing he is not. He is supposed to be blind when he 
 has excellent eye-sight ; he is supposed to be deaf when 
 his hearing is acute ; he is supposed to be dumb when 
 from his lips flow words of no light meaning. He is 
 supposed to be old and of unsound mind, when his 
 youth is everlasting and his wisdom that of the ages 
 past and of those to come ; he is supposed to be a beg 
 gar, when he is a king reigning over an eternal king 
 dom. v ainly he pleads with Service to be its queen, 
 
Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride 97 
 
 but she, owing to her material blindness, her worldly 
 deafness, her ceaseless chatter and her boasted 
 ephemeral knowledge, is totally unable to recognize the 
 king in her wooer and to appreciate the kingdom over 
 which he reigns/ 
 
 "Poor Service," said Dorothy sarcastically, "she is 
 terribly afflicted." 
 
 "She is terribly handicapped," retorted the doctor. 
 
 "Then why," asked Dorothy impatiently, "does he 
 stand protesting at the foot of the hill when his place 
 should be at the other side of the tongue helping her 
 to draw the load up the hill ?" 
 
 "Because," slowly and emphatically replied the doc 
 tor, "the province of Love is to rule and that of Service 
 to obey. Indeed, if he should consent to travel by her 
 side up the hill, some great change would take place 
 and his name would then be Indifference. The work 
 of Love, Dorothy, is to make the crooked path and the 
 steep places straight and to smooth the roughened 
 road." 
 
 "Why doesn t he, then ?" sharply asked she. 
 
 "He does. Surely he is not to blame if Service per 
 sists in selecting her own road, nor for the fact that 
 she is bound to get stuck before she is half-way up 
 the hill." 
 
 Dorothy s response was an exclamation of impa 
 tience. 
 
98 The Success of Failure 
 
 Doctor Ross replied by reaching over and taking the 
 small rebellious hands that refused to keep still and 
 held them firmly in his own, and musingly continued : 
 
 "Poor Service, you started off proudly enough, so 
 sure were you you could reach the top alone ; but you 
 had hardly left Love behind before you began to notice 
 the tongue at your side was weighing heavily upon you 
 and hindering to a great extent the pulling of the load. 
 The creaking, creaking of the wheels as they revolve 
 slowly around is beginning to \vear upon your nerves 
 and causes you to become somewhat irritable and, as 
 you slacken your pace a little to glance up the hill, you 
 note with grave apprehension it is steeper and longer 
 than you believed, and you are far from the top. Hu 
 manity s wagon, which seemed so easy to draw when 
 Love was on the other side of the tongue, is now be 
 coming harder and harder to pull along and my, 
 how tired you are ! 
 
 "With aching head and muscles so strained they are 
 beginning to assert themselves, you feel keenly what 
 you consider is Love s base desertion of you/ That 
 you may have deserted him does not for a moment 
 occur to you. Incensed that he should have left you 
 to pull the load alone, you determine to show him that 
 you are capable of doing it and put forth an extra 
 effort. This causes you to stumble and fall. Slightly 
 perturbed, but in no-wise discouraged, you pick your- 
 
Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride 99 
 
 self up and, shaking the harness in place, pull long and 
 hard to start the wagon ; but, to your dismay, it refuses 
 to budge. Stuck you are, and not half-way up the 
 hill. After repeated efforts, you half-way conclude 
 there is but one thing left to do, and that is to turn 
 around and go back. How you hate to do that, so you 
 give another long and hard pull; but to no use. 
 There is no help for it; back you must go. And so 
 you turn around and go back. But, strange to say, 
 the road does not seem the same, and you wonder, as 
 you jog along, how you could have failed to notice the 
 sickly-looking trees at either side and the brownish- 
 colored grass, with ne er a green blade, covering their 
 roots ; also, how the many strangely appearing objects 
 which line the wayside could have escaped your ob 
 servation. These, curiously, instead of arousing your 
 interest fill you with a vague dread, and with head 
 averted you hasten on anxiously eager to reach the 
 bottom of the hill. Here you are met by Love, who, 
 without a word, takes his place at the other side of the 
 tongue, and humanity s wagon quietly proceeds along 
 the road selected by Love, the only one by which it 
 can safely travel." 
 
 As the doctor finished speaking, he released Doro 
 thy s hands and drawing them back, she said : 
 
 "I don t want to be rude, Bob, but let us change the 
 conversation." 
 
ioo The Success of Failure 
 
 "Very well, Dorothy/ replied the doctor, stifling a 
 sigh, "what shall it be?" 
 
 "Tell me about your work, Bob. In your profes 
 sion each day must bring you some new and inter 
 esting feature." 
 
 "They are not so new and interesting to the phy 
 sician as they are to the laity. You see, he beholds them 
 in all their nakedness ; they stand before him denuded 
 of all their high-sounding and manifold names, which 
 so befog the mind of the laity, and are recognized by 
 him to be what they really are. Indeed, before he at 
 tempts a diagnosis they are stripped of everything that 
 would prevent a cure." 
 
 "I see." 
 
 "No, you don t, Dorothy. I only wish you did." 
 
 "Well, I am trying to," quickly retorted she. "That 
 ought to satisfy you." 
 
 "Nevertheless, it does not." 
 
 "Well, it should. Anyway, I think it is time we 
 turned around and went back. John," directed she, 
 "when we come to the next block turn the car around 
 and go back." 
 
 John deigned no answer, but passed the next block 
 and went straight on. 
 
 Thinking he had not heard her, she repeated her 
 
Doctor Ross and Dorothy Go for Their Ride 101 
 
 order in a louder tone of voice, but this also failed and 
 the car sped on. She then leaned over and touched 
 him on the arm, and to this, too, he failed to respond. 
 As the car continued to go on, she looked enquiringly 
 at Doctor Ross, and asked : 
 
 "What does this mean ?" 
 
 "I ll ask him and see. John, did you not hear Miss 
 Richardson tell you to turn the car around and go 
 back a few minutes ago ?" 
 
 "I did, sir," replied John, much to Dorothy s aston 
 ishment. 
 
 "And you refused to do it ?" 
 
 "I did, sir." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because you did not order me to do so, sir." 
 
 "And you refuse to take orders from anyone but me, 
 is that it?" 
 
 "I do, sir." 
 
 "You are an exceptional servant, John," replied Doc 
 tor Ross, a note of appreciation in his voice. 
 
 "Decidedly so," assented Dorothy. "However, I 
 should think you would find that sort of thing rather 
 provoking and embarrassing at times." 
 
 "I cannot say that I have," replied the doctor. Then 
 turning to John, he said : 
 
IO2 The Success of Failure 
 
 "At the next corner you may turn the car around 
 and we will go back." 
 
 "Very well, sir." 
 
 At the corner the car turned around and they were 
 soon speeding homewards, Dorothy sitting quietly back 
 in her seat and the doctor beside her wrapped in 
 thought. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 MRS. ARCHER RECOGNIZES AN OLD FRIEND 
 
 "1\/I RS * ^ RCHER >" saici Doctor Ross from the door- 
 1V1 way, his hat in one hand and an open telegram 
 in the other, "I expect an out-of-town patient in this 
 morning. If she should arrive before I return make 
 her as comfortable as possible. Kindly file this away," 
 and he gave her the telegram. 
 
 "Very well, doctor. What time do you expect her?" 
 
 "It s all there," he said, indicating by a movement of 
 his head the telegram in her hand. 
 
 "Oh, all right. Is there anything else you wish me 
 to attend to while you are away?" 
 
 "I think not," he replied, glancing at his watch, "ex 
 cepting, of course, the regular correspondence." 
 
 Mrs. Archer nodded understandingly and folded up 
 the telegram and laid it under a paper-weight lying at 
 one side of her desk. 
 
 "Well, I must be off," said the doctor, and he turned 
 and hurried out. 
 
 The office-door had hardly closed upon him before 
 Mrs. Archer, with light, quick footsteps, walked over 
 
 103 
 
104 The Success of Failure 
 
 to the window and, concealed behind the curtain, 
 watched him as he ran down the steps and took his 
 seat in the automobile. The car started, and she 
 turned away with a smile upon her lips and, gathering 
 up the neat pile of opened, unanswered letters that was 
 lying upon the doctor s desk, she exclaimed : 
 
 "What a man he is, and what a privilege it is to 
 work for him!" 
 
 The more urgent letters, she knew, the doctor always 
 put on the top, and these she proceeded to answer first. 
 The contents of the telegram could wait, she concluded, 
 for there would be plenty of time to acquaint herself 
 with the patient s name when the bell announced her 
 arrival. 
 
 To read the letters and frame suitable replies took 
 some time, but at last they were all answered and, push 
 ing her chair back from the desk, she got up and 
 walked over to the doctor s desk and laid them upon 
 it to await his signature, which he regarded as being 
 an important part of the letter, and was, therefore, 
 insistent that all communications purporting to be in 
 dorsed by him, no matter how seemingly unimportant, 
 must bear his personal signature. 
 
 Glancing at the clock on her way back to her desk, 
 Mrs. Archer saw it was ten minutes to twelve, and 
 the patient had not arrived. Wondering if she would 
 have time to smooth her hair, wash her hands and get 
 
Mrs. Archer Recognizes an Old Friend 105 
 
 ready for luncheon before she put in an appearance, 
 she leisurely shut the typewriter down in her desk and 
 slowly drew the telegram from under the paper-weight 
 and was about to unfold it when the door of the doc 
 tor s office opened and, raising her eyes quickly, she en 
 countered the startled and terrified stare of a pair of 
 blue ones. The recognition was mutual, although it 
 was net visible in the face nor voice of Mrs. Archer, 
 who arose hastily and walked quickly over to the side 
 of the evidently awe-stricken young woman, asking in 
 the composed, quiet voice of the nurse : 
 
 "You are the out-of-town patient whom Doctor Ross 
 expects, are you not? 
 
 "Yes, but who are you " stammered the pa 
 tient, her eyes scanning closely the calm, unruffled face 
 bending over her. 
 
 "I am the doctor s nurse. My name is Mrs. Archer." 
 
 "Pardon me, but you greatly resemble someone 
 whom we all have become to Relieve is dead. My, but 
 it was a shock!" said the patietf:, with a pitiful attempt 
 at a smile. 
 
 "I am sorry/ said Mrs. Archer, regarding the patient 
 with professional solicitude. "Won t you sit down in 
 one of these comfortable chairs," designating by a 
 slight movement of her hand two l^rge, leather-up 
 holstered arm-chairs, "and make yourself as com 
 fortable as you possibly can until the debtor returns, 
 
io6 The Stic cess of Failure 
 
 which, I am sure, will not be long, now ? Or, perhaps, 
 you would prefer to lie down here upon the couch ?" 
 
 "Thank you, no; I have arranged to take luncheon 
 with the doctor s sister and her husband, and as it is 
 now twelve," looking at a watch set in gold bands and 
 fastened securely around her wrist, "I will not wait but 
 go right over, and from there will telephone Doctor 
 Ross at just what hour he may expect me this after 
 noon," replied the patient. 
 
 "Is there not something I can do for you ?" anxiously 
 asked Mrs. Archer as she followed the playmate of her 
 childhood and the close friend oi her school-girl days 
 to the door. 
 
 "Nothing," replied the patiert, turning and removing 
 her hand from the door-knob, "unless," and she raised 
 her eyes questioningly to M S. Archer s face, "you can 
 explain away that unmistakable likeness." 
 
 "I am sorry I cannot," replied Mrs. Archer regret 
 fully. 
 
 "You must think rre very rude," said the patient, 
 opening the door ard stepping out into the hall fol 
 lowed by Mrs. Arcner, "when, after all, it is only a 
 passing likeness," and she closely scrutinized the face 
 of the nurse. "My friend, come to think of it, would, I 
 think, by this tine, look older than you do." 
 
 Mrs. Archer smiled assuringly down into the pale 
 face with ite tired lines, and said, as she opened the 
 
Mrs. Archer Recognizes an Old Friend 107 
 
 street-door: "I will tell the doctor you were here and 
 communicate your message to him." 
 
 "Thank you, if you will be so kind," responded she 
 as she went down the steps. Then entering the taxi- 
 cab, drawn up at the curb, she turned her head and 
 smilingly bowed farewell to Mrs. Archer standing in 
 the doorway. 
 
 Vainly struggling to maintain her wonted composure, 
 Mrs. Archer closed the door and went back to her 
 chair in front of her desk and sat down. The thing 
 that she had dreaded for the past six years had at last 
 happened, and there was no longer any safety in the 
 thought that she was actually lost to all of her old asso 
 ciations. What guarantee had she now that the same 
 thing might not occur again and that the identity 
 which she was beginning to think she was wholly jus 
 tified in believing was really dead and buried, might 
 not, at any time, be resurrected and brought forth for 
 all who had once known it to know it once more and 
 learn of its regrettable history, which she, for Ronald s 
 sake had striven so hard to conceal ? She had not any. 
 There was but one thing to do, she concluded after 
 much thought, and that was to refuse to recognize, 
 at all times, the resurrected identity. Dead she was 
 to all who had ever known her, and she determined, 
 come what might, she would so remain ; and that she 
 was Mrs. Archer, the nurse, and not the lost daughter 
 
io8 The Success of Failure 
 
 of the rich, country land-owner, she would, forever, 
 stoutly maintain. 
 
 Realizing the grave danger of permitting her 
 thoughts to travel backwards, she, with exceptional 
 strength of will, mentally closed the door upon the 
 things belonging to the years of her childhood and 
 young womanhood; and with the vision of her little, 
 blind son before her, she wrapped herself up in the 
 present, closed her eyes to the past and refused to look 
 into the future. 
 
 When the bell, announcing luncheon was ready, rang 
 out from the foot of the basement stairs, Mrs. Archer 
 had succeeded in banishing from her mind all disturb 
 ing thoughts, and rising from her chair she walked 
 briskly over to the wash-bowl and bathed her face and 
 hands in clean, cool water. She dried them, and then 
 stepped quickly over to the mirror to assure herself 
 that her hair was in order and, at the same time, scan 
 ning her face to see if, by any chance, a trace of her 
 recent agitation was left there. Satisfied that there 
 was none and that she appeared as usual, she turned 
 away and with the habitual half-smile playing about 
 her lips passed into the hall, down the stairs and took 
 her seat at the dining-room table, greeting with a 
 cheery smile and nod the four persons already seated 
 there. 
 
 She had finished eating her luncheon and was about 
 
Mrs. Archer Recognizes an Old Friend 109 
 
 to follow the last of the four persons up the stairs when 
 Doctor Ross walked into the dining-room. Glancing 
 at her with one of his grave smiles, he said, surveying 
 the empty seats, "I am late." 
 
 "Not so very," she assured him. 
 
 "I was unavoidably delayed," he explained, drawing 
 out his chair and sitting down to the table. "I was 
 unfortunate, or rather fortunate, enough to bowl some 
 poor fellow over with my car." 
 
 "Oh, my ! Was he badly hurt ?" 
 
 "No, more surprised, I should say," he replied, be 
 ginning to eat the soup which Maud placed in front 
 of him. "But not more so than I when I got a chance 
 to look into his face, for although he failed to recognize 
 me I knew him at once. When he was a boy, he and 
 I were play-fello\vs ; indeed, up to the time of his young 
 manhood we were the best of friends." 
 
 "And you stopped to talk over old times, I suppose ?" 
 
 "In a way, yes. But what really kept me was trying 
 to make him recollect who I was, for he appeared to 
 be totally unable to recall that such a person as I had 
 ever existed; and thought it strange that I should be 
 able to recognize him when he could not bring to his 
 recollection a thing which would identify me to him 
 or that could, in any way, render my face familiar. 
 Nevertheless, in spite of the lines in his face, I assured 
 him I would know his honest, gray eyes anywhere. 
 
no The Success of Failure 
 
 The mention of his name and that of the school he 
 attended appeared to puzzle him even more. How 
 ever, after much persuasion on my part, he at last con 
 sented to a renewal of the acquaintanceship, which I 
 shall endeavor to have grow and ripen into the old 
 friendship of long ago." 
 
 "In your enthusiasm at meeting an old friend/ re 
 minded Mrs. Archer smilingly, "you have forgotten to 
 ask about your out-of-town patient." 
 
 "Sure enough !" exclaimed he. "Did she arrive? If 
 so, what has become of her ? There was no one in the 
 office when I came in a few moments ago." 
 
 "She did, but not finding you here she decided to go 
 over to Doctor and Mrs. Gordon s, where, she stated, 
 she had promised to take luncheon. She said, also, she 
 would telephone you from there just at what hour you 
 might expect her this afternoon." 
 
 "That is not surprising, for she and Mrs. Gordon 
 are great friends." 
 
 As he finished speaking, the telephone bell rang, and, 
 with, "That, in all probability, is she now," Mrs. Archer 
 hastily left the room, ran up the stairs and into the 
 office. She took down the receiver from its hook and, 
 in response to her gentle "Hallo," Mrs. Gordon impera 
 tively requested her to ask the doctor to come to the 
 telephone. 
 
 "Wait a moment and I will call him," replied Mrs. 
 
Mrs. Archer Recognizes an Old Friend in 
 
 Archer, placing the receiver upon the stand, and going 
 to the head of the stairs she called down, "You are 
 wanted, doctor." 
 
 "I ll be right there," he answered back, and rising 
 from the t?. ?!e he hurried up the stairs. "Mrs. Leigh, 
 I suppose ?" he queried when he reached the top. 
 
 "No, Mrs. Gordon." 
 
 He placed the receiver to his ear, and Mrs. Archer 
 went into her office and closed the door. Shortly after 
 wards it was opened by the doctor, who, evidently, was 
 going right out, for he carried his hat in his hand. Mrs. 
 Archer raised her head from the instrument she was 
 cleaning and smilingly looking in his direction awaited 
 instructions. 
 
 "Mrs. Archer," said he smiling, "I have, I know, a 
 pleasant surprise for you." 
 
 "You have," replied she laughing, "I am glad to 
 hear it." 
 
 "Yes, I have instructed John, after he leaves me at 
 Doctor Gordon s, to call for you here and take you and 
 Ronald for a ride through the park, or, if not there, 
 anywhere else you may wish to go. This will, I trust, 
 recompense the little fellow for the disappointment of a 
 few weeks ago." 
 
 "That certainly is a pleasant surprise," said Mrs. 
 Archer, delighted at the prospect. "But," apprehen- 
 
112 The Success of Failure 
 
 sively, "are you sure you will not need me this after 
 noon ?" 
 
 "Yes, I have to see Mrs. Leigh at Doctor Gordon s 
 office. If you are back at five, that will be time enough. 
 I expect a patient between five and six o clock." 
 
 "You are very kind, doctor, and I know Ronald will 
 enjoy the ride." 
 
 "Yes, I am sure he will. Poor little chap, his amuse 
 ments are not very many." 
 
 "Indeed, they are not," agreed she, sighing. 
 
 "Well, be back at five, if you can," said the doctor, 
 turning about and going out. 
 
 The door had hardly closed upon him, before Mrs. 
 Archer stood in front of the telephone and was calling 
 up the number of the apartment house in which hers 
 was located and in response to the almost immediate 
 "Hallo," was requesting to be connected with apart 
 ment twenty-six. 
 
 There was a faint click, and then Martha s voice 
 asked: "Who is it?" 
 
 "It is I, Martha. Lift Ronald upon a chair, I want 
 to talk to him." 
 
 Very soon her little son s voice in a shrill, "Hallo," 
 came over the wire. 
 
 "This is mother, darling, and she has a big surprise 
 in store for her little man. Tell Martha to get you 
 
Mrs. Archer Recognises an Old Friend 113 
 
 ready at once and bring you over to the doctor s 
 office." 
 
 "Oh mamma !" delightedly exclaimed the child, "is 
 it truly big?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, truly big. You just wait and see if it 
 isn t. Now let mother speak to Martha." 
 
 "Dat s all right, ma am," interpolated Martha, "I 
 heerd what you said." 
 
 "You did !" laughed Mrs. Archer. "Then your head 
 must have been right by Ronald s." 
 
 "Yes, ma am." 
 
 "Then let me say goodby to him." 
 
 "I m here, mamma," said Ronald. 
 
 "Mother must say goodby, now, darling, for she has 
 lots to do before you come over." 
 
 "Goodby, mamma, don t lose the s prise." 
 
 "I won t," assured his mother. "Hurry up, now, 
 and don t keep it waiting." 
 
 "All wight. Goodby, mamma." 
 
 "Goodby, little son," she answered back and, hang 
 ing up the receiver, went back to her work. 
 
 At half-past two her work was all done and she was 
 sitting down waiting for Martha and Ronald to arrive. 
 The doctor s automobile, with John sitting in front, 
 stood at the curb. She smiled as she looked out of the 
 window and saw the motionless figure, and wondered 
 as she rose to get her hat and coat if he would come 
 
H4 The Success of Failure 
 
 in and tell her he was ready to take them for a ride. 
 He did not. This, evidently, had not been a part of 
 his instructions, and he would not depart one iota 
 from them. Indeed, it was not until five minutes later 
 when she said, standing on the sidewalk with her boy s 
 hand in hers, "Here we are, John," that he removed his 
 eyes from the enchanting distance. Then he got down 
 and opened the door, saying : 
 
 "The doctor s orders are, ma am, to take you and 
 your little boy through the park, or, if you do not care 
 to go there, anywhere else you may wish to go." 
 
 "The park will do, John," replied Mrs. Archer as 
 she lifted Ronald into the automobile and, quickly fol 
 lowing, seated him on a seat beside her. 
 
 Without another w r ord John closed the door, mounted 
 his seat and started the car in the direction of the park. 
 
 "Oh mother, this is a truly big s prise ! " exclaimed 
 Ronald excitedly, sitting straight up in his seat, his 
 sightless, blue eyes wide open and his baby-hands 
 clasped tightly together in his lap. 
 
 "I am glad my boy thinks so." 
 
 "Oh, yes, this is bootiful !" tilting his chin slightly. 
 
 Mrs. Archer smiled at the word "bootiful." To her 
 it meant a great deal, for it was only the pleasant inter 
 ruptions in his quiet, baby life that he called "bootiful." 
 The unpleasant ones seemed, in his child-mind, to take 
 on an ugly shape, and they were not "bootiful." 
 
Mrs. Archer Recognizes an Old Friend 115 
 
 As the car turned into the park entrance, Ronald 
 said: 
 
 "Tell me when we come to the park, mother." 
 
 "We are right there, now, darling." 
 
 "Are there any quiwels, mother?" 
 
 "I don t see any yet, dear, but mother will keep her 
 eyes open." 
 
 "My eyes are open, mother," said Ronald, puzzled, 
 putting a little hand up to his eyes. "Why can t I see 
 the quiwels? Do only big ladies and big mens see 
 when their eyes are open ?" 
 
 "Not always, little son," suppressing a sigh, "mother 
 is sorry to say." 
 
 "But you do, don t you, mother? 
 
 "Mother tries to, dear." 
 
 "If I keep my eyes open, mother, will I see when I 
 grow to be a big man ?" 
 
 "Mother hopes so, son." 
 
 Ronald was silent for several minutes, then he asked : 
 
 "Don t you see any quiwels yet, mother ?" 
 
 "Mother is looking for them, dear. Yes, she sees 
 one now. He is sitting up on his little hind legs and 
 is holding a nut in his paws. Poor, little chap, he has 
 to nibble off the shell to get the nut which is inside. 
 And there is another one running down the trunk of 
 the tree over there. And there is one scampering after 
 another one on the grass, his long, bushy tail trailing 
 
n6 The Success of Failure 
 
 behind him. There are lots and lots of squirrels, and 
 such cunning, little fellows they are, too." 
 
 "Do the quiwels always live in the park, mother ?" 
 
 "Yes, darling." 
 
 "Can the quiwels see other quiwels, mother ?" 
 
 "Sometimes, son." 
 
 "Then I d like to be a quiwel." 
 
 "What! and live in the park away from mother?" 
 
 "You could be a quiwel, too, couldn t you, mother ?" 
 
 "But mother does not think she would care to be a 
 squirrel, and is not sure she would like her boy to be a 
 squirrel, either. She loves him just as he is." 
 
 "But then I could see you, mother. Wouldn t you 
 like that?" 
 
 This was too much for Mrs. Archer, and she bent 
 over and tenderly lifted the child upon her lap, saying, 
 as she wrapped her arms tightly around him, "Indeed, 
 mother would, honey-boy. But we won t talk any more 
 about the squirrels. Just lie quietly here, in mother s 
 arms, and she will tell you a story. What shall I tell 
 you?" 
 
 "About the crying of the trees and the flowers, 
 mother," said Ronald, settling down in his mother s 
 arms. "I like that story." 
 
 "You mean," said Mrs. Archer, placing the child s 
 head more comfortably upon her arm, "the one which 
 tells of how the wind and the rain came and made the 
 
Mrs. Archer Recognizes an Old Friend 117 
 
 trees and flowers cry, and how afterwards the sun 
 came out and kissed them with his warm, soft rays and 
 dried their tears and told them to stop their crying 
 and lift up their heads and sing a song which would 
 make all the people glad ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Ronald, his mouth opening into a yawn. 
 
 "That s a nice story You like it, too, don t 
 
 you, mother?" 
 
 "Yes, I think it is a very nice story, but if mother 
 does not begin right away, I am afraid her boy will be 
 asleep before it is half-told." 
 
 "I m not sleepy, mother," assured Ronald, "I m just 
 tired. You begin the story." 
 
 True to her prediction, however, she had not pro 
 ceeded far with the story before Ronald, lulled by the 
 air and the rapid motion of the automobile, was soon 
 fast asleep. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCESHIP RENEWED 
 
 "npHERE is nothing the matter with you, Thompson," 
 
 1 said Doctor Ross, after a careful examination 
 of that gentleman s person. "My automobile, colliding 
 with your physical structure, shook you up a bit, that s 
 all." 
 
 "Thank you, doctor," replied someone with whom we 
 are already acquainted, Franklin Thompson, for it was 
 he whom the doctor s automobile had bowled over that 
 morning. 
 
 "Can t you remember the name by which you used 
 to call me when you were a boy, Frank?" asked the 
 doctor. 
 
 "I am sorry, but I cannot," replied Frank regretfully. 
 
 "You will in time." 
 
 "I have not the least objection," replied Frank, re 
 suming his coat and sitting down in one of the doctor s 
 comfortable chairs, "and regret, unlike you, my inabil 
 ity to recall any incident that would establish in my 
 mind our previous acquaintanceship. Nevertheless, it 
 shall not prevent me from endeavoring to merit the 
 friendship which you now extend to me so generously." 
 
 118 
 
An Old Acquaintanceship Renewed 119 
 
 "But only on one condition," said the doctor, "you 
 must grant me yours in return." 
 
 "You are very welcome to it," said Frank, looking 
 into the grave, black eyes of the doctor, "but," smiling 
 and doubtfully shaking his head, "you will find it, I am 
 afraid, of little benefit to you." 
 
 "That is something for me to decide," said the doc 
 tor, extending his hand to his now admitted friend. 
 
 "And for me, also," said Frank, rising and taking 
 the doctor s outstretched hand. 
 
 "In a way, yes," agreed the doctor as they shook 
 hands. 
 
 Frank resumed his seat, and the doctor, standing in 
 front of him, looked searchingly into his face. "The 
 world," said he, "must have treated you pretty badly 
 to have made you forget your friends." 
 
 "It was not any too kind, I can assure you." said 
 Frank, turning his head to escape the penetrating gaze 
 of the doctor s eyes, for he was beginning to feel de 
 cidedly uncomfortable. They asked so many questions 
 he could not answer that he felt considerably relieved 
 when the clock upon the mantel, striking the hour of 
 six, attracted their owner s attention and, with a hur 
 ried "Excuse me," he stepped quickly to the door of 
 Mrs. Archer s office, and said : 
 
 "You may go now, if you wish. Mrs. Archer." 
 
 With a "Thank vou, doctor," Mrs. Archer closed the 
 
I2O The Success of Failure 
 
 typewriter down and rose from her desk. The doctor 
 then returned and, stretching himself out upon the 
 couch, gazed with half-closed eyes up at the ceiling. 
 
 "So the world has not treated you very well, eh, 
 Frank?" said he musingly. "How is that?" 
 
 "You tell me, and I ll tell you. I don t know." 
 
 The doctor still continued to keep his eyes on the 
 ceiling as he asked : 
 
 "By whom were you employed?" 
 
 "My employers were varied and many," satirically 
 replied Frank. 
 
 "By that, I should infer, you are not a skilled work 
 man." 
 
 "If to do one s work well constitutes a skilled work 
 man, then I have every right to claim to be one," 
 proudly asserted Frank. 
 
 "That is true/ agreed the doctor. "Are you health 
 ily and helpfully employed now?" 
 
 "I regret to state," replied Frank, wondering a little 
 at the doctor s way of expressing himself, "I am not 
 employed at all." 
 
 The doctor took his eyes from the ceiling and gravely 
 smiling he turned his head and regarded Frank quizzi 
 cally. "It has never occurred to you, I suppose," said 
 he, "that what you have just said is an impossibility." 
 
 "Lack of employment an impossibility?" exclaimed 
 Frank in surprise. "I should like to believe it was so." 
 
An Old Acquaintanceship Renewed 121 
 
 "It is so, just the same," said the doctor, speaking 
 with slow emphasis. "What we call idleness does not 
 exist ; it is energy directed diseaseward. All energy is 
 healthy or diseased, helpful or destructive. Waste of 
 energy is when its products are not good but evil. By 
 their fruits ye shall know them/ By the products shall 
 the healthiness and helpfulness of a man s employment 
 be determined; they will be healthy or they will be 
 diseased, they will be helpful or they will be de 
 structive." 
 
 Mrs. Archer s entrance into the room prohibited 
 Frank s immediate reply. She was dressed for the 
 street and, as both of the men sprang to their feet, she 
 said: 
 
 "I am going, doctor, but don t let me disturb you." 
 
 "Before you go, however, Mrs. Archer," said the 
 doctor, "permit me to introduce to you my friend, Mr. 
 Thompson. He is the young man whom my car 
 knocked over this morning." 
 
 "Indeed," replied Mrs. Archer with a smile as she 
 held out her hand to Frank. "How-do-you-do, Mr. 
 Thompson ? You feel no bad effects, I trust, from the 
 accident ?" 
 
 "Fortunately, no/ said he, as he released her hand. 
 
 "It was, I should say, rather a fortunate accident," 
 said she with a low laugh, "if it numbers you among 
 the doctor s friends." 
 
122 The Success of Failure 
 
 "I am beginning to think so," said he. "I presume 
 you are listed among them ?" 
 
 "I should like to believe so," she said a trifle doubt 
 fully. "However, I am not sure that I can boast of 
 that distinction." 
 
 "We will not keep you any longer, Mrs. Archer," 
 interposed the doctor, opening the door into the hall. 
 "I know that little son of yours is anxiously waiting for 
 his mother." 
 
 "Yes, he is counting the minutes, poor, little man," 
 said she, and with a smile and a nod to each she hur 
 ried out. The street door closed upon her, and the 
 doctor returned and, taking his former position upon 
 the couch, said : 
 
 "Mrs. Archer is my nurse." 
 
 "Indeed," replied Frank indifferently, sitting down 
 in his chair. 
 
 "And an excellent one she is, too." 
 
 "Yes," replied Frank with the same indifference. 
 
 "Now, to come back to you and to your need of em 
 ployment," said the doctor, turning on his side and 
 regarding Frank smilingly. "Have you ever thought 
 what a vital thing this seeking of employment is in the 
 life of a man? It is a great thing " 
 
 "Indeed, it is a great thing," excitedly interrupted 
 Frank. "I assure you I agree with you there. It is 
 the greatest thing I have so far encountered. It is 
 
An Old Acquaintanceship Renewed 123 
 
 marvelously great in its ability to rack and rend a 
 man s soul as no other human device could ever rack 
 and rend his body. So all-absorbing is this great 
 thing s power, man is fast losing his identity with the 
 personal pronoun I, and is rapidly becoming a miser 
 able walking it ." 
 
 "It is not as bad as all that, surely," said the doctor. 
 
 "You ve never had to look for work, perhaps." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I have. In fact, I am always seeking it." 
 
 "New patients, you mean?" 
 
 "Yes, new patients/ 
 
 Frank looked over at the doctor and burst out laugh 
 ing. 
 
 "You may laugh," said the doctor, "but, I can assure 
 you, there is nothing funny in the situation." 
 
 "I can quite believe it," agreed Frank, still laugh 
 ing. "How do you go about it?" 
 
 "It would take too long to tell you now. Anyway, 
 the knowledge of the method is only gained by those 
 engaged in seeking the work." 
 
 "And is, therefore, I suppose, confined to gentleman 
 in your profession." 
 
 "My profession is not confined to any special class 
 of individuals. It is one for all classes and by right 
 belongs to the whole world." 
 
 "Myself, for instance," said Frank grimly. 
 
 "Yes, you. How would you like to enter it?" 
 
124 The Success of Failure 
 
 "I am too old to think of entering any profession, 
 now," replied Frank, shaking his head. 
 
 "You might begin by seeking new patients for me," 
 suggested the doctor. 
 
 That s so," admitted Frank. "But how in the name 
 of common sense should I begin ?" 
 
 "If you agree to enter my employ, you will simply 
 follow my instructions." 
 
 Frank looked over questioningly at the doctor and 
 wondered what the instructions might be and whether 
 he would be able to follow them. 
 
 "Think it over," said the doctor rising, "while I 
 telephone down to Mrs. Barstow you are going to take 
 dinner with me." 
 
 Frank was still thinking it over when the doctor, 
 who had finished telephoning, laid a hand upon his 
 shoulder, and said: 
 
 "Well, my friend, do you agree?" 
 
 "Beggars cannot be choosers/ said Frank resigned 
 ly. ."I shall have to." 
 
 "That is settled, then," said the doctor. "The terms 
 of the agreement can wait until we have had our din 
 ner," and they proceeded do^n stairs. 
 
 In less than half-an-hour they were through dinner 
 and were mounting the stairs which led to the upper 
 hall. When they entered the office, Doctor Ross, be 
 fore sitting down, walked over to his desk and pulling 
 
An Old Acquaintanceship Renewed 125 
 
 open a drawer at its side drew from it a sheet of paper, 
 which he handed to Frank, who had sat down in a 
 chair nearby. 
 
 "Herein," said the doctor, touching the paper with 
 his finger, "are the conditions under which all must 
 work who would enter my employ. Read the first five 
 over carefully, and if you are sure you can, without a 
 doubt, fulfill them, sign your name at the bottom of 
 the page," and the doctor indicated by a wave of his 
 hand the pen and ink upon the desk. 
 
 "It is hardly necessary for me to read them," said 
 Frank, "for it is, as I told you, not a matter of choice 
 but of necessity. I must." And he stretched forth 
 his hand for the pen. 
 
 "Oh, no, Frank," said the doctor, placing the pen 
 beyond his reach, "that will never do. If you are not 
 interested in the conditions, I am for you ; for no man 
 can do good work unless he fully understands the con 
 ditions under which he works." 
 
 "Conditions, or no conditions," said Frank, as he 
 gave the paper back to the doctor, "Fm not likely to 
 quarrel with my bread and butter." 
 
 "We ll see," said the doctor, and he began to read 
 the following : 
 
 First No discrimination must be made in the seeking 
 of patients. 
 
 Second No distinction must be made between patients. 
 
126 The Success of Failure 
 
 Third A recognition of the oneness of humanity must 
 be observed. 
 
 Fourth To be willing to execute all instructions. 
 
 Fifth To be satisfied to live one day at a time and to 
 be contented with a sufficiency for that day. 
 
 "Is there anything more?" asked Frank when the 
 doctor stopped reading. 
 
 "Not for the present. I think you will find what I 
 have read enough to begin on." 
 
 "I should say so. When am I to begin?" 
 
 "Tomorrow, if you wish," replied the doctor, hand 
 ing the agreement back to Frank to sign. "Be here 
 not later than nine o clock tomorrow morning and I 
 will give you your instructions for the day." 
 
 "All right," replied Frank, getting up from his seat 
 to reach for the pen. "I ll be here. Here is the signed 
 agreement," and he laid it upon the doctor s desk. 
 
 "Very well," said the doctor; and just at that mo 
 ment the office door opened and Doctor Gordon stepped 
 into the room. 
 
 "I ll be with you in a minute, Douglas," said Doctor 
 Ross, rising and closing down his desk. Then turning 
 to Frank, he said : 
 
 "I shall have to ask you to excuse me for I have an 
 appointment at eight." 
 
 Frank, who had already risen and taken up his hat, 
 nodded comprehendingly and turned to leave. 
 
 "Before you go, however," went on the doctor, "I 
 
Aii Old Acquaintanceship Renewed 127 
 
 should be glad if you would write your address on the 
 back of this," and from a nearby table he picked up 
 one of his cards, which he handed to Frank, who, after 
 complying with the request, laid it face upward upon 
 the table. He then made his way toward the door, 
 and, as he did so, the doctor stooped and picked the 
 card up. The address he found written caused him to 
 exclaim, "So you, Frank, are an inmate of Miss 
 Dorothy Richardson s home-living place ." 
 
 "Yes," said Frank, turning his hand on the door 
 knob, "I have only been there a few days, though." 
 
 "Well, I am glad to know you are so nicely placed. 
 I know Miss Richardson very well, indeed. Douglas," 
 turning to Doctor Gordon, who was regarding Frank 
 with unusual interest, "let me present to you an old 
 friend of mine, Franklin Thompson. You will, no 
 doubt, be interested in him, for he is a new inmate of 
 Dorothy s home-living place ." 
 
 "Then he is, indeed, fortunate," said Doctor Gordon, 
 his face wearing its usual friendly smile as he stepped 
 over to where Frank stood and shook him warmly by 
 the hand. 
 
 "Doctor Gordon," explained Doctor Ross to Frank, 
 "is my brother-in-law." 
 
 "You ll have to hurry, Bob," interposed Doctor Gor 
 don in his cheery voice, "if we are going to make that 
 train." 
 
128 The Success of Failure 
 
 "That s so. Well, good-night, Frank," said Doctor 
 Ross, taking his hat and heavy automobile coat from 
 the rack. 
 
 "Good-night," replied Frank, opening and closing 
 the door quietly behind him. 
 
 "A new patient?" queried Doctor Gordon as the 
 front door opened and shut. 
 
 "No, on the contrary, quite an old one," replied Doc 
 tor Ross, buttoning up his coat. 
 
 "You never mentioned him to me ?" said Doctor Gor 
 don questioningly. 
 
 "No, because your remedies would not avail in his 
 case." 
 
 "I see," said Doctor Gordon. "Are you ready?" 
 
 "Yes," said Doctor Ross, pulling on his gloves, and 
 he led the way to the door. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 FRANK KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT WITH THE DOCTOR 
 
 s^* OOD-MORNING, Mr. Thompson," said Mrs. Archer, 
 vJ. perceiving that gentleman, as she entered, com 
 fortably seated in one of the big, leather chairs in the 
 doctor s office. 
 
 "Good-morning, Mrs. Archer," replied Frank, rising 
 from his chair. "I am waiting to see the doctor." 
 
 "Have you been waiting long?" 
 
 "No, only about five minutes." 
 
 "I m sorry," said she with a smile as she glanced at 
 the clock, "but you ll have to wait ten minutes more. 
 The doctor never gets in before nine." 
 
 "I do not object." 
 
 "Time is not money to you, then," laughed she, and 
 she walked into her office and took off her hat and 
 long coat, which she hung up on a hook behind the 
 door. 
 
 "No," replied he, resuming his seat, "if it were, I 
 should be pretty well-off by this time." 
 
 "Or, who can say, worse-off, perhaps," interposed 
 the doctor from the doorway. 
 
 129 
 
130 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Good-morning, doctor," said Mrs. Archer. "Are 
 you not a few minutes early this morning ?" 
 
 "No," he said, "it is nine," and added, turning his 
 head in the direction of Frank, "You are on time, I 
 
 see. 
 it 
 
 Yes, I thought it better to be a few minutes too 
 early than a few minutes too late." 
 
 "I agree with you," replied the doctor, opening up 
 his desk. "And we ll get right down to business as 
 soon as I have given Mrs. Archer a few instructions 
 about the mail." 
 
 Mrs. Archer, in the meantime, had adjusted her cap 
 neatly upon her head, dusted off her desk and laid her 
 note-book and pencils thereupon. She was now ready 
 for work. 
 
 The reading of the morning s mail and the dictating 
 of replies thereto took but a short time, and Doctor 
 Ross was soon back again seated in front of his desk. 
 Frank, at his request, drew his chair up close to its 
 side. 
 
 As Frank listened to the strangely magnetic, low 
 voice of the doctor, with its soothing, gentle tones, 
 stating the duties of his new employment, the mental 
 atmosphere, in which he had hitherto lived and worked, 
 vanished, and his indifference changed to vital interest 
 as the doctor described the work and the conditions 
 surrounding it. The employment offered, promised a 
 
Frank s Appointment with the Doctor 131 
 
 journey into a delightful country, governed and con 
 trolled by a force strange and unknown to him. The 
 instructions given to him were like a new and untried 
 gospel, and the man whose instructions he had agreed 
 to carry out, seemed to belong to a new and different 
 humanity. Strange though it all was and decidedly 
 unlike anything he had ever undertaken before, the 
 work attracted him greatly ; and it was only the fear of 
 results that caused him to remain silent for a minute 
 or so after the doctor had finished speaking. Then he 
 exclaimed : 
 
 "What you propose, is wonderful ! But do you think 
 I can do it ?" 
 
 "Certainly. What s to prevent you?" replied the doc 
 tor, smiling. 
 
 "Well, you know," replied Frank doubtfully, "the 
 work is altogether new, and I am fearful of results." 
 
 "Although all work is productive of result, you are 
 not asked to make that a consideration," said the doc 
 tor, rising and laying his hand in a friendly way upon 
 Frank s shoulder. 
 
 "But supposing I am not able to secure patients?" 
 anxiously inquired Frank. 
 
 "That is not something for you to consider," replied 
 the doctor, smiling gravely. "Your work is to seek 
 patients and not to secure them. You will have, I 
 promise you, plenty to do." 
 
132 The Success of Failure 
 
 "No doubt of that," replied Frank, with a sad shake 
 of his head, "for the world is full of sick people." 
 
 "That is so," agreed the doctor ; "but the lamentable 
 fact is so many of them do not know it. The truth of 
 this you will learn as you progress in your work." 
 
 "But where am I to seek these sick patients?" in 
 quired Frank, rising from his chair. "Have you as 
 signed to me any particular location ?" 
 
 "No. As you said a few moments ago, the world is 
 full of them." 
 
 "I am privileged, then," said Frank, with a light 
 laugh, "to seek anywhere and everywhere." 
 
 "You are," said the doctor smiling. "But it is only 
 fair, however, to warn you that before you can proceed 
 in this work with any hope of success you must begin 
 with yourself first." 
 
 "Begin with myself, first!" exclaimed Frank, scan 
 ning the doctor s face with anxious-questioning eyes. 
 "What do you mean ? Didn t you tell me, only last 
 night, that there was nothing the matter with me?" 
 
 "That is so," calmly replied the doctor ; "but then I 
 was speaking of that which makes you recognizable to 
 the rest of humanity, that is, the physical." 
 
 "Of what are you speaking, now?" asked Frank, 
 slightly impatient. 
 
 "Of what is really you," answered the doctor, his 
 black eyes glowing in their somber light and his mouth 
 
Frank s Appointment with the Doctor 133 
 
 extending into a tender smile. "The you," his voice 
 dwelling with gentle emphasis on each word, "without 
 which the recognizable could not be. The you, my 
 friend, laying his hands with an indescribable affection 
 upon Frank s shoulders, "which is capable of knowing 
 all things, being all things, and, is all things." 
 
 The doctor stopped and, resuming his seat, looked up 
 smilingly into the face of Frank, whose only response 
 was a mystified shake of the head. 
 
 "The vou of yourself, Frank," continued the doctor, 
 "about which you know the least. You have been liv 
 ing in the shadow, man, step out into the light." 
 
 "I would gladly do so," said Frank hopelessly, "if I 
 could locate the light." 
 
 "It is to be found and it waits to be sought," replied 
 the doctor quietly. "Seek it." 
 
 "Where? demanded Frank. 
 
 "Within thyself." 
 
 "I assure you," replied Frank grimly, "there is 
 naught but darkness within me." 
 
 "That is because you will it to be so. It is your ac 
 ceptation of the meaning of life that renders the light 
 within you darkness. And," sadly, " Great is that 
 darkness. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," repeated Frank, wearily sinking into 
 his chair, "great is that darkness." 
 
 "And for that reason, my friend," said the doctor, 
 
134 The Success of Failure 
 
 "you are on the sick list. Sickness is the child of dark 
 ness and health is the child of light. Therefore, seek 
 the light. But enough for today. I see it is time," 
 glancing at the clock, "for me to begin my morning 
 calls." 
 
 They rose simultaneously, the doctor saying as he 
 took his hat and coat from the rack, "I shall expect 
 you to report the progress you make." 
 
 "I will," replied Frank from the doorway. "Good- 
 morning," and he closed the door and went out. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 MRS. GORDON S DISCOVERY 
 
 SOME time had passed since Frank became an inmate 
 of Dorothy s home-living place. She had seen 
 little of him; he came and went quietly and, with the 
 exception of the occasional good-morning or good- 
 evening they exchanged, no conversation had passed 
 between them. His reticence and evident wish not to 
 intrude, rather pleased her, yet there were moments 
 when she wished it were possible for her to learn some 
 thing of his life, if he were happy, how he spent his 
 time and if the conditions in which he lived were, to 
 him, altogether satisfactory. She doubted the wisdom, 
 however, of a greater intimacy, recalling the old and 
 well-worn saying that familiarity breeds contempt/ 
 True, she acknowledged, it might not prove so in this 
 particular case. Yet she was not sure and, therefore, 
 was reluctant to say or do that which might bring about 
 an unwished-for result. 
 
 That the saying, like many others, might not be true 
 and unworthy of acceptance, did not occur to Dorothy 
 as she sat in her rocking-chair by the window, wonder- 
 
 i35 
 
136 The Success of Failure 
 
 ing as she watched his tall form as it went up the street 
 and disappeared around the corner, if the home-living- 
 place, perhaps, was not a trifle lonely for one of his 
 mature years. The loud ringing of the door-bell broke 
 in upon her thoughts, and she heard the voice of Mrs. 
 Gordon asking Bertha, who had hurried to the door, 
 "if Miss Richardson was in?" 
 
 "She is, ma am," replied Bertha, standing at one side 
 to permit her to enter. "You ll find her in the front 
 room." 
 
 "All right, I ll find her," and Mrs. Gordon hurried 
 through the hall. 
 
 "I m in here, Margaret," called out Dorothy, rising 
 from her chair and coming to the door. 
 
 "So I see," said Mrs. Gordon, leaving a light kiss 
 upon Dorothy s cheek. 
 
 "Come and sit down over here," said Dorothy, turn 
 ing and leading the way to a large, roomy chair not far 
 from the rocking-chair she had been occupying. "But 
 first take off your hat and coat. Why out again so 
 early in the day ? Anything new ?" 
 
 "Not to me," replied Mrs. Gordon, taking the pins 
 out of 1 her hat and laying it on the table, "but, perhaps," 
 handing her coat to Dorothy, who crossed the room 
 and laid it upon the couch, "it may be so to you. Didn t 
 I tell you there was a questionable reason for Mrs. 
 Archer s reticence?" 
 
Mrs. Gordon s Discovery 137 
 
 "You did," admitted Dorothy, returning and seating 
 herself in a chair opposite Mrs. Gordon s. "And you 
 have come over to tell me, I suppose, you have dis 
 covered the reason ? How did you do it ?" 
 
 "Quite accidentally, or, perhaps, I should say provi 
 dentially," replied Mrs. Gordon, establishing herself 
 comfortably in her chair. "An old college chum of 
 
 mine, Mrs. Leigh of Dawson, You have heard me 
 
 speak of her, I think ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, I do remember, and, at present, she is a 
 patient of Bob s, is she not?" 
 
 "Yes. Well, when she came into the city to see him 
 a few days ago, she was amazed to note, upon meeting 
 Mrs. Archer, the remarkable resemblance she bore to 
 an old school-friend of hers, who mysteriously disap 
 peared from home some years ago. She remarked 
 upon the fact while taking luncheon with me the same 
 day and was anxious to learn what I knew about her. 
 I, of course, told her I knew absolutely nothing and 
 that Bob had engaged her when I was away last sum 
 mer. She then asked if I thought Bob could give her 
 any information? I told her he probably could, if he 
 would, but I doubted very much if he would. This 
 seemed to depress her greatly ; for, as she said, it rather 
 increased than allayed her fears. There was a differ 
 ence, however, she admitted after a while, for Hannah, 
 she thought, would look older than Mrs. Archer ap- 
 
138 The Success of Failure 
 
 pears to be. I, then, in turn, voiced my suspicions, and 
 questioned Mrs. Leigh closely ; but she pleaded to be 
 excused from answering any of my questions, saying, 
 that if it were possible to find in Mrs. Archer the long- 
 lost Hannah Thompson, she would not want to be the 
 channel through which this news should reach her 
 parents, if, by any chance, there had been, or was now, 
 a reason sufficiently great which, without a doubt, there 
 must be, to keep her from communicating with them. 
 It was only after a long and extended search through 
 this country and abroad that they, she said, finally be 
 came reconciled to the belief that her existence upon 
 this earth had ceased. Why then, urged she, disturb 
 that belief, if the daughter, though she be living in some 
 unthought of corner of the globe, wished them to so 
 consider her, knowing, perhaps, that a cause existed 
 which made such a belief best for all concerned ? And 
 it was only after much persuasion and argument and 
 after I had promised not to communicate with Han 
 nah s parents in any way, that I prevailed upon her to 
 tell me the name of the town in which they live." 
 
 "And, of course, you will not ?" asked Dorothy anx 
 iously. 
 
 "No," replied Mrs. Gordon with a disagreeable 
 laugh, "I have found it will not be necessary. Mrs. 
 Archer admitted to me this morning that she was Han 
 nah Thompson. 
 
Mrs. Gordon s Discovery 139 
 
 "You forced her confidence?" exclaimed Dorothy in 
 credulously. 
 
 "I had to. I have a brother to consider, Dorothy, 
 you forget that." 
 
 "And she has a little, blind son to consider," said 
 Dorothy quietly. "Do you forget that?" 
 
 "That is her affair and not mine." 
 
 "And she has made it wholly hers for the past five 
 years," said Dorothy, in the same quiet tone. "Do you 
 forget that?" 
 
 "I have nothing to do with that, Dorothy," im 
 patiently exclaimed Mrs. Gordon. "I must consider 
 my brother." 
 
 "Do you think your brother will appreciate such 
 consideration ?" asked Dorothy, smiling gravely. 
 
 "Bob never appreciates anything that is done for his 
 good," tartly replied Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 "Have you told him ?" 
 
 "No, Mrs. Archer promised me she would tell him 
 and, also, she would immediately leave his employ." 
 
 "Will he permit her?" 
 
 "He will, if he is not altogether a fool," said Mrs. 
 Gordon angrily. 
 
 "I don t believe he will," said Dorothy with a doubt 
 ful shake of her head. "Bob is always just." 
 
 "It is a strange justice," replied Mrs. Gordon sneer- 
 ingly, "which would lead him to keep in his employ a 
 
140 The Success of Failure 
 
 woman of uncertain character, bringing, thereby, not 
 only unmerited censure upon himself, but attracting un 
 kind criticism to every one connected with him. If he 
 does," threateningly, "I shall do what I told her this 
 morning I would do, write to her parents." 
 
 "Margaret," exclaimed Dorothy in amazement, 
 "surely you did not resort to such a threat to compel 
 her to admit she was Hannah Thompson !" 
 
 "I certainly did." 
 
 "Then you have broken your promise ?" 
 
 "I have done nothing of the kind." 
 
 "Not in the letter, perhaps, but you have in the 
 spirit. When Mrs. Leigh exacted that promise from 
 you, she had in mind the protection of the daughter as 
 well as that of the parents. Can t you see in the be 
 trayal of the one you have betrayed all?" 
 
 "I cannot/ .replied Mrs. Gordon decidedly. "People 
 can t do wrong and then expect others to coyer up their 
 wrong-doing." 
 
 "It isn t always necessary, though," retorted Dor 
 othy, "when it is nicely covered up with good works 
 for someone to come along and uncover it." 
 
 "I deemed it wise to do so in this case." 
 
 "I can t agree with you," replied Dorothy thought 
 fully. "I have always believed Mrs. Archer to be not 
 only a good woman, but a very brave one." 
 
 "Good! brave!" exclaimed Mrs. Gordon in disgust. 
 
Mrs. Gordon s Discovery 141 
 
 "Nonsense ! What goodness is there to be found in a 
 girl who would run away from a good home and in 
 dulgent parents with a man to whom she was not mar- 
 . ried and live with him in that state until nearly the 
 time her child was born? I fail to see it. And what 
 bravery is there in sneaking into the employ of a repu 
 table physician, hiding her identity with a name not 
 rightly her own?" 
 
 "Don t jump at conclusions, Margaret," impatiently 
 said Dorothy. "Appearances, sometimes, are very de 
 ceiving. You have no proof that she is other than what 
 I said, brave and good/ And, after all, if what you 
 say is true of her, the wrong is her own and in herself 
 only is its redemption. It is not something for you to 
 worry about. Let her do that." 
 
 "I am going to, never fear," spiritedly returned Mrs. 
 Gordon. "It is Bob for whom I am concerned." 
 
 "Oh, Bob is perfectly capable of taking care of him 
 self, and, in all probability, will not appreciate your 
 interference in his affairs," indifferently replied 
 Dorothy. 
 
 "Probably not. Nevertheless, it was necessary. 
 
 Dorothy did not immediately reply, but sat gazing 
 thoughtfully out of the window for several moments. 
 Then she asked: 
 
 "When is Mrs. Archer expected to convey this dis 
 agreeable intelligence to Bob ?" 
 
142 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Tomorrow morning. She is to telephone me the 
 result of the interview at noon." 
 
 "And you will, of course, immediately let me know ?" 
 
 "Surely. But, by the way, how is the home-living 
 place progressing?" 
 
 "Fairly well. I have arranged for enlargements." 
 
 "You consider the venture a success, then?" 
 
 "Well, so far, I have heard no complaints." 
 
 "They will come soon enough," thought Mrs. Gor 
 don. Aloud, she said : 
 
 "And your new inmate ?" 
 
 "Oh, he is exceptionally good ; he gives so little 
 trouble." 
 
 "And you, of course, see as little of him as possible?" 
 anxiously inquired Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 "It is not my fault, I can assure you," said Dorothy, 
 smiling maliciously across at Mrs. Gordon, "if I do not 
 see more ; it is altogether his, for he meets all of my 
 smiles and kindly greetings with a polite indifference. 
 Without a doubt, Mr. Franklin Thompson is a discreet 
 young man." 
 
 "He needs to be," grimly observed Mrs. Gordon as 
 she reached for her hat and put it on, "when he has 
 such a pretty and dainty little person as you are for 
 his landlady." 
 
 "Nonsense," laughed Dorothy. 
 
 "It is nothing of the kind," retorted Mrs. Gordon, 
 
Mrs. Gordon s Discovery 143 
 
 rising and taking her coat from the couch. "And you 
 lacked discretion when you admitted him into your 
 home-living place. v 
 
 "Perhaps I did, Margaret," said Dorothy, still laugh 
 ing. "But what s your hurry?" 
 
 "I must get back to the office before Douglas ar 
 rives," and Mrs. Gordon turned and began to walk to 
 ward the door. 
 
 Dorothy rose and followed her, and when they had 
 reached the door leading into the public hall and she 
 was pushing back the latch, she said : 
 
 "You failed to observe, Margaret, that the surname 
 of my new inmate is the same as that which you be 
 lieve rightly belongs to Mrs. Archer. It would be 
 strange, would it not, if they were related?" 
 
 "It would, indeed/ replied Mrs. Gordon, stooping to 
 kiss Dorothy, "but I must not stop to talk any more 
 about that. I will telephone you some time tomorrow," 
 she added, and hastened down the stairs. 
 
 Dorothy sighed as she closed the door and went back 
 to her room. Mrs. Archer and her affairs had been a 
 source of unusual interest to her for some time past, 
 and she was not a little concerned about the probable 
 outcome of the interview between Bob and his nurse. 
 That Margaret s interference was totally unwarranted 
 and decidedly inexcusable, she knew ; but, at the same 
 time, she knew, too, the uselessness of trying to con- 
 
144 The Success of Failure 
 
 vince her of the fact. Of its possible consequence to 
 the woman and her little child, she did not care; her 
 brother s reputation was he sole consideration. "But 
 was there not something she could do, something which 
 would not offend Margaret?" Dorothy asked of her 
 self as she sat down in the rocking-chair by the win 
 dow. "Well, she would wait until tomorrow and see 
 what that brought forth, for, until then, she could not 
 do anything, anyway. If Bob did permit her to go, 
 which, she did not think at all likely, she would seek an 
 interview with Mrs. Archer and try to induce her to 
 permit the home-living place to look after her im 
 mediate future." 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 MRS. ARCHER BECOMES HANNAH THOMPSON. 
 
 DOCTOR Ross sat in his chair at his desk and listened 
 gravely to the sad story which Mrs. Archer, sit 
 ting on a chair close by, was painfully endeavoring to 
 tell him. Not once did he raise his eyes from the floor 
 to look into her face until she had finished. Then he 
 turned them upon her, and in their depths she read, 
 what she least expected to read, a wonderful sympathy. 
 There was something else, too, for \vhich she could not 
 
 find a name A something which seemed to say so 
 
 comprehendingly, "I know. I understand." Then put 
 ting out both hands he reached over and took her cold, 
 damp ones and held them tightly within his own and, 
 in a gentle, inquiring tone of voice, said : 
 
 "What you have told me was a part of yesterday, 
 why burden today w r ith it? It belongs to the past, 
 leave it there." 
 
 "I firmly believed I had done so," replied Mrs. 
 Archer, the tears springing to her eyes, "but I was mis 
 taken. And it seems as though it were going to be an 
 ever-present companion of the future." 
 
146 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Not unless you permit it to be so," replied the doc 
 tor, gently releasing her hands. "It is our thoughts of 
 yesterday and of tomorrow which cause us to lose our 
 precious today, neither of which at the present belong 
 to us ; for, mourn as we will our regrettable yesterdays, 
 not one of them is ours in which to re-live, and exist 
 only in our memories. If we are honest with today, we 
 shall have no fear of the tomorrow nor regrets to waste 
 upon yesterday." 
 
 At the doctor s last words, Mrs. Archer buried her 
 face in her hands and sobbed audibly. 
 
 "Come, come, Mrs. Archer," continued the doctor 
 soothingly, "that s a bad way to take my advice. Dry 
 your eyes and proceed with your work." 
 
 "Oh, but you do not know," said Mrs. Archer, rais 
 ing her tear-stained face and trying vainly to control 
 the tears in her voice, "how gladly I would give all of 
 my yesterdays for the privilege of remaining in your 
 employ today." 
 
 "I ll be satisfied with your todays," said the doctor 
 gravely, "and I see no reason why you should not con 
 tinue in my employ." 
 
 "Oh, but I have promised " 
 
 "I see, and there is a penalty attached if you do not 
 keep that promise ?" interrupted the doctor inquiringly. 
 
 "Yes," hesitatingly, "Mrs. Gordon will communicate 
 with my parents." 
 
Mrs. Archer Becomes Hannah Thompson 147 
 
 "No, but you will," said the doctor decidedly. 
 
 "I ! oh no, " stammered Mrs. Archer. "I could 
 
 not, You do not understand My mother, she, 
 
 I know, would forgive me, but my father, he would 
 curse me and wish me dead a thousand times." 
 
 "Wishes, good or bad," said the doctor smiling, 
 "have neither the power to mend nor to break bones. 
 However, this is the demand of today and you must 
 meet it, let the consequence be what it may. Suppos 
 ing, in your place, grown to manhood, stood little 
 Ronald, who had offended society, perhaps not just in 
 the way you have but in some other quite as grievous, 
 would you wish him to obliviate himself and permit 
 you to believe him dead when he was living and in need 
 of the love and protection his mother could give him? 
 I think not. No matter what the transgression, he 
 would still be your son, your little man, your baby 
 Ronald, and you would love him in spite of anything 
 he would or could do. Come now, be fair with your 
 self, is it not rather a question of pride on your part 
 than consideration for your parents ?" 
 
 "Perhaps it is," reluctantly acknowledged Mrs. 
 Archer. "But you don t know what I was to them. 
 They," her voice breaking, "idolized me." 
 
 "And you don t want them to know their idol has 
 fallen, is that it? And yet that is the fate of all idols." 
 
 "I wish to spare them, if I can, the keen disappoint- 
 
148 The Success of Failure 
 
 ment and utter humiliation which the knowledge of my 
 living would bring to them." 
 
 "You are not treating them fairly," said the doctor 
 rising. "You are rendering a verdict without a hear 
 ing of both side of the case." 
 
 "If so," said she, nervously clasping and unclasping 
 her hands, it is because I am so sure of the verdict. 
 You see," despairingly, "the circumstances are such 
 that I cannot believe any other possible." 
 
 "Why not?" demanded the doctor. "Do you think 
 that love is such a miserable, weak and puny thing that 
 it can be hedged in by the world s fence of respectabil 
 ity? And are you the only one, starting on the road 
 of a mistaken love, who has turned a deaf ear to the 
 voice of consequence when he has pleaded to be heard 
 and regarded with blinded eyes the presence of his 
 twin-brother, caution ; and who, today, awakened too 
 late to the inexorable and unpleasant fact that conse 
 quence is no longer to be considered an ally if caution 
 be ignored, but an unconquerable and stubborn enemy, 
 bemoan the deafness and blindness of yesterday ? And 
 are you the only one who has unfortunately committed 
 what society publicly considers the unpardonable sin, 
 and which she so loudly denounces ; but which, private 
 ly, she so often condones and seeks to hide and tries so 
 hard to forget ? Are you ?" 
 
 "No," 
 
Mrs. Archer Becomes Hannah Thompson 149 
 
 "Then write to your parents and tell them the truth." 
 
 "Oh, no!" exclaimed Mrs. Archer, shrinking pite- 
 ously down in her chair, "that I cannot do." 
 
 "You are willing, then, to go further and let con 
 sequence make a coward of you?" queried the doctor. 
 "You are very foolish, for I can assure you there is no 
 safety in the obscurity of a lie." 
 
 "I cannot help it," replied she despairingly, "I am 
 afraid ! I am afraid !" 
 
 "And of what are you afraid ?" asked he scornfully, 
 beginning to pace up and down the room. "The judg 
 ment of a sinful man and woman, parents though they 
 be? It is imperfection passing judgment upon imper 
 fection. It is sin calling to sin in terms of censure or 
 praise. Can t you see that all such judgment is limited, 
 and for that reason cannot in its nature be true, but is 
 bound to err? That is, ail human judgment is never 
 errorless and should, therefore, never be passed by the 
 human family upon its individual members, and that 
 the rising or falling of man is wholly dependent upon 
 the judgment he passes upon his individual self, and 
 with him abides the consequence of a true or false 
 verdict. 
 
 As the doctor was speaking, Mrs. Archer s face lost 
 somewhat its look of pathetic hopelessness, and there 
 came into it one of astonishment and not a little alarm 
 as her big eyes in wide open amazement followed him 
 
150 The Success of Failure 
 
 as he walked toward the window. When he had 
 finished, however, and come back and stood in front 
 of her, an expression of understanding had taken pos 
 session and, smiling sadly, she nodded comprehendingly 
 up at him and said : 
 
 "You are right, doctor, and I am wrong. I will 
 write to my parents tonight." 
 
 "Good !" exclaimed the doctor, his grave face light 
 ening up with a smile she had never before seen it wear. 
 "Bathe your face and put your cap on," continued he, 
 taking her hands and raising her to her feet, "and get 
 ready for work, for the correspondence," waving his 
 hand toward a pile of unopened letters and papers lying 
 upon his desk, "is unusually large." 
 
 The doctor sat down at his desk and Mrs. Archer, 
 her mind inexpressibly relieved, hurried in to her office 
 and prepared herself and desk for work. Never before 
 in the past years of her life had she felt so light- 
 hearted, so absolutely free. The words of the doctor 
 as he retraced his steps from the window remained 
 with her. What a relief it was to know the only con 
 demnation she had really to fear was her own ; that she 
 alone was her judge, and that her standing or falling 
 was determined by that judgment. All that others 
 might say or do could not make one hair black or 
 white, could not change the real Hannah Thompson 
 one iota ; the responsibility was hers and could not be 
 
Mrs. Archer Becomes Hannah Thompson 151 
 
 ignored, and whether she would or no, she would, at 
 some time or other, be forced out into the open to 
 render a verdict for or against herself. 
 
 While these thoughts were occupying Mrs. Archer s 
 mind, the doctor was busily engaged in the examination 
 of his mail, marking the most important communica 
 tions for reply and leaving the others for some time 
 later in the day. Then he took his hat and coat from 
 the rack and, throwing the latter over his arm and 
 holding the former in his hand, he walked into Mrs. 
 Archer s office, and said : 
 
 "Before attending to the mail, get that letter off to 
 your parents." 
 
 "I will," she replied. 
 
 "And your name ?" he queried. 
 
 "Will be Hannah Thompson," she answered. 
 
 "I am glad that is your decision," said he with an 
 approving smile. 
 
 "Well," putting on his coat, "I must be oft. If 
 Thompson comes in, please ask him to wait." 
 
 "I will," said she, and the doctor hurried out. 
 
 She waited until she heard the street-door close be 
 hind him, and then took a sheet of paper from a drawer 
 and inserted it into the typewriter and unhesitatingly 
 began to write the letter to her father and mother. It 
 read: 
 
152 The Success of Failure 
 
 40 Osborne Avenue, Littletown. 
 Dear Father and Mother: 
 
 This letter, I know, will come to you as a great surprise 
 and terrible shock, believing, as you must now do, that I 
 have long ceased to be numbered among the living in the 
 world. My disappearance from home and my silence 
 during the past six years I shall not attempt to explain in 
 this letter; it would take too long and cause you suffering. 
 Suffice to say I thought it best. Conditions have arisen, 
 however, which make it impossible for me to wish to keep 
 you a moment longer in ignorance of my whereabouts, 
 and write to ask you to come and see me as soon as 
 possible, when I will tell you the story of those sad, yet 
 profitable, years. Lovingly your daughter, 
 
 HANNAH. 
 
 When the letter was finished and placed in an en 
 velope, sealed and stamped, and addressed to Mrs. 
 Franklin Thompson, Dawson, N. Y., she arose and 
 took off her cap and, taking her long, black coat from 
 a nail at the back of the door, put it on and went out 
 and dropped the letter in the mail-box a few doors from 
 the house. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 FRANK S INDISPOSITION AND A TELEPHONE CALL FROM 
 MRS. GORDON 
 
 "TJAVE you been waiting long?" inquired the doctor, 
 1 1 who had returned from making his morning 
 calls upon his patients. 
 
 "About half-an-hour, I guess," replied Frank from 
 his chair by the window. 
 
 "Oh, that isn t very long," said the doctor, hanging 
 up his coat and hat. 
 
 "No," agreed Frank. "I haven t noticed the time, 
 for I have been so interested in observing the faces of 
 the men and women who have passed here. It seems 
 strange, too, for I never paid much attention to people 
 before, nor noticed closely the faces of those I met." 
 
 "Never took the time, I suppose," said the doctor, 
 stretching himself out upon the couch. 
 
 "No, it wasn t that ; it was more a matter of indiffer 
 ence, I think," replied Frank, rising and leaving the 
 window and seating himself in a chair nearer the 
 doctor. 
 
 "And what makes the difference, now ?" 
 
154 The Success of Failure 
 
 "I don t know, unless it is the work I m engaged in," 
 replied Frank smiling. 
 
 "I see," said the doctor laughing, "every face means 
 a prospective patient. What success have you had, so 
 far?" 
 
 "Not any. All those I have spoken to insist they 
 are perfectly well and have no need of a physician." 
 
 "But what about yourself, Frank ?" asked the doctor 
 earnestly. 
 
 "Well," said Frank, hanging his head sheepishly, 
 "my pursuit for patients has made me aware that I am 
 not altogether well and have quite a few disorders." 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed the doctor. "What are the 
 symptoms ? How do they affect you ?" 
 
 "Well, I can t say," replied Frank, speaking slowly, 
 "that the symptoms are so marked, but that may be be 
 cause they are so prevalent. Nevertheless, they are 
 none the less revolutionary." 
 
 "You mean," queried the doctor, "they defy all 
 remedial agents ?" 
 
 "I don t know as I should put it that way," replied 
 Frank. "Perhaps the right remedy has not been ap 
 plied." 
 
 "Can you think of any to suggest?" 
 
 "No, I don t know as I can." 
 
 "And you want me to prescribe a remedy, is that it ?" 
 asked the doctor with a quizzical look. 
 
Frank s Indisposition and a Telephone Call 155 
 
 "If you can prescribe the right one, I certainly do." 
 
 "In the seeking of patients, you will find it yourself. 
 I can prescribe no other. To know, you are sick is a 
 great step toward becoming well, but to be ignorant of 
 sickness is to court death." 
 
 "Oh, I don t want to leave the impression," said 
 Frank, laughing, "that I am very ill. I just feel kind 
 of out of sorts." 
 
 "Oh, is that all?" said the doctor, rising in response 
 to the ring of the telephone-bell. "Well, just continue 
 in your pursuit of patients." 
 
 "Hallo," said he, when he reached the telephone and 
 held the receiver to his ear, "who is this ?" 
 
 "It is I, Bob," said the voice of Mrs. Gordon. "Is 
 Mrs. Archer there ?" 
 
 "No," replied the doctor, "she left this morning. 
 Miss Thompson is here, though. Would you like to 
 speak to her ?" 
 
 There was no answer for several seconds, and the 
 doctor laughed inwardly at what he imagined must be 
 his sister s discomfiture. Then, rather undecidedly, she 
 said, "Y-e-s, I guess so." 
 
 "Miss Thompson," called the doctor, "Mrs. Gordon 
 has called up and would like to speak to you." 
 
 "I ll be right there, doctor," responded Mrs. Archer, 
 or Hannah Thompson, as we shall now begin to call 
 her, and rising from her desk she came hurriedly to the 
 
156 The Success of Failure 
 
 telephone and took the receiver from the doctor s hand. 
 And he, instead of going back to the couch, as she ex 
 pected he would do, stood quietly beside her to catch 
 the words of his sister as they came over the wire. 
 
 "What does this mean?" asked she imperatively. 
 "And why did you not telephone me as you agreed?" 
 
 "It means," replied Hannah, "that your brother has 
 shown me the folly of such a course and induced me 
 to forsake it." 
 
 "I see," replied Mrs. Gordon sarcastically, "and you, 
 now, of course, have no intention of leaving his em 
 ploy. Well, I shall do what I said I would, write to 
 your parents. " 
 
 "That will not be necessary," replied Hannah 
 triumphantly; "for I have already written to them." 
 
 "Even so," said Mrs. Gordon angrily, "can t you see 
 that, although it may mean your salvation, your pres 
 ence in my brother s office can only prove ruinous to 
 his reputation and practice ? Surely you cannot desire 
 either?" 
 
 Before Hannah could reply, the receiver was taken 
 from her hand and the doctor, motioning her to one 
 side, took up the conversation with his sister, and 
 Hannah, glad to escape, went back to her office. 
 
 "This is a question which I must answer, Margaret," 
 said the doctor emphatically, "for it is one with which 
 Miss Thompson has nothing to do, she being in no way 
 
Frank s Indisposition and a Telephone Call 157 
 
 responsible for my reputation or practice ; I, alone, am 
 answerable for their indestructibility." 
 
 "Indeed," retorted Mrs. Gordon sneeringly. Then I 
 should think you would take some better means of 
 preserving them than that of retaining a woman of 
 questionable character in your office, no matter in 
 what capacity. If you persist in doing so, I warn you 
 that I shall consider all relationship between us at an 
 end, and you will cease to be my brother and I your 
 sister. The cause of the outcast you have? made yours ; 
 therefore, the conditions which govern the life of the 
 outcast must be yours also. which is to be pitied but 
 never loved, to be suffered but never sanctioned, to be 
 numbered, forever and always, as sfie is, among the 
 world s undesirables." 
 
 "I can stand it, if you can," replied the doctor, his 
 face darkening. "However, I am afraid my loss will 
 hardly be your gain. That you may thrust me out, is 
 true ; but who can say what day shall not witness your 
 departure from the city of comfort and ease for the 
 valley of loneliness; only, in due time, to be driven 
 therefrom, by its gray skies, its mournful surroundings 
 and the low-moaning chant of its inhabitants, to the 
 plains of despair, whose ever-extending, terrifying dis 
 tances compel you, later on. to flee then for the moun 
 tain of impossibility, from which, in painful perplexity, 
 
158 The Success of Failure 
 
 you turn and arrive at last in the wilderness of no-way- 
 out." 
 
 "Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Gordon im 
 patiently. "If you are not very careful, you will live to 
 fulfill your own prediction." 
 
 "We shall see," replied the doctor. 
 
 "So we shall," returned she sharply. "But surely, 
 Bob," pleadingly, "there are plenty of nurses of good 
 character and with blameless pasts whose services you 
 could secure and who would be as capable as Hannah 
 Thompson. Why, therefore, do you persist in keeping 
 her?" 
 
 "Because I am a physician," replied the doctor de 
 cisively, "and they that are whole need not a 
 physician. " 
 
 An angry click from the other end of the wire was 
 the only response the doctor received. Sighing, he 
 placed the receiver back on its hook and turned slowly 
 from the telephone, saying to himself as he did so, 
 "Poor Margaret, I wonder how long it will be before 
 the truth of the words, the sin of omission oft-times 
 makes the sin of commission possible, penetrates 
 through that conventional shell of yours." Then step 
 ping over to where Frank sat, a silent and amazed 
 listener, not dreaming of the relationship that existed 
 between him and Hannah and which later was to be 
 revealed, he said : 
 
Frank s Indisposition and a Telephone Call 159 
 
 "That would be a good patient for you to seek, 
 Frank. We will discuss it further," smiling gravely at 
 the look of dismay that overspread Frank s face, "down 
 stairs at the table, for you, of course, are going to stay 
 and take luncheon with me." 
 
 "I should be very glad to do the latter," replied 
 Frank, rising from his chair, "but," throwing his hands 
 impotently out, "to attempt the former is too great an 
 undertaking for me to think about." 
 
 "We ll decide that later," said the doctor, walking 
 over to the wash-bowl and washing his hands. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 MRS. THOMPSON VISITS HER DAUGHTER 
 
 "|T is I, Martha," said Mrs. Thompson to the much 
 J[ surprised and frightened negress who opened the 
 door in response to her ring of the bell, and who now 
 stood petrified in the doorway. "It s all right, Miss 
 Hannah expects me," continued she assuringly, gently 
 pushing the door open and stepping into the hall, "I 
 received a letter from her this morning. Is she in?" 
 
 "N-o, m-a-a-m, " gaspeh Martha, leaning weakly 
 and wide-eyed against the wall. 
 
 "Will she be in soon?" 
 
 "No, yes, I don t know " stammered Martha, 
 not knowing just what her mistress would have her 
 say. 
 
 "Well, just close the door," said Mrs. Thompson, 
 smiling understandingly, "and I will go in here and 
 wait," and she turned toward a door standing partly 
 open, in which room Ronald lay asleep upon a couch. 
 
 "Dat room am oc i pied, ma am," said Martha, now 
 wonderfully alert, and brushing quickly past she pulled 
 the door to. Not for worlds, if she could help it, should 
 
 160 
 
Mrs. Thompson Visits Her Daughter 161 
 
 Mrs. Thompson see her grandson without his mother s 
 knowledge and consent. 
 
 "Oh, I see, then show me into Miss Hannah s room." 
 
 "Yes, ma am," said Martha, stepping back to close 
 the front-door and then leading the way to a room at 
 the end of the short and narrow hall, the door of which 
 stood wide open. "Dis am Miss Hannah s room." 
 
 "Thank you, Martha," said Mrs. Thompson, enter 
 ing and seating herself in the only comfortable chair 
 the room contained. "Do you think I ll have to wait 
 very long?" 
 
 "Don know, ma am, can t say," replied the non 
 committal Martha, her bent form and grizzled head re 
 treating down the hall. When she reached the door of 
 the room in which Ronald slept, she stopped, and noise 
 lessly pushed it open. Entering, she tiptoed quietly 
 over to the couch upon which he was lying and gently 
 picked up a little hand which had strayed from under 
 the covers and placed it back again. Then with a dole 
 ful shake of the head she murmured : 
 
 "Its don come at las , honey, as I s pected it would, 
 and der s noddin to do but to let yo mammy know, 
 but how? Can t use dat tel phone in mammy s room, 
 cause she hear all I say. Noddin to do but go down 
 stairs," switching off her apron and pulling down her 
 sleeves. "Reckon yo wake up fore I gets back?" 
 queried she anxiously as she reached the door. "Don 
 
1 62 The Success of Failure 
 
 do dat, honey, nohow, Marta ll be right back," and she 
 drew the door softly to behind her. 
 
 However, Martha had hardly reached the foot of the 
 stairs before Ronald began to stir and was soon wide 
 awake. Stretching his little arms, in baby- fashion, over 
 his head, he laid quietly so for several moments. Then, 
 lowering them, he pushed down the covers and sat up 
 and, turning sideways, rolled over on his stomach and 
 slipped to the floor, where he stood and began to call, 
 "Marta, Marta, I awake! I awake, Marta!" Getting 
 no response, the little fellow, with wondering face, felt 
 his way with his baby-hands to the door and, rinding the 
 knob, turned it and pulled the door open and went into 
 the hall, all the time calling plaintively, "Marta, Marta, 
 I awake ! I awake, Marta." But there came no answer 
 from Martha, and the look of wonder on the face of the 
 child became one of fear, for never before in his short 
 life had Martha failed to hasten to him or to answer 
 his first call. Standing there, he vainly listened for 
 half-a-minute for a sound which would locate to his 
 baby-hearing Martha s whereabouts, and then slowly 
 groped his way through the hall to his mother s room, 
 crying pitifully all the while, "Marta, Marta, I awake ! 
 I awake, Marta!" 
 
 When he reached the doorway, Mrs. Thompson, 
 ignorant of the child s lack of vision, with smiling as 
 surance beckoned him to come to her, to which invita- 
 
Hrs. Thompson Visits Her Daughter 163 
 
 tion, to her surprise, he paid not the least attention, al 
 though his eyes appeared fixed upon her. Then she 
 arose, and the faint sound of her swaying garments as 
 she walked toward him, seemed, in a measure, to reas 
 sure the now thoroughly frightened child, who could 
 hear but see nothing ; for he immediately stopped cry 
 ing and, putting out his baby-hands in a self-protecting 
 sort of way, moved slowly toward the direction of the 
 sound, saying in a reproachful, enquiring tone : 
 
 "Why don t you speak to me, Marta ?" 
 
 "I am not Martha, dear," said Mrs. Thompson sooth 
 ingly, not wishing to startle the child whose question 
 and movements now made his blindness evident. 
 "Martha has gone out, I think, but she will soon be 
 back," quickly added she, very gently taking one of the 
 little extended hands and holding it within her own. 
 
 "Where s Marta gone ?" asked Ronald, again begin 
 ning to cry and reluctantly permitting Mrs. Thompson 
 to lead him back to her chair. 
 
 "I do not know," replied Mrs. Thompson, sitting 
 down in her chair and lifting Ronald upon her lap. 
 "Anyway, you are not going to cry, are you ? She has 
 gone, I rather suspect, to telephone." 
 
 "Why didn t she tel phone with mother s telephone?" 
 asked Ronald, sitting straight up on her lap. 
 
 "And who is mother, little man?" 
 
 "My mother is Mrs. Archer." 
 
164 The Success of Failure 
 
 "And where is mother s telephone ?" 
 
 "In here ; this is mother s room." 
 
 "You are mistaken, I think, dear. Martha told me 
 this was my daughter s room, and her name is Thomp 
 son." 
 
 "Oh, no!" exclaimed Ronald. "I faid you re in the 
 w ong partment. Only mother, Marta and I live 
 here." 
 
 The arms which held the child relaxed and a troubled 
 look came into the eyes that were now closely scanning 
 the little, blind face. "Was it possible that this, then, 
 was the explanation ?" she anxiously asked herself. 
 "Was this little, blind boy sitting on her lap Hannah s 
 child, and his being spoke of something that should 
 not have been?" She had not even dreamed of this. 
 Every other misfortune that it was possible to imagine 
 she had thought of ; but this, it was too dreadful 
 
 Very gently she put Ronald down upon the floor, 
 where he stood at her knee, and feeling strangely faint 
 and ill leaned back in her chair. "What would her 
 father say?" She dreaded to think of the effect the 
 intelligence would have upon him, and the duty of 
 imparting it she devoutly wished lay with someone 
 other than herself. True, this same thing had hap 
 pened heretofore and would happen again to other 
 people s daughters ; but that it should have befallen 
 their Hannah was inconceivable But, perhaps, 
 
Mrs. Thompson Visits Her Daughter 165 
 
 after all, it was not so and she had been too hasty in 
 arriving at a conclusion. She would wait. 
 
 She had not to wait very long for the confirmation 
 of her fears : for Ronald, hearing the opening of the 
 hall-door accompanied by hurrying footsteps, called 
 out, as he moved slowly away from her knee toward 
 the door, "Marta, I m in here with the stwange lady. 
 Did you go out to teFphone mother?" 
 
 "What made yo t ink I teFphone,, yo little ra cal?" 
 laughed Martha, rushing to him as he stood in the 
 doorway. 
 
 "Lady said she s pected so," replied Ronald as 
 Martha picked him up in her arms and started to carry 
 him out to the kitchen. "Is mother s teFphone out of 
 order?" 
 
 "Hush !" whispered Martha. 
 
 "Why must I ," but the rest of the question was 
 
 lost in the black hand which gently covered his mouth. 
 
 An hour of waiting elapsed an hour of indescriba 
 ble mental agony for Airs. Thompson before Hannah 
 threw open the hall-door and, leaving it open, rushed 
 in. At the sound of the hurrying steps, Mrs. Thomp 
 son rose unsteadily to her feet. A momentary glance, 
 that was all, and without a word uttered by either, 
 mother and daughter were in each other s arms. There 
 were no tears, no cries, no heart-broken sobs ; naught 
 but an overwhelming silence. At last, the trembling 
 
1 66 The Success of Failure 
 
 of her mother s body recalled Hannah s power of 
 speech and, tenderly unclasping her mother s arms 
 from about her and placing her gently back in her 
 chair, she said : 
 
 "Poor mother, this indeed has been a terrible shock 
 to you." 
 
 At these words, spoken by the voice of her daughter, 
 a voice not heard by her for so many years, Mrs. 
 Thompson s eyes rilled with tears and, as she continued 
 to gaze speechlessly upon the face of her child, ran 
 unregarded down her cheeks. 
 
 Censure, Hannah could have borne ; coldness or un 
 kind words she could have met calmly, but tears that 
 rain of tears and the infinite love and sorrow ex 
 pressed in those tears, were too much, and broke down 
 and swept away, as though it had never been there, the 
 wall of human error which she had permitted to sepa 
 rate her from her mother for the past six years. Gone 
 they were, and with a great sobbing sigh she fell 
 down upon her knees at the side of her mother and 
 laid her head in her lap much as she had been wont to 
 do when a child. Soothingly, the mother s hand passed 
 over the light-brown hair, and in its touch was mani 
 fested that wonderful, but indescribable thing, the one 
 ness of mother and child. 
 
 At last the soothing, stroking motion ceased, and two 
 
Mrs. Thompson Visits Her Daughter 167 
 
 soft hands were placed under Hannah s chin and caused 
 her to slowly raise her head. 
 
 "Why did you not come and make known your 
 troubles to your mother, my child?" asked Mrs, 
 Thompson, looking compassionately down into the piti 
 ful, working face. 
 
 "I could not then," chokingly replied Hannah, rising 
 to her feet and feeling in her coat pocket for her hand 
 kerchief, with which she wiped the tears from her face. 
 "My one thought, at that time," taking the pins out of 
 her mother s hat and laying it over on the couch, "was 
 to hide myself from all those who had known me and 
 I had known. I believed, then," helping her mother off 
 with her coat and placing it under the hat, "my duty 
 was to obliterate myself and thus spare you and father 
 the humiliating sorrow of knowing the miserable mis 
 take I had made." 
 
 Mrs. Thompson sighed and leaned back in her chair. 
 
 "And what of your mother ?" she asked, as Hannah 
 took off her own hat and coat and hung them up on a 
 hook in the wardrobe which stood in a corner of the 
 room. "Did you think it possible that she could so 
 completely shut you out of her heart ? And what right 
 had you to deny me the privilege of sharing and bear 
 ing with you the consequence of your acts ?" 
 
 Hannah moved a chair nearer her mother s and sat 
 down. 
 
1 68 Tlic Success of Failure 
 
 "I could not, then, mother, I simply could not," re 
 plied she, putting her hand up and taking the one her 
 mother was about to lay upon her shoulder and holding 
 it firmly between her own in her lap. "That it was 
 wrong, I now fully realize; and that you and father 
 were not acquainted, long ago, with the fact that David 
 Haven and myself had determined upon entering into 
 a trial marriage, I shall always regret. That we were 
 both young, may, perhaps, be some excuse, I do not 
 know, for wishing to take an untried and forbidden 
 road in our quest for happiness. Because what we had 
 decided upon was the exceptional, we both argued, it 
 need not, necessarily, result unhappily. But, unfor 
 tunately, it did; the way we took was too broad and 
 we lost each other. And it was such a greedy thor 
 oughfare, mother; its demands were so heavy that they 
 who lingered there were never able to meet its bills. 
 Your youth, never more to be regained, you left there. 
 Your good name it swallowed up, and you searched in 
 vr.in to find it. It would take all that you possessed, 
 and then, grinning, leave you standing helpless and 
 alone." 
 
 "My poor Hannah," said Mrs. Thompson con 
 solingly. 
 
 "In a way, yes," agreed Hannah. "But it did not 
 rob me of all ; I started back in time to keep my child. 
 Have you seen him ?" 
 
Mrs. Thompson Visits Her Daughter 169 
 
 "Yes, he found his way in here when he failed to 
 find Martha upon waking up." 
 
 "Dear little man, it was the first time she ever left 
 him, unless it was with me. Good, old Martha, but for 
 her I do not know what I should have done. From the 
 night I left home, when she followed me, and in order 
 to prevent a scene at the depot we were forced to take 
 her with us, she has served me faithfully and well." 
 
 "Oh, yes," smiled Mrs. Thompson, "there never was 
 any doubt in my mind that where we should find you 
 we also should find Martha." 
 
 Hannah smiled and got up. 
 
 "I must go out and announce myself to Ronald," she 
 said, "or he will be terribly disappointed." 
 
 "Yes, do, and bring him in and introduce him to his 
 grandmother." 
 
 "Perhaps you would like to come with me," sug 
 gested Hannah. 
 
 "No, I do not want to trouble Martha needlessly. 
 She, no doubt, is preparing luncheon." 
 
 "Very well, I ll be right back," and Hannah s steps 
 quickened as she passed into the hall. 
 
 Pretty soon she came back carrying Ronald, and 
 Mrs. Thompson held out her arms for the child. 
 
 "Ronald," said his mother, "I am going to present 
 you to your grandmother, and I want you to love her 
 as much as vou do mother." 
 
170 The Success of Failure 
 
 "What is g andmother, mother?" asked Ronald as 
 Hannah placed him in Mrs. Thompson s arms. 
 
 "Your mother s mother, honey-boy." 
 
 "Do you yuv her, mother?" asked he, sitting straight 
 up on his grandmother s lap. 
 
 "Why, of course, little man." 
 
 "Then I yuv her," said Ronald, getting to his knees 
 on her lap, and Mrs. Thompson felt the pressure of two 
 little arms about her neck and a curly-head pressed 
 close to her own. For several moments, while his 
 mother stood silently looking on, his grandmother held 
 him tightly within her arms. Then Ronald, bent upon 
 investigation, threw back his head and withdrew his 
 arms from around her neck and began to pass his hands 
 slowly over her face. 
 
 "You re bootiful, too," he said finally, straightening 
 out his legs and establishing himself more comfortably 
 upon her lap. 
 
 "You think so?" inquired Mrs. Thompson, into 
 whose eyes the tears were coming ; and it was only the 
 prompt intervention of Hannah s handkerchief which 
 prevented their overflow. With a downward, warning 
 shake of her head in the direction of the child, his 
 mother wiped the tears away, saying brightly, at the 
 same time, to conceal from her boy her own and her 
 mother s agitation, 
 
Mrs. Thompson Visits Her Daughter 171 
 
 "Your grandmother, I am sure, thanks you for the 
 compliment, little son." 
 
 "But I fink you are. too, mother." 
 
 "Of course, darling," laughed Hannah, "and mother 
 is not at all jealous. She is perfectly willing to share 
 your baby-heart with grandmother." 
 
 But Ronald, apparently, was not of the same mind 
 and objected, somewhat, to having his affections thus 
 dispensed with; for, squirming around, he turned his 
 back upon his grandmother and, stretching his little 
 arms upwards to where he believed his mother stood, 
 he said: 
 
 "Come and take me." 
 
 "In a little while, darling," said Hannah, falling 
 down upon her knees on the rug by the side of her 
 mother and taking her boy s hand within her own ; "but 
 mother has something else to say to her little man, first. 
 You see, dear, grandmother has never had a little boy 
 to love or to love her, and it is a long, long time since 
 she had a little girl. "Mother was her little girl, but she 
 grew up and forgot about it. Grandmother did not 
 and now, because you belong to that little girl, she loves 
 you and not only gives you the place that that little 
 girl occupied, but has made a brand-new place in her 
 heart for you. You and I, babykin, must live to be 
 worthy of that brand-new place, for in no heart but a 
 mother s are we able to find it. And, darling, mother 
 
172 The Success of Failure 
 
 wants you to know when you are loving grandmother 
 she will feel you are doubly loving her." 
 
 "You mean," said Ronald slowly, "if I yuv g and- 
 mother, I yuv you two times." 
 
 "Yes, little man, that is just what mother means." 
 
 Just at that moment Martha came through the hall. 
 
 "Lunch is served, ma am," she said. 
 
 "Very well, Martha," replied Hannah, "come and get 
 Ronald ;" and picking up her boy from her mother s 
 lap she placed him in Martha s arms, and, as she car 
 ried him out, Mrs. Thompson rose to her feet. 
 
 "He is a dear, little fellow," said she, "but how pa 
 thetically sad it is that he is blind." 
 
 "It is, indeed," replied her daughter ; "but," musing 
 ly, "do you know, sometimes I am rather glad that he 
 is blind for, consequently, much of the evil of the world 
 he will escape." 
 
 "That is true," agreed her mother; "but, likewise, 
 how many of its beauties he must forego." 
 
 "That is so, of course/ said her daughter with a 
 sigh. "However, I try to find consolation in the thought 
 that what he has not seen he cannot miss." 
 
 "Is his blindness, then, so permanently hopeless?" 
 
 "Doctor Ross does not think so." 
 
 "I am glad to hear that. Who is Doctor Ross ?" 
 
 "A wonderful man and an excellent physician. I am 
 employed by him as correspondent and office-nurse." 
 
Mrs. Thompson Visits Her Daughter 173 
 
 "That is strange, I have never heard of him." 
 
 "I thought you might have heard something about 
 him from Mrs. George Leigh, for he is her physician." 
 
 "Then you know of George s marriage," said Mrs. 
 Thompson, a note of sympathy in her voice as she 
 followed her daughter into the hall. "He married 
 less than two years ago your old friend and school 
 mate, Elizabeth Sand. 
 
 "I know it. Indeed, my communicating with you 
 and father was due indirectly to a visit she paid to the 
 doctor s office one morning. I will tell you all about 
 it after we have had luncheon." 
 
 They entered the dining-room where they found 
 Ronald seated in his high-chair at the table. Martha, 
 just a few moments before, had placed in front of him 
 a bowl partly filled with chicken soup, which, hungry 
 though he was, he made no attempt to eat, but sat 
 patiently waiting for his mother and the "stwange 
 lady," as he persisted in calling his grandmother when 
 he spoke of her to Martha, to come in and sit down 
 at the table. He clapped his tiny hands as they came 
 into the room. 
 
 "You may begin now, darling, here is your spoon," 
 ;^aid his mother, picking up a spoon which lay at the 
 side of his bowl and putting it in his hand. "You may 
 sit here, mother," continued she, drawing out a chair 
 from one side of the table, "and," by a movement of 
 
174 The Success of Failure 
 
 her hand indicating a chair at the opposite side, "I 
 will sit over there." 
 
 In less than half an hour they had finished eating 
 their luncheon, and Mrs. Thompson was back again 
 in the little room at the end of the hall, Hannah hav 
 ing stopped outside for a few minutes to superintend 
 the dressing of Ronald, whom Martha was going to 
 take out for a short walk, his mother thinking it wise 
 to so dispose of him while she talked with her mother. 
 
 Mrs. Thompson surveyed the little room with its 
 meagre furnishings, and sadly contrasted it with one 
 handsomely furnished now unoccupied at Dawson 
 Hannah s room. Her heart ached for this girl of hers, 
 and she longed to see her once more in possession of 
 her old room with its attendant luxuries; and she 
 wished it were possible to take Hannah, with Ronald 
 and Martha, home with her that night. But she could 
 not. Her father must first be told the truth, and then 
 decide. That he would not close the door of his home 
 against his child, she felt certain; and that for her it 
 
 would always stand open. But the child To him, 
 
 she was afraid, the door would remain forever shut, 
 and his mother, she knew, and was glad to know, was 
 too much of a woman to accept for herself that which 
 her child could not have. "Poor, innocent, little, blind 
 baby," thought she, "how cruel it was that he should 
 have to suffer the evil consequences of the acts of 
 
Mrs. Thompson J isits Her Daughter 175 
 
 others, and that upon his baby-head and frail shoulders 
 should fall the effects of their wrong-doing." 
 
 Hannah s advancing footsteps in the hall put a stop 
 to these gloomy thoughts, and Mrs. Thompson greeted 
 the entrance of her daughter with a smile. 
 
 "They have gone?" queried she. 
 
 "Yes, and if I am to finish my story before they get 
 back, I must begin right away," replied Hannah, 
 drawing a chair forward and sitting down near her 
 mother. 
 
 "Is it necessary, my child ?" asked Mrs. Thompson, 
 laying her hand affectionately upon her daughter s 
 shoulder. "Would it not be better to leave the dis 
 tressing happenings of the past six years where they 
 belong away back there? Surely they have no place 
 in the present and can have none in the future, and 
 the telling really cannot benefit either of us, now, 
 serving only to add to your embarrassment and pain. 
 Let us, then, turn our backs upon them and leave them 
 behind." 
 
 "I see you agree with Doctor Ross. It is very good 
 of you to think so about it, mother, but what about 
 father?" 
 
 "I shall have to tell him what I know, of course," 
 replied Mrs. Thompson, a shadow for the moment 
 passing over her face, "and what the outcome may be 
 I cannot say. However, I will write you about that 
 
176 The Success of Failure 
 
 tomorrow and, at the same time, enclose a check to 
 cover your expenses here." 
 
 "That is very kind of you." 
 
 "Now tell me something of your work, if you are 
 Happy in it and of this Doctor Ross by whom you are 
 employed," said Mrs. Thompson, looking at her watch. 
 "You won t have a great deal of time for I must leave 
 on the three-thirty train." 
 
 This, to Hannah, was a particularly agreeable task, 
 and it was not long before she was relating, with no 
 little degree of interest expressed in face and voice, 
 the many pleasing features of her work ; and speaking 
 in eloquent praise of the man who had made that 
 work possible the Great Worker, her employer. So 
 truly happy did she appear as she continued to talk, 
 that her mother, whose heart had ached at the thought 
 of leaving her and Ronald in what she termed "the 
 depressing loneliness of a large city," became more and 
 more reconciled with the situation ; and when, an hour 
 later, she bade them goodby at the station, it was 
 with a mind assured that for the present, at least, all 
 was well with her Hannah. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 A TALK WITH DOROTHY AND THE SELECTION OF ROADS 
 
 THE loud ringing of the telephone-bell greeted 
 Hannah when she opened the office-door the 
 morning after her mother s visit. Stepping quickly 
 over to the telephone, she took down the receiver and 
 held it to her ear, and a voice in response to her 
 gentle, "Hello/" said : 
 
 "Good-morning, Mrs. Archer ; this is Miss Richard 
 son. Has the doctor arrived?" 
 
 "Oh, good-morning, Miss Richardson," returned 
 Hannah pleasantly. "No, the doctor has not come in. 
 I expect him any moment, though. Can I do anything 
 for you?" 
 
 "Well, I don t know," replied Dorothy a trifle slowly 
 "perhaps you can; my message in a way concerns 
 you. Last night, while speaking to Mr. Thompson on 
 his way out, he told me you were not in the office all 
 of yesterday afternoon ; and, although he waited all 
 that time for the doctor to come in, he, too, failed to 
 put in an appearance, and he had to leave without see 
 ing him. Foolishly, I then began to worry and won 
 dered if everything was as it should be over there." 
 
178 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Oh, yes," replied Hannah, laughing happily, "every 
 thing is all right." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," responded Dorothy heartily. 
 "But if it ever should not he, remember my home- 
 living place will always be open to you and Ronald." 
 
 "You are very kind, I shall remember that," said 
 Hannah, and just at that moment Doctor Ross pushed 
 the door open and walked into the room, which caused 
 her to add, "Oh, here is the doctor, now, wouldn t 
 you like to speak to him ? 
 
 "Why, yes, you might let me say good-morning to 
 him." 
 
 "Doctor," said Hannah, turning her head in his di 
 rection and smiling, "Miss Richardson is on the tele 
 phone and would like to speak to you." 
 
 "Is that so?" replied the doctor, much pleased, strid 
 ing over to the telephone and taking the receiver out 
 of her hand. 
 
 "Good-morning, Dorothy," said he, and Hannah 
 hurried into her office and closed the door. 
 
 "Good-morning, Bob," came Dorothy s voice from 
 the other end of the wire. "How is everything over 
 there? I have been hearing bad news of your office. 
 Is Mrs. Archer to remain with you?" 
 
 "Not Mrs. Archer," replied the doctor with a low 
 laugh, "but a young woman by the name of Miss Han 
 nah Thompson is." 
 
A Talk with Dorothy 179 
 
 "I see," and the tone of her voice conveyed more to 
 the doctor than Dorothy intended. 
 
 "No you don t, but you will some day," replied he 
 teasingly. 
 
 "Is that so?" retorted she. 
 
 "That is just so," laughed he. "However, don t 
 despair, for with time all things are accomplished." 
 
 "Even the perfection of me?" 
 
 "Yes, the perfection of you." 
 
 "Bosh!" 
 
 "No bosh about it, I assure you, Dorothy. It is a 
 certain and assured fact." 
 
 "I am glad you feel so positive about it." 
 
 "And you don t?" 
 
 "No, I wish I did." 
 
 "How is that? Isn t the home-living place pro 
 gressing satisfactorily ?" 
 
 "Well," reluctantly replied Dorothy, "I am begin 
 ning to have difficulties." 
 
 "I see," said the doctor sympathetically, "it is not 
 proving the success you hoped for. That is too bad, 
 Dorothy. Can I be of any assistance ?" 
 
 "I don t know, perhaps you can. Supposing you 
 call in on your way back from the hospital this after 
 noon. There are quite a few things I want to talk 
 over with you." 
 
 "I can t this afternoon, Dorothy," said the doctor 
 
180 The Success of Failure 
 
 regretfully, "for I have an engagement with Thomp 
 son. But I can call in and see you tomorrow morning, 
 if that will do." 
 
 "Yes, that will suit me very nicely." 
 
 "Very well, I ll be in some time between eleven and 
 twelve." 
 
 "Thank you, Bob." 
 
 "Not at all, Dorothy. It is always my delight and 
 pleasure, as you know, to serve you." 
 
 "It is very good of you, Bob ; and I won t keep you 
 any longer for I know just how busy you always are. 
 Goodby." 
 
 "Goodby, Dorothy," returned the doctor, and the 
 smile that played around his lips was infinitely tender 
 as he hung up the receiver on its hook and turned 
 from the instrument. 
 
 Before sitting down at his desk to examine his mail, 
 he walked to the door of Hannah s office and knocked 
 gently, and in response to her pleasant, "Come in," 
 turned the knob and entered the room. 
 
 "Well," said he, smiling in a grave, mischievous 
 fashion at Hannah, who was seated in front of her 
 desk, "I see you are still alive. The ordeal of yester 
 day afternoon, which you dreaded so, could not have 
 proven such a terrible thing, after all." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Hannah, her face alight, "it proved 
 to be no ordeal at all. Do you know, although I have 
 
A Talk with Dorothy 181 
 
 a child of my own, I never before realized how won 
 derfully wonderful is the love of a mother for her 
 child." 
 
 "Yes," replied the doctor, sitting down in a chair 
 opposite Hannah, "it is wonderful for its rare unsel 
 fishness. And yet," musingly, "in its unselfishness it 
 is selfish. The love a mother bears for her child is 
 the love for a reproduced self ; in it she sees the con 
 tinuing of that self. And her love, in spite of its 
 boasted depth and breadth and inexhaustible store, is 
 limited ; and the child is not very old before he becomes 
 sadly aware of its limitations. To her only is given 
 the provision of the physical needs, and just so far and 
 no farther is she able to travel the journey of life 
 with him. The way of the spirit, he must travel alone, 
 picking from its roadside those fruits needed to satisfy 
 that hunger. To meet every awakened desire of the 
 soul, means the pushing onward and upward until 
 their source is found." 
 
 "Surely," exclaimed Hannah in surprise, "you don t 
 mean me to conclude that mothers are not anxious to 
 have their children grow up to be good men and 
 women ?" 
 
 "Their anxiety goes for naught, if they know not 
 the road to Good. Many and many are the 
 called bv that name " 
 
1 82 The Success of Failure 
 
 "And terminate, I suppose you are going to say," 
 interrupted Hannah, "in the broad and well-known 
 thoroughfare of Bad?" 
 
 The doctor nodded. 
 
 "What assurance, then," anxiously asked Hannah, 
 "has a mother that she has selected from these many 
 roads the way to Good, when there are so ma*iy con 
 flicting opinions of what is good and what is bad?" 
 
 "By their fruits, there is no other way," quietly re 
 plied the doctor. "It is not difficult," he went on, "to 
 avoid taking some of these roads; nor is it necessary 
 for one to traverse them to know the fruits which 
 grow therein, for their decadent effects are voicelessly 
 proclaimed by the poor, unfortunate sojourners within 
 their gates. But about the many others we stop and 
 question At the entrance of each we look long and 
 interrogatively in; and they appear to us alike fair. 
 But, try as we may, we are unable to see, for the huge 
 trees, heavy foliage and beautiful flowers growing at 
 their mouths, the hills and valleys beyond. After some 
 serious debating upon the advisability of taking either 
 of them, we at last decide upon a road. It is, to our 
 mind, the fairest of them all and, to our imagination, 
 promises at the end great things. Surely success 
 awaits us at the end of this road. And so we begin 
 onr journey 
 
 "But alas ! One-quarter of the way has not been 
 
A Talk with Dorothy 183 
 
 travelled before we become aware, to our utter 
 dismay, that all that was fair and lovely of the 
 chosen road was the entrance. We bewail our 
 stupidity and unsparingly censure ourselves for not 
 selecting one of the others. As we proceed, how 
 ever, we find consolation in the fact that we are not 
 alone ; for the road, as far as the eye can see, is literally 
 filled with fellow-travellers ; and they like us, are 
 fighting with each other for a place in the middle of 
 the road. The strong toss the weak thoughtlessly 
 aside and, indifferent to their fate, march straight on. 
 This condition of affairs we view with grave concern 
 and, consequently, strive the harder to retain our 
 place in the road. We also see the weak, as we con 
 tinue our journey, trying to edge their way through the 
 throng and, with hands raised hesitatingly toward the 
 branches of the trees in their quest for nourishment, 
 seek to pluck the fruit therefrom. Their efforts are 
 futile, for they are either rudely jostled, roughly pushed 
 back or, unthinkingly, thrown down. Nevertheless, 
 they are surprisingly courageous and again and again 
 get to their feet and, despite their waning strength, try 
 to regain a foothold in the road of life. All to no 
 purpose, and one by one they stagger over to the 
 wayside and, bending, find their sustenance in the 
 blemished fruit lying upon the ground. This is a 
 situation, indeed, that fills us with alarm, and we begin 
 
184 The Success of Failure 
 
 to dread the ending of the road. To prevent such a 
 like condition befalling us, we cram, as we go along, 
 every available place in our clothing with fruit picked 
 from the branches. 
 
 "But, after all, to what little use! We have not 
 journeyed very far from this point, before the foolish 
 ness of our wisdom is made plain to us. The fruit 
 we deemed so wise to gather for the satisfying of a 
 later day, we find, upon examination as that day ap 
 proaches, has all decayed and is fit only to be thrown 
 out. To what profit have we lived? bitterly ask we, 
 as it drops from our trembling hands. Woefully dis 
 couraged, our gaze becomes fearful as we regard the 
 road ahead. What will be the ending? we wearily 
 question as we look for a place to rest; but the seats, 
 dotted here and there along the roadside, already are 
 occupied with weary travellers. There is nothing for 
 us to do but to continue on; and so we proceed but 
 more slowly now sadly confident that we shall find 
 at the end of the road, not the success which we be 
 lieved would await us, but the doleful, grim form of 
 failure." 
 
 Hannah sighed when the doctor had finished speak 
 ing, and said : 
 
 "That is a sad road you have pictured, doctor." 
 
 "Many do not regard it as such. Those who can 
 keep in the middle of the road believe it to be all right." 
 
A Talk with Dorothy 185 
 
 "But what about the others?" 
 
 "Ah ! for them it is all wrong." 
 
 "Well," said Hannah, with a mournful shake of her 
 head, "it is one upon which I hope my Roland s feet 
 shall never tread/ 
 
 "Give him to me," said Doctor Ross earnestly, "and 
 he shall know no other road than the one that leads to 
 Good." 
 
 "Give him to you !" exclaimed Hannah incredulous 
 ly. "You don t know what you ask." 
 
 "Do you think he will belong any the less to you?" 
 asked the doctor, a beautiful smile lighting up his 
 grave face. 
 
 "I don t know what you mean ! Why, I wouldn t 
 give him to anybody!" exclaimed Hannah, greatly 
 excited. 
 
 "I don t mean to take him from you," said he gently. 
 "And I can assure you he will be doubly yours if you 
 give him to me." 
 
 "Oh, now I understand, you mean some sort of 
 guardianship," said Hannah, her face brightening. 
 "That would be splendid for him, and I cannot thank 
 you sufficiently for contemplating such a thing. In 
 deed," her face aglow, "there is no one whom I should 
 so wish to direct the life of my boy than yourself, 
 Doctor Ross." 
 
186 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Then it is agreed," said he, smiling and extending 
 his hand. "Thank you." 
 
 "It is," replied Hannah, laying her hand in his. "But 
 what about the fruits of the many other roads?" 
 
 "It would take too long to speak of them all," said 
 the doctor, gently releasing her hand. "There is one 
 other, however, whose entrance humanity considers 
 most inviting. Trees, laden with luscious-appearing 
 fruit, line the roadside for some distance in, and flowers 
 of every hue entwine themselves among their branches. 
 This roadway has many twists and turns and is open 
 only to the few, which is regarded as a lamentable fact 
 by the multitude standing at the entrance, gazing long 
 ingly in. Within this road, they believe, lies power. 
 Here it is possible for man to command and be obeyed ; 
 be a master and not a slave. Ah ! say they, if one 
 could only be a traveller upon this road, with what 
 pleasure life might be lived. Such a tiling as poverty, 
 with its attributes of hunger and nakedness, does not 
 exist here. Happiness, that fleeting thing, if to be 
 found anywhere, must surely be found here. Why 
 then/ impatiently they ask, should they be barred, by 
 the simple circumstance of birth or something else 
 quite as unfortunate, from this altogether lovely and 
 wholly desirable roadway? Why are they bound by 
 their necessities while the travellers of this road are 
 lavish with luxuries ? And so they go on, questioning 
 
A Talk with Dorothy 187 
 
 unwisely and unprofitably, yearning for the lesser 
 when they might have the greater. Why long to be a 
 master when one might be a brother? Why pine for 
 the dignity of being served, when the greater dignity 
 is in the serving? Why wish for the possession of 
 material riches, when the evident needs of another 
 make us poor, indeed? Surely, of all things most 
 foolish, is to seek to flee a poverty which is rich for a 
 wealth that is poor. To seek to pick from the branches 
 of the trees the seemingly luscious fruit, which at 
 heart is dead, is to exchange happiness for misery ; 
 and to gather the beautifully colored flowers, from 
 which exude poisonous vapors, is to pass from hope 
 to despair. Not to permit oneself a free and whole 
 some intercourse with the human family, participating 
 neither in its joys nor in its sorrows, is to make of 
 oneself an outcast. Better, by far, take one of the 
 many roads of the multitude than the select road of 
 the few." 
 
 "And that is a road I would not select for my 
 Ronald," said Hannah, her eyes swimming in tears. 
 "Now tell me something about the road that leads to 
 Good." 
 
 "It will not be very much, that is certain," said the 
 doctor, throwing back his head, "for who could tell 
 with any degree of accuracy the wonders of that 
 beautiful road!" 
 
1 88 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Tell me, anyway," pleaded Hannah. 
 
 "I will," acquiesced the doctor, and he began : 
 
 The entrance to the road to Good, which is never 
 closed but always remains open, is not particularly at 
 tractive excepting to the wise," said he. "At either 
 side stand large and storm-defying trees, and upon 
 their branches grow the fruit of no-compromise. Be 
 tween the trees, holding up their heads in all their 
 snowy loveliness, are the pure-white lilies of a new 
 life. It is not by any means a wide thoroughfare ; in 
 fact, it is rather a narrow road. To its gate many 
 come and look thoughtfully and questioningly in. Some 
 regard the fruit growing upon the trees with a doubt 
 ful eye, thinking its verdant green betokens an un 
 desirable freshness, and hesitate to avail themselves of 
 the privilege of tasting and trying. The flowers within 
 the gateway lack color, and appear not nearly so lovely 
 to them as those they have seen growing in other road 
 ways. So, shaking their heads doubtfully, they pass 
 on. Others, more venturesome, decide they will taste 
 the fruit, so standing without they stretch forth an 
 arm and pick some off. They bite into it, and con 
 clude the flavor is not altogether unpleasing, and they 
 are inclined to enter ; but a glance at the flowers brings 
 a change of mind, for they have no desire to change 
 the old life for the new. So they, too, pass on. 
 
 "Then one, wiser than the rest, stops and looks in. 
 
A Talk with Dorothy 189 
 
 In his face one can read a purpose, and the cry of 
 genuine satisfaction that escapes from his lips as he 
 perceives the stalwart trees, with their fruit-laden 
 branches, and the pure, white lilies growing between, 
 states emphatically that his purpose is to enter here. 
 There is no doubt that this is the road for which he 
 has been seeking; the desired destination has been 
 reached. With haste he discards his travel-stained 
 and much-worn garments, and with real affection 
 greets the trees and kisses with gentle reverence the 
 lilies at the gate, who, at his touch, move with a 
 graceful, sweeping motion to one side and permit him 
 to enter. They then resume their former position and 
 he, arrayed in new raiment, surveys the road. He 
 notes perhaps wonderingly that here the travellers 
 do not strive for a good piece of the roadway ; each 
 has his allotted space in which to walk and wishes no 
 more, their time, evidently, being fully occupied with 
 the keeping of that in order. Greatly interested, he 
 watches them as with stately tread and even step they 
 move along, clearing as they go the way before them, 
 for no destroying object is permitted to grow here. 
 
 "With confidence he takes his place in the road and 
 begins the journey. He marvels, as he proceeds, at 
 the continued fresh greenness of the fruit growing up 
 on the branches of the trees ; and it is not long before 
 he discovers that its all-sustaining qualities are born 
 
190 The Success of Failure 
 
 of the seed of Truth and that all alike may partake 
 of it. With the head-gardeners, Love and Execution, 
 he is fast becoming acquainted, imbibing the knowl 
 edge they impart with great avidity ; for to this knowl 
 edge, he learns, can be imputed the good understand 
 ing existing among his fellow-travellers, producing 
 their mutual respect for each other. Here, he realizes, 
 if anywhere, the human family becomes the divine 
 family, the old is exchanged for the new and the bad 
 for the good. 
 
 "As he is nearing the end, he turns and looks back 
 and, standing in the golden-hued autumn of life, con 
 cludes that the road to Good was a beautiful one ; the 
 knowledge it imparted spoke of the infinite, that man 
 kind, as the Godhead, is one, and the understanding 
 of that oneness makes the fruit of the road to Good 
 immortal." 
 
 "And my little Ronald is to be a traveller upon that 
 road !" exclaimed Hannah, her hands tightly clasped 
 in her lap and her face reflecting, in a great measure, 
 the wonderful light which illumined the doctor s face 
 as he finished speaking. "I am so glad, so glad ! No 
 other road would I willingly have chosen for him." 
 
 The doctor smiled quizzically down into her eyes 
 which still remained fascinatingly fixed upon his face. 
 
A Talk with Dorothy 191 
 
 "You are a wise mother," he said. "And we will 
 speak of this again. But now I must attend to my 
 mail." 
 
 "Can I help you?" 
 
 "Yes/ replied he, rising to his feet and turning to 
 leave the room. "I shall be glad if you will do so," 
 and, walking quickly over to his desk, he pulled out the 
 chair which stood in front of it and sat down. 
 
 Hannah immediately rose from her seat and followed 
 him. 
 
 "While I am reading this one," said he, tearing open 
 an envelope and removing its contents, "you may open 
 the rest of these, and with a gentle movement of his 
 disengaged hand the doctor pushed a neat pile of 
 letters to one side of his desk. 
 
 "Very well," and Hannah drew a chair to that side 
 of the desk and sat down. 
 
 In less than half-an-hour the letters were opened and 
 read and marked for reply, and Hannah was walking 
 back to her office carrying them in her hand. 
 
 As she disappeared through the door-way, the 
 doctor arose from his chair and walked to the window. 
 A glance informed him that his automobile, with John s 
 motionless figure in the front seat, stood at the curb. 
 He tapped lightly upon the window-pane, and un- 
 
tg2 The Success of Failure 
 
 hesitatingly John s head turned in the direction of the 
 sound. A nod and smile of recognition accompanied 
 with a look which fell not short of being brotherly 
 passed between the two men. Doctor Ross then left 
 the window and began to prepare for his round of 
 morning calls, and his servant turned his head away 
 and looked straight ahead. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 FRANK ENTERS THE HOSPITAL OF THE NEW BIRTH 
 
 THE office-door opened, and Doctor Ross raised his 
 eyes enquiringly. 
 
 "Oh, it s you, Frank," he said, with a smile, as he 
 rose to his feet. 
 
 "Yes," said Frank, stepping in and closing the door 
 behind him. 
 
 "Glad to see you, old fellow," said the doctor, ex 
 tending his hand as he crossed the room to meet him. 
 "How are you ?" and he shook the hand Frank placed 
 in his warmly. "Take a seat, and just as soon as I 
 have finished reading this," holding up the paper in 
 his left hand, "I ll be right with you." 
 
 Frank smiled and nodded in response, but instead 
 of sitting down he walked over to the window and 
 looked out. 
 
 The doctor went back to his seat and resumed the 
 reading of the paper. It was soon read and, after 
 placing it in the^mside pocket of his coat, he got up 
 and walked over to the window where Frank stood 
 and laid a hand upon each of his shoulders. 
 
 193 
 
194 The Success of Failure 
 
 At their touch, Frank immediately turned around. 
 
 "Well, doctor," said he, with a wan smile, "I ve come 
 over to give up my job." 
 
 "What for?" calmly asked the doctor. "Sit down 
 and let us talk it over." 
 
 "There isn t any use, as far as I can see," said 
 Frank, wearily sinking down into the nearest chair. 
 
 "Perhaps you can t see very well," said the doctor, 
 seating himself on a chair opposite. 
 
 "Perhaps not," replied Frank, with a mournful shake 
 of his head. "But, for that matter, I have learned I 
 am not the only one so afflicted." 
 
 "What made you conclude to give up your work? 
 Not the inability to secure patients, surely?* 
 
 "No, I can t say it was that exactly," said Frank 
 hesitatingly. "The truth is," he blurted out, "I am 
 too sick, myself, to seek any further," and his head 
 sank into his hands. 
 
 "My poor Frank," said the doctor, and the notes of 
 the paternal and maternal blended in his voice. 
 
 From Frank s lips came a dismal moan. 
 
 "If I were the only one so affected, I believe I could 
 stand it," said he, raising his head ; "but my quest for 
 patients has opened my eyes to the fact that the whole 
 world is infected with this same terrible sickness, and 
 the worst of it all is it seems to be oblivious of the 
 fact." 
 
Frank Enters the Hospital 195 
 
 "Yotr work, then, has not been without its compen 
 sation; you have learned something." 
 
 "I can t say, though, that I altogether value the 
 knowledge," replied Frank,, with a sickly smile. 
 
 "No? Why?" 
 
 "Because the compensation derived from a painful 
 knowledge is never pleasant." 
 
 "Not if it be true?" 
 
 "I can t see that the falsity or truth of a condition 
 makes the result any the less terrible." 
 
 "The trouble with you, Frank," said the doctor, 
 smiling gravely, "is that the truth terrifies you. Never 
 before have you beheld her in all of her nakedness, and 
 her no-compromising presence fills you with alarm. 
 In your pursuit of patients, she has permitted you to 
 look through her clear lenses, and you are appalled to 
 find the same sickness within yourself that you ex 
 pected to find in others. Also, you know conditions to 
 be what they are and not what they seem, and they 
 frighten you. And that is not surprising. However, 
 there is a fear that is productive of health and a com 
 placency that breeds disease. Now tell me just how 
 you feel." 
 
 "How I feel," said Frank languidly; "words would 
 fail to tell you how I feel. I am sick," shaking his head 
 forlornly. "I am woefully and awfully sick, that is 
 all I can tell you." 
 
196 The Success of Failure 
 
 "But how does the sickness affect you?" persisted 
 the doctor. "Surely, you can describe some of the 
 symptoms." 
 
 "It affects me all over," replied Frank weakly. "I 
 am like an old machine with all of its parts astray, 
 and being so badly scattered about among the rubbish 
 they are not to be found, even though I had the in 
 clination to look for them, which I have not." 
 
 "By that, you mean to say, I suppose, you have lost 
 all interest in life?" 
 
 "I fail to see anything in it for me." 
 
 "I am glad to hear you say that." 
 
 "You are," replied Frank, momentarily interested 
 and then leaning wearily back in his chair. "Isn t that 
 a rather strange statement for a physician to make?" 
 
 "Is it?" returned the doctor, with a low musical 
 laugh. "Then, perhaps, it would be well for me to 
 explain the meaning of it." 
 
 "Very well," indifferently replied Frank. 
 
 "To meet the needs of the human body with which 
 man is endowed," said the doctor, "that body is pro 
 vided with a human appetite, the individual satisfying 
 of which means the continuation of the representation 
 of existing humanity ; that is, each member as it enters 
 the human family and continues therein is required to 
 eat the nourishment needed for the sustenance of his 
 or her individual human-body, no other member being 
 
Frank Enters the Hospital 197 
 
 able to perform that office. To illustrate, No mother, 
 no matter how great may be the love she bears for her 
 child, can eat or drink for him the substance required 
 for the growth of his human-body. If he is to grow, 
 he must swallow the food that is put into his mouth. 
 Nor can she take for him the exercise needed for his 
 physical development. He must stretch out the baby- 
 arms, squirm, kick and creep to strengthen the tiny 
 baby-body, if, later on, he is to become a walking, 
 perpendicular human-self. So it is with the unfolding 
 of that infantile mentality ; he must do his own think 
 ing. The controlling force of that body is ever in 
 dividualistic and gives its rights to no other. 
 
 "As it is with the human-dress of the child," he con 
 tinued, "so it is with the child expressed in the dress. 
 He, too, is endowed with an appetite, and his represen 
 tation depends upon the nourishment he receives. To 
 grow, he must eat, and to eat he must be fed ; to ex 
 pand, he must exercise, and time and willingness must 
 be given to that exercise. The unfolding of that won 
 derful understanding, means a life lived with its great 
 er understanding, if the life is to be active and fulfill 
 its purpose. To neglect these things, deeming them 
 of non-importance, is to cause his impoverishment, 
 causing a blindness, which, in turn, produces an in 
 difference to growth and an unwillingness to know or 
 understand." 
 
198 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Well," said Frank, making a feeble attempt to ap 
 pear interested, "what has all this got to do witk me ?" 
 
 "Everything, for it is the cause of your sickness." 
 
 "The cause of my sickness?" queried Frank, be 
 wildered. "Explain further, I don t quite understand." 
 
 "No ; and it is going to be difficult to make you un 
 derstand," replied the doctor, sadly. "You are suffer 
 ing from soul paralysis, caused by the continued in 
 action of the life-controlling force." 
 
 "What in thunder are you talking about, doctor?" 
 asked Frank, becoming irritated. "No man living 
 ever lived any cleaner life than I have. What do you 
 mean to insinuate ?" 
 
 "I am not finding fault with the way in which you 
 take care of your coat of skin/* Frank," said the 
 doctor, soothingly, "for you have taken excellent care 
 of it; the trouble is, it has outgrown you. It has be 
 come your master and you its slave. At its come/ 
 you follow ; at its command of no further/ you stand 
 still. So varied and multitudinous have been its de 
 mands that all of your time has been taken up in en 
 deavoring to meet them ; so busy have you been you 
 have hardly been aware that you had an appetite; so 
 intently have you listened to its voice you have nearly 
 lost the use of your own. In striving to find a suitable 
 place for its well-being and growth, you have disre 
 garded those higher things necessary for your own 
 
 *Gen. iii, 21. 
 
Frank Enters the Hospital 199 
 
 growth and well-being. The result is, you are sick 
 and need treatment/ 
 
 "Well, what do you prescribe?" asked Frank. 
 
 "That you enter the Hospital of The New Birth for 
 treatment. 
 
 "You think, then, there is hope ?" 
 
 "Undoubtedly." 
 
 "When do you advise me to apply for admittance?" 
 
 "Now, this afternoon. You may come with me and 
 I will see you are admitted." 
 
 "What time are you going over?" 
 
 "I am due there at two o clock, but as there is 
 nothing here to keep me, John might as well take us 
 right over," and the doctor rose and put on his hat and 
 coat. 
 
 "What do they charge a day in the ward?" asked 
 Frank as they were going out. 
 
 "Don t let that concern you," said the doctor, put 
 ting his arm in a friendly way through Frank s arm as 
 they went down the steps. "I am responsible for any 
 expense you may incur there. You are still in my 
 employ, you know." 
 
 "It s very good of you doctor," murmured Frank, 
 preceding the doctor into the automobile. 
 
 The doctor s response was a heavy sigh as he sat 
 down beside him. 
 
 "What s the meaning of the sigh, doctor?" asked 
 
2OO The Success of Failure 
 
 Frank as the automobile began to make its way down 
 the street. 
 
 The doctor smiled. 
 
 "In your present condition, you wouldn t understand 
 if I should tell you," he said. 
 
 "I might try. " 
 
 "Well, then, it is your inability to recognize me." 
 
 "Oh, is that all," replied Frank, laying his hand 
 affectionately upon the doctor s shoulder. "Don t bi 
 that worry you ; for, I can tell you, I consider you the 
 best fellow I ever knew." 
 
 "Thank you," replied the doctor gravely. 
 
 "What kind of a hospital is the Hospital of The New 
 Birth ?" asked Frank. "Is it a private or a public in 
 stitution ?" 
 
 "It is both; yet not in the sense that you understand 
 the words to imply," replied the doctor smiling. "That 
 is, there are no private rooms to be obtained for any 
 consideration. All the rooms are alike and are used 
 as needed and, therefore, wards are not necessary. In 
 this hospital, no undergraduate nurses are employed ; 
 they must all be graduates and are required to accord 
 to all patients the same attention. The treatment is 
 private, no one but the Great Physician and the patient 
 being present. Admission, too, must be sought private 
 ly, the requirements being the desire and willingness 
 of the patient to be made anew." 
 
Frank Enters the Hospital 201 
 
 "That sounds good," replied Frank, thoughtfully. 
 It would just be my luck, though, to get over there 
 and then be told that for every room there was an 
 occupant and, therefore, there was no room for me/ 
 
 "Have no fear of that, Frank," assured the doctor. 
 "There is never any lack of room in that hospital. Its 
 doors are always open, and a welcome awaits all they 
 who seek to enter." 
 
 "There s no overcrowding, then," said Frank, with a 
 sigh of relief; "that s a blessing. What school is re 
 sponsible for its founding and continuance?" 
 
 "The School of the New Born. You will be eligible 
 for membership after you have taken the course of 
 treatment prescribed by the Doctor at the Hospital." 
 
 "What is the treatment ?" asked Frank, betraying a 
 slight uneasiness. 
 
 "If you would appreciate the result," replied the 
 doctor, smiling enigmatically, "you must experience 
 the treatment." 
 
 "To be well, it seems to me," exclaimed Frank, "I 
 would submit to any treatment." 
 
 "That s the way to talk," returned the doctor. "Here 
 we are," and the automobile turned into a road that 
 led up to a large, pure-white stone building. When it 
 reached the foot of the steps leading to the entrance it 
 stopped, and the doctor alighted. 
 
 "This is the place," said he, "come on, Frank." 
 
2O2 The Success of Failure 
 
 "All right/ slowly replied Frank, his mind not en 
 tirely free from doubt as he rose a trifle reluctantly 
 from his seat and followed the doctor up the short 
 flight of steps. When they reached the top and stood 
 upon the threshold, Frank paused and turned and for 
 the moment hesitated. As he did so, he was surprised 
 to see the form of a man, decrepit and old, whose face 
 strangely resembled his own, standing beside him. 
 Pitifully pleading were the eyes in the aged face up 
 raised to his in their voiceless entreaty that he should 
 go no further; eager were the shaking, outstretched 
 arms in their wordless beseeching that he should not 
 utterly and entirely forsake and abandon their owner. 
 Frank s heart sank within him as he stood there sadly 
 contemplating the feeble, trembling figure, and he 
 questioned seriously whether he should, or should not, 
 leave this old man to the loneliness and infirmities of 
 old age. But the gentle pressure of the doctor s hand 
 upon his arm decided the question for him, and he 
 knew that he must ; there was no other way. So, with 
 a last long look into the dim eyes of the grief-rent, 
 wrinkled face and with a gesture of utter helplessness, 
 Frank bade it a mute farewell and passed with the 
 doctor through the open-door, perceiving not, as he 
 went, that the aged face and form of the self he left 
 behind was being gently consumed by the golden light 
 that shone from the portals within. 
 
Frank Enters the Hospital 203 
 
 Farther we cannot go. Would we, if we could? 
 Would we know the meaning of absolute newness, the 
 abandoning of the oldness of .the old for the newness 
 of the new, the putting of new wine in new bottles; 
 the replacing of old institutions with the new ; not 
 the intermingling of old with new, not the putting of 
 new wine in old bottles, "nor the mending of old gar 
 ments with the new"? If we would, then with a little 
 thinking we may. To have a new order, a new society, 
 we must have a new creature, and not one but all must 
 experience the treatment of the Hospital of The Xew 
 Birth. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 DOCTOR ROSS KEEPS HIS APPOINTMENT WITH DOROTHY 
 
 "| THINK that s Doctor Ross, Bertha," said Dorothy 
 1 as the bell rang. "If it is, tell him to step into 
 my room and I ll be in in a very few minutes." 
 
 "Very well, ma am," said Bertha, and she stepped 
 out to open the door. 
 
 "Good-morning, Bertha," said Doctor Ross, for, as 
 Dorothy had predicted, it was he. "Is Miss Richard 
 son in?" 
 
 "Yis, sah/ replied Bertha, with a broad smile. "She s 
 spectin yo , sah, an told me to ax yo to step into 
 her room an she would be right in." 
 
 "Thank you," and his tall form, with its stooped 
 shoulders, passed on up the hall. 
 
 "It s the doctor, ma am," announced Bertha when 
 she returned to the kitchen. 
 
 "I thought so," said Dorothy, not troubling to turn 
 her head and keeping right on with what she was do 
 ing, counting and sorting soiled clothes for the laundry. 
 "Now," as she placed the last piece in the hamper with 
 
 204 
 
Doctor Ross Keeps His Appointment 205 
 
 the list on top, "this- is all ready for anyone that 
 comes." 
 
 "I ll attend to it, ma am," said Bertha, and Dorothy, 
 with a "thank you," walked out of the kitchen. 
 
 "It s awfully good of you to come over so early, 
 Bob," were the words with which she greeted Doctor 
 Ross as she sat down beside him upon the couch. 
 "And I am very glad for I have so much to tell you." 
 
 "About your difficulties?" queried he, smiling. 
 
 "Yes; and to add to them I find that Mr. Thomp 
 son s bed was not slept in last night. The last time I 
 saw him was a little before noon yesterday, and then 
 he looked far from well. I am afraid something ter 
 rible has happened to him." 
 
 "Something has happened to him." said the doctor 
 quietly, "he is sick and in the hospital. But there is 
 no cause for alarm," added he assuringly, "for he will 
 soon be well." 
 
 "Why did he go to a hospital?" asked Dorothy, 
 much concerned. "I am sure he would have been just 
 as well-off here. I hate to think of any inmate of the 
 home-living place being in a hospital." 
 
 "And yet it was the only thing for him to do." 
 
 "What makes you so sure of that. Bob?" 
 
 "Because he needed a treatment entirely different 
 from any you could give him, Dorothy," replied the 
 
206 The Success of Failure 
 
 doctor, laying his hand gently over one of hers lying 
 in her lap. 
 
 "I would have done my best," said Dorothy, per 
 mitting her hand to rest quietly under his. "Surely, 
 you cannot ask any more." 
 
 "No; nor do I ask that of you, Dorothy. Thomp 
 son s sickness is one which your best could never 
 cure." 
 
 "But yours and mine might," suggested Dorothy 
 gravely. 
 
 "United, yes; but separate and apart, never." 
 
 Dorothy sighed and leaned back wearily against the 
 back of the couch. 
 
 "Do you know, Bob," said she, "sometimes I wish 
 we were united." 
 
 "And at other times you are glad we are not, I 
 suppose." 
 
 "Yes; when I am confronted with conditions into 
 which you would not fit at all, I am glad. Conditions, 
 regrettable perhaps, and yet, nevertheless, impossible 
 to do without." 
 
 "Poor Dorothy," said the doctor sighing, "don t 
 you know that any condition which is deemed regret 
 table should be done without ?" 
 
 "And if it is, another as bad will spring up." 
 
 "Then that, too, should be done without." 
 
 Dorothy did not reply and the doctor continued: 
 
Doctor Ross Keeps His Appointment 207 
 
 "All that offends or makes weak should be up 
 rooted and cast out. The attitude that tolerates one 
 evil for fear a worse may come is a dangerous one, for 
 in its pitiful ignorance it fosters the parent of many 
 succeeding evils." 
 
 "That s all very well," replied Dorothy impatiently. 
 "But who is able to do this? I am not." 
 
 "I am." 
 
 "You, Bob ! then why don t you do it ?" 
 
 "Because my time has not come. When it does, no 
 evil can behold my face and live." 
 
 "How long must we wait?" 
 
 "Until the human family awakens to the realization 
 of its great need of me. But now tell me something 
 of your difficulties," said he, patting her hand en 
 couragingly. 
 
 "It s too bad to bother you with my troubles. Bob," 
 replied Dorothy, raising a pair of tired eyes hesita 
 tingly to his face. 
 
 "I understand, Dorothy," said the doctor sympathet 
 ically. "I know you would not do so if there were 
 any possible way of overcoming them without my 
 assistance." 
 
 "That s just it, Bob," replied Dorothy with a weary 
 sigh. "But my difficulties have grown until they are 
 positively alarming. They are becoming more numer 
 ous every day, and I really don t know where they 
 
208 The Success of Failure 
 
 begin and am afraid to think where they may end. 
 Sometimes I question the advisability of going on, and 
 then, again, I am doubtful of the consequence if I 
 should go back." 
 
 "Poor Dorothy, but what do you think is your 
 greatest difficulty?" 
 
 "I don t know, Bob, but I think it is the dissatis 
 faction that stalks with me at every step," replied 
 Dorothy. "No one is satisfied ; all think they are de 
 serving of more than they receive, and not any but 
 long for more and more of this world s goods." 
 
 "I see, their lives are one continual wish." 
 
 "Yes, and try as I may, I am unable to meet all of 
 their demands." 
 
 "And you wonder why, I suppose?" 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 "And you would like me to tell you, is that it?" 
 
 "Yes, if you can." 
 
 "Because you can only fill part of the requirements 
 of a condition, is one of the reasons, Dorothy. Some 
 one else is needed to fill the other part. Without this 
 someone s aid, the work is only partly done and pro 
 duces an incomplete Service." 
 
 "I must confess, Bob," said Dorothy sadly, "my 
 work, in many respects, is woefully disappointing." 
 
 "It is bound to be so, Dorothy," said the doctor, 
 rising from the couch and l.-e-.Tinninff to walk leisurely 
 
Doctor Ross Keeps His Appointment 209 
 
 up and down the room, "when you prohibit someone, 
 whose right it is, to do his part of the work." 
 
 "Then to do away with all of this dissatisfaction," 
 queried she, "I must marry you." 
 
 "Yes, Dorothy ; it is the only way." 
 
 Dorothy did not reply immediately but sat thought 
 fully silent for several minutes, then she said : 
 
 "I wish I could feel as sure in my mind as you do, 
 Bob, that the only thing needed to perfect my service is 
 this union with you. But, candidly, I must say, I have 
 grave doubts." 
 
 "They will all disappear after we are married," said 
 the doctor, and he stopped in his walk and smiled con 
 fidently down upon her. "And the wonder of it all 
 will be that you ever had any." 
 
 "I wish I could believe so," said Dorothy, with a 
 doubtful shake of her head. 
 
 "I know so," emphatically said the doctor. 
 
 "What, then, will become of my home-living 
 place ?" 
 
 "You never succeeded in establishing such a place, 
 Dorothy," replied the doctor, sitting down beside her. 
 "You hoped to do so, but in reality all you have been 
 able to do is to build a more or less charitable institu 
 tion and, under present conditions, it can never be 
 aught else, for, to establish a home-living place with 
 out me is an impossibility." 
 
2io The Success of Failure 
 
 "Why an impossibility ?" imperatively demanded 
 Dorothy. 
 
 "Because we are so constituted we cannot perform 
 any perfect work independently; we arc absolutely 
 necessary to each other and " 
 
 "It is utterly impossible to render a service complete 
 without you," interrupted Dorothy sharply. 
 
 "That is true," said the doctor quietly. "Why, then, 
 do you hesitate, Dorothy? Don t you w r ant to render 
 a service perfect and complete?" 
 
 "Indeed I do, Bob," she replied, very earnestly. 
 "But," throwing out her hands helplessly, "how can 
 1?" 
 
 "By permitting me to pull half of the load." 
 
 "Yes, but I should have to abandon my road for 
 yours," complained she. 
 
 "You would." 
 
 "However," thoughtfully said she, "I don t believe I 
 should object to that, if I were sure as much could be 
 accomplished along that way." 
 
 "Ah, Dorothy," exclaimed the doctor, "how piti 
 fully ignorant you are of my road! After you have 
 travelled it," laying his hand affectionately upon her 
 shoulder, "you ll ne er forsake it for another. Results 
 unheard of and undreamed of by you are achieved 
 there; life in all its richness and beauty is lived there, 
 and is deemed by all an enjoyable and an ever enduring 
 
Doctor Ross Keeps His Appointment 211 
 
 fact. Humanity, with all of its unpurchasable rights, 
 is found there, and human waste is unknown. Believe 
 me. my dear, if I did not know it to be in every way 
 superior to the one you are travelling, I would not ask 
 you to make the change." 
 
 "How is it, Bob," asked Dorothy, wrinkling her 
 forehead into a puzzled frown, "that you are so 
 cognizant of all the defects of my road while I am un 
 able to appreciate the advantages of yours?" 
 
 "It is because you have so persistently looked in the 
 one direction. For that reason you are unable to see 
 or appreciate any other and, naturally, conclude there 
 is no other." 
 
 "And what will render the seeing of the other pos 
 sible?" 
 
 "Our marriage." 
 
 "Is there no other way?" 
 
 "There is no other way, Dorothy." 
 
 Then, resignedly, "I suppose I shall have to 
 submit." 
 
 "But there is a condition." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "You must grant me implicit obedience." 
 
 "Well, that is something to consider," said Dorothy, 
 thoughtfully raising her eyes to his face. 
 
 "This obedience will not be grievous. I assure you. 
 
212 The Success of Failure 
 
 Dorothy, and in the course of time will be to you a 
 crown of enduring glory. 1 
 
 "What will be the outcome if I continue my present 
 course?" 
 
 "Disquietude, unrest, unhappiness and then utter 
 destruction." 
 
 "And that is my destiny if, I persist in taking my 
 own road?" queried Dorothy, her head bent and her 
 eyes fixed intently upon the rug at her feet. 
 
 "It is." 
 
 "And what after that ?" 
 
 "Out of the chaos will come a greater wisdom than 
 yours, Dorothy a wisdom born from the knowledge 
 gained from the many years spent in the school of 
 Service. She will not scorn nor question the taking of 
 my road, for she will recognize it as being the only 
 way, knowing that all other roadways can lead but to 
 one place the city of desolation and despair. But, 
 surely, this need not be, for I love you, Dorothy. The 
 love with which I would surround you, I know is far 
 beyond your ken or understanding. It is great in its 
 depth, wonderful in its power and unmeasurable in its 
 contents. All that is necessary to make all things pos 
 sible unto you, is to accept it. Why, then, do you 
 hesitate?" * 
 
 "I wouldn t, Bob," wailed she, "if I could only be- 
 
Doctor Ross Keeps His Appointment 213 
 
 lieve it, but I cannot ; and that, to me, is the most hope 
 less thing about it all." 
 
 "Your unbelief?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Have your difficulties taught you nothing, then?" 
 
 Dorothy did not reply, and the doctor continued : 
 
 "True belief is based upon a knowledge of facts ; 
 therefore, I do not ask you to believe but to taste 
 and try. " 
 
 "Yes, but this is a case of buying before tasting and 
 trying/ " replied Dorothy, fretfully. 
 
 "Which makes you rather doubt the advisability of 
 deserting a known condition, although it has proven 
 entirely unsatisfying, for one unknown, even though 
 it promises to prove, in every way, satisfying?" 
 
 "That s it, Bob, it promises to, but I am not sure 
 that it will. Prove to me that it will, and I will marry 
 you without further delay." 
 
 "I cannot, Dorothy," replied the doctor, sadly shak 
 ing his head. "The proof of it is dependent upon our 
 union." 
 
 "Then, I suppose," said she, reluctantly, "I must 
 consent to it," and, rising to her feet, she walked with 
 faltering step over to the window and looked out. 
 
 "If you would be happy, you must," replied the 
 doctor, standing up. "But, I can assure you, you will 
 
2 T4 The Success of Failure 
 
 never regret it," and he stepped quickly over to where 
 she stood. 
 
 "Let us hope so/ said she, looking up at him with a 
 wan smile. 
 
 "What a doubtful Dorothy," said the doctor, smiling 
 gravely down upon her. "Never mind, this life of 
 hoping and doubting will soon be at an end for you," 
 and he stooped over and tenderly kissed her quivering 
 lips. 
 
 "I can t help it, Bob, I ve lived so long in a sea of 
 doubt. But, I want to tell you this, if I must marry, 
 I am rather glad it is you, for I know Margaret will 
 be pleased." 
 
 "I am afraid not," said the doctor, gently placing his 
 arms around her. 
 
 "Because you persist in retaining Hannah Thomp 
 son in your employ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, I can t see how that can be remedied. T con 
 sider Margaret s attitude in that particular instance 
 decidedly unreasonable and unfair." 
 
 "Yes, indeed," agreed the doctor. "However, 
 Dorothy, when you are my wife, you will understand 
 and appreciate very much better than you do now why 
 it is impossible for anything like fairness to exist 
 within her." 
 
Doctor Ross Keeps His Appointment 215 
 
 Oh, I don t know, Bob," said she, "I can hardly 
 believe she is as bad as all that." 
 
 "No? Well, perhaps, after you have imparted your 
 news to her, her attitude toward you may cause you 
 to alter your opinion." 
 
 "Why, I don t understand you, Bob!" exclaimed 
 Dorothy, surprisedly, "for our marriage is the very 
 thing she has been trying so long to bring about." 
 
 "Ah! but that was before she decided to cast me 
 out," said the doctor, smiling enigmatically. 
 
 "I see, and if I marry you she will cast me out ?" 
 
 "Yes ; but don t permit that to cause you any anxiety, 
 for it will end, unfortunately for her, in the oblitera 
 tion of herself." 
 
 "Poor Margaret," said Dorothy, sorrowfully, "I am 
 not willing to believe that such an unhappy fate awaits 
 her." 
 
 "But it does," said the doctor decisively, "and, like 
 wise, to all they who cast me out." 
 
 "Anyway," said Dorothy, sadly, "I shall go over 
 and bid her goodby tomorrow morning." 
 
 "Yes, I should do that," advised the doctor. "But 
 now I must be off. Can you be ready by four o clock 
 tomorrow afternoon, Dorothy?" 
 
 "You mean to be married then?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
216 The Success of Failure 
 
 "I suppose if it has to be, it might as well be then 
 as any other time. Yes, I ll be ready." 
 
 "All right, I ll be here about fifteen minutes before 
 four," said the doctor, and he picked up his coat from 
 the back of a chair and thrust his hands into its 
 sleeves. "It is useless, now, to tell you how happy I 
 shall make you," said he, as he took his hat from the 
 table, "but you will see," and bending over he touched 
 Dorothy s forehead lightly with his lips. 
 
 "It will not be because you do not try, I know that," 
 said she, as she turned and followed him to the door. 
 
 "I shall not only try, but I shall succeed," said he, 
 opening the door and stepping into the hall. "Gooby, 
 Dorothy." 
 
 "Goodby, Bob," said she, and he hurried through 
 the hall and down the stairs, and Dorothy, suddenly 
 feeling weak and old, closed the door and went back 
 to her room to think. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 DOROTHY BIDS DOCTOR AND MRS. GORDON FAREWELL 
 
 THE next morning, in the middle of the forenoon, 
 found Dorothy ascending the brown-stone steps 
 leading to the handsome dwelling belonging to Doctor 
 and Mrs. Gordon. In response to her ring of the bell, 
 the door was opened by a neatly attired maid. 
 
 "Good-morning, Sarah," said Dorothy, "is Mrs. 
 Gordon in? 
 
 "She is. ma am," replied Sarah, her pleasant face 
 lighting up with a smile as she stepped to one side 
 of the doorway to permit Dorothy to enter. Then 
 closing the door, she led the way to a room on one 
 side of the hall, where, at a desk, sat Mrs. Gordon 
 busily engaged in answering the morning s mail. 
 
 "Miss Richardson, ma am," announced Sarah. 
 
 "Well, of all things, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, 
 quickly raising her head, "what brings you over this 
 morning?" Then she called after the maid, whose 
 receding steps could be heard in the hall, "Sarah, Miss 
 Richardson will be here for luncheon." 
 
 "Very well, ma am," answered back Sarah. 
 217 
 
218 The Success of 1< allure 
 
 "Sit over there, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, motion 
 ing with her hand to a rocking-chair a short distance 
 from where she sat, "and I ll soon be through. I ll 
 just finish this letter," tapping with her finger a sheet 
 of paper lying in front of her ; "the others can wait." 
 
 "Yes, don t let me disturb you," said Dorothy, sit 
 ting down. "I can wait till you are through," and she 
 proceeded to remove her hat and coat, laying them on 
 a chair close by. 
 
 "You don t appear to be in as good spirits as usual, 
 Dorothy/ remarked Mrs. Gordon as she resumed her 
 writing 1 . 
 
 "Xo?" replied Dorothy, leaning back in her chair 
 and gazing meditatively at the wall. 
 
 "Well, now," said Mrs. Gordon, after a silence of 
 three or four minutes, "this is finished and I am 
 through for the present/ and laying down her pen 
 she blotted the newly written letter. "The others I ll 
 attend to this afternoon," added she, smiling over at 
 Dorothy as she folded up the letter and inserted it in 
 its addressed envelope and tossed it to the rear of her 
 desk, where it lay quivering- ainonf several others. 
 
 "It s nothing serious, is it. Dorothy, that has brought 
 you over?" asked she, rising from her chair and walk 
 ing leisurely over to where Dorothy sat. 
 
 "That all depends upon what you would consider 
 serious, Margaret," replied Dorothy, lifting her face 
 
Dorothy Bids Farewell 219 
 
 to receive Mrs. Gordon s kiss. "Bob does not think 
 so, but you may. He and I are to be married this after 
 noon at four o clock." 
 
 "What!" almost screamed Mrs. Gordon incredulous 
 ly, stepping back and her face darkening. "That is 
 not possible ?" 
 
 "But it is, Margaret, quite possible," replied Dor 
 othy, smiling feebly. "Sit down, and I will tell you all 
 about it. But, first, tell me why it is impossible? Is 
 not this the very thing you have been urging me to 
 do?" 
 
 "It is," said Mrs. Gordon, frowning perplexedly, 
 "but that was before the Hannah Thompson affair," 
 and she stooped down and removed Dorothy s hat 
 and coat from the chair to the foot of the couch. 
 "Since then, I have considered such a union totally 
 out of the question/ and, pulling the chair forward 
 a little, she sat down. "What induced you to consent 
 to it? Your work, I understood, prohibited all thought 
 of such a thing." 
 
 "Until very recently I believed so, too, Margaret; 
 but now I am reluctantly compelled to conclude that 
 perhaps its well-being and continuance is solely de 
 pendent upon it." 
 
 "What caused you to arrive at such a conclusion ?" 
 
 "My many difficulties," answered Dorothy wearily. 
 "Instead of diminishing, as I believed they would, they 
 
22O The Success of Failure 
 
 have steadily increased. Indeed," helplessly, "they 
 have grown to such proportions, they are, at the pres 
 ent time, beyond my control." 
 
 "And you are foolish enough to believe that this 
 union will enable you to control them," said Mrs. 
 Gordon, surprisedly. 
 
 "I cannot say positively it will, I can only hope so." 
 
 "Something more substantial than hope is neces 
 sary, Dorothy, for the happy consummation of such 
 a marriage." 
 
 "Perhaps so," replied Dorothy dolefully; "yet it is 
 better to begin with that than nothing." 
 
 "Why begin at all ?" asked Mrs. Gordon with a grim 
 smile. 
 
 "Because there does not appear to be any other 
 way." 
 
 "In other words, it is your last chance." 
 
 "You may put it that way, if you like," replied 
 Dorothy, smiling weakly, "but that is just it." 
 
 "Even so," said Mrs. Gordon, impatiently, "I can t 
 see that that is any reason for your marrying. You 
 are not the only one who has lived to see the end of 
 their day without the aid of matrimony." 
 
 "But that s just it," said Dorothy, aroused from 
 her apathy, "I don t want to see the end of my day. 
 I am entering into matrimony for the preservation 
 of it." 
 
Dorothy Bids Farewell 221 
 
 "For the preservation of it," repeated Mrs. Gordon, 
 puzzled. "Do you expect to live always?" 
 
 "I do not know that I expect to," replied Dorothy 
 slowly ; "but I do know there is nothing I so much de 
 sire as to live always." 
 
 "And this contemplated union, you believe, makes 
 that possible?" 
 
 "It offers the prospect and, just now, I ask no 
 more." 
 
 "It will prove too great an assimilation, I am afraid 
 you will find, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, dubiously 
 shaking her head, "and you will have little voice in 
 the many things which govern your life. For your 
 own good, I strongly advise you to reconsider your 
 decision." 
 
 "I have, Margaret. I have considered and recon 
 sidered until I am heart-sick and weary, but I can 
 see no other way. A voice, which will not be stilled, 
 keeps saying in answer to my many questions : This 
 is the way, walk ye in it/ 
 
 "Nonsense," crossly replied Mrs. Gordon. "You 
 are simply weak, that is all, and cannot withstand the 
 greater influence." 
 
 "Don t be cross, Margaret," pleaded Dorothy. "I 
 am sure you would not if you understood the situation 
 better." 
 
 "Perhaps not, but it doesn t make me feel any too 
 
222 The Success of Failure 
 
 good-natured to know I am going to lose you," re 
 plied Mrs. Gordon irritably. 
 
 "Surely, that is not necessary." 
 
 "You forget at four o clock this afternoon you and 
 Bob are to become one," reminded Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 "What difference does that make?" asked Dorothy, 
 her eyes opening wide. 
 
 "All the difference in the world," replied Mrs. 
 Gordon, sadly. "After that, your foes will be his 
 and his yours. It no longer will be I, but we; not 
 mine, but ours." 
 
 "What of that? Surely a reconciliation between you 
 and Bob is not impossible. Why not let this union 
 be the means of bringing it about?" 
 
 "I wish it might, but there is only one condition 
 which could make that possible." 
 
 "The discharging of Hannah Thompson?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But, Margaret, think how cruel and unfair that 
 would be. Bob would not be true to himself if he could 
 do such a thing." 
 
 "Perhaps not, but he would be true to me." 
 
 "And false to himself," replied Dorothy with a faint 
 smile. "I can t imagine Bob ever being that." 
 
 "Which will make him very uncomfortable to live 
 with, I am of the opinion, Dorothy." 
 
 "Poor Margaret," said Dorothy, bending forward 
 
Dorothy Bids Farewell 223 
 
 and laying her hand upon one of Mrs. Gordon s, "you 
 do not understand." 
 
 "Don t I? Well, we ll see. Anyway, I advise you 
 to keep your sympathy for yourself ; you will need it, 
 Dorothy, said Mrs. Gordon, with a smile which. Dor 
 othy thought, made her handsome face for the mo 
 ment positively ugly. "I will endeavor to live without 
 either of you." 
 
 "Am I to conclude, then, that in the casting out of 
 Bob, you also cast me out?" asked Dorothy, her lips 
 trembling. 
 
 "You will soon be one, will you not, Dorothy ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That, then, answers your question," replied Mrs. 
 Gordon, rising and pushing back her chair. "How 
 ever, I should be glad, Dorothy, if you would stay 
 and take luncheon with me; it will be, I am sorry to 
 say, for the last time. Here is Douglas. He will, I 
 know, be interested in your news." 
 
 "Well, well, Dorothy, how-do-you-do ?" said Doctor 
 Gordon, smiling, as he came into the room. "What 
 fortunate circumstance is responsible for your pres 
 ence here this morning?" and he crossed the room 
 quickly and took the hand she extended. "Feeling 
 pretty well?" asked he. as he released her hand. 
 
224 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Nothing to boast of, Douglas," replied she, smil 
 ingly looking up at him as she leaned back in her chair. 
 
 "Sit down, Douglas," commanded Mrs. Gordon. 
 "Dorothy has some interesting news for you." 
 
 "Have you, Dorothy?" inquired the doctor, seating 
 himself in the chair Mrs. Gordon had just vacated. 
 "Something good, I suppose?" 
 
 A faint color came into Dorothy s cheeks and spread 
 over her face, and she began to feel decidedly uncom 
 fortable under the scrutiny of the doctor s kindly 
 blue eyes. 
 
 "Tell him, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, moving 
 slowly toward the door, "and let him decide," her keen 
 eyes noting with no little inward degree of satisfaction 
 Dorothy s increasing discomfiture. "I ll have to ask 
 you to excuse me, however," added she, "while I make 
 a trip to the dining-room to see how far luncheon has 
 progressed in its preparation." 
 
 "What is it, Dorothy?" asked the doctor as Mrs. 
 Gordon stepped through the doorway and descended 
 a long flight of stairs. 
 
 "Something of which I think you will approve," 
 replied she. "Bob and I are to be married at four 
 o clock this afternoon." 
 
 "To be married at four o clock this afternoon !" re- 
 
Dorothy Bids Farewell 225 
 
 peated Doctor Gordon, very much surprised. "Why, 
 Dorothy, I thought your work prohibited you from 
 even contemplating such a thing. How did this change 
 of mind come about ? Surely, you did not permit your 
 self to be over-persuaded?" 
 
 "No, I can t say that I did," replied she, regarding 
 Doctor Gordon with a pair of very grave eyes. "To 
 my mind it is the culmination of many disquieting 
 facts." 
 
 "What do you mean by that, Dorothy?" asked the 
 doctor, looking puzzled. 
 
 "This," replied Dorothy, her voice trembling: "to 
 my sorrow and regret, I have failed to fulfill the pur 
 pose and boast of my life ; that is, to establish a home- 
 living place for the children of men." 
 
 "How is that, Dorothy?" queried the doctor. "I 
 understood you were making it more or less of a 
 success." 
 
 "Your understanding is at fault, I am afraid, Doug 
 las," said Dorothy, with a sad shake of her head, "for 
 it is less of a success, by far, than I hoped it would be." 
 
 "Indeed ! Well, well, I am sorry to hear that, Dor 
 othy," replied the doctor sympathetically. "But don t 
 you think you are a trifle pessimistic, probably owing 
 to your poor state of health? \Vhat you need is a 
 
226 The Success of Failure 
 
 tonic. Get your physician to prescribe one for you. 
 I would gladly do so, as you know; but then, you 
 have never been my patient." 
 
 "I understand, Douglas," said Dorothy, her face 
 pathetic in its seriousness. "However, I don t believe 
 I can attribute the state of affairs to my poor health ; 
 in fact, I am of the opinion that my ill-health is owing 
 to the prevailing miserable conditions. And it is use 
 less for me to ask my physician to prescribe a tonic, 
 for he has done so, and the one he prescribes is him 
 self." 
 
 "And what do you think about it, Dorothy?" 
 
 "I am trying not to think, Douglas, for what is the 
 use when I have resolved to do, trusting that the 
 remedy prescribed will eventually dissipate and oblit 
 erate all the elements now at war?" 
 
 "I see," said Doctor Gordon, laughing, and his blue 
 eyes twinkling; "you have made up your mind to be a 
 good patient and take your medicine, no matter how 
 nasty the taste." 
 
 "I intend to be an obedient patient, Douglas," said 
 Dorothy, trying to smile ; "and I shall not mind the 
 taste of the medicine if it only effects a cure." 
 
 "Which is problematical, of course," said Doctor 
 Gordon. "But," hopefully, "it may be possible, after 
 all." 
 
Dorothy Bids Farewell 227 
 
 "It promises to be, and I must content myself with 
 that for the present," said Dorothy, sighing. 
 
 "Luncheon is ready, Dorothy and Douglas," called 
 Mrs. Gordon from the foot of the stairs. "Come right 
 down." 
 
 "We ll be right down, Margaret," they called back 
 simultaneously, and rising, the doctor preceding, they 
 went downstairs. 
 
 "You may sit in your old place, Dorothy," said Mrs. 
 Gordon when they entered the dining-room. Then, as 
 she sat down at one end of the table and the doctor 
 took his place at the other, she turned to the maid and 
 said: 
 
 "You may be excused for the present. Stay in the 
 kitchen and I will ring if I need you." 
 
 "Very well, ma am," replied Sarah. 
 
 "What do you think of Dorothy s news ?" Mrs. Gor 
 don asked her husband when the maid had gone and 
 the door closed behind her. 
 
 "Under the circumstances, it is quite surprising." 
 
 "Is that all ?" asked Mrs. Gordon, her eyes opening 
 wide in amazement. "It is much more, I can assure 
 you, than that to me." 
 
 "Rather a regrettable surprise, I suppose?" inquired 
 the doctor, removing with a fork a lamb chop from 
 
228 The Success of Failure 
 
 the platter, which he placed upon a plate and passed 
 to Dorothy. 
 
 "Words are inadequate to express just how I feel 
 about it," replied Mrs. Gordon sharply, as she ar 
 ranged the cups and proceeded to pour out the tea. 
 
 Oh," said the doctor soothingly, putting a chop 
 upon another plate and passing it, with the assistance 
 of Dorothy, to his wife, "it may not prove such a 
 terrible thing for Dorothy, after all. You are far too 
 prone, Margaret, to take the gray view of life. You 
 should be more hopeful." 
 
 "Like you?" queried Mrs. Gordon sneeringly. 
 "Sometimes, Douglas, do you know, I believe that 
 optimistic view of life which you are so fond of taking 
 and which you so readily recommend to your wife, 
 your friends and patients, will, some day, be the death 
 of you. Everything, no matter how serious it may 
 appear, to your mind is all right, or, at any rate, will 
 eventually be so, if people would only train their minds 
 to believe it. It is, no doubt, very pleasant to mentally 
 close the eyes to the unpleasantnesses of the real and 
 existing, and open them to view the delightful phan 
 tasies of the unreal and non-existent. But it is not 
 safe. It is not possible to glide through life in any 
 such easy-going fashion without, sooner or later, meet- 
 
Dorothy Bids Farewell 229 
 
 ing the consequences. This marital arrangement of 
 Dorothy s I consider positively disastrous to her, to 
 you and to me." 
 
 That sounds rather bad, doesn t it, Dorothy?" said 
 Doctor Gordon, smiling over at her. "But the sound, 
 I feel sure, will prove worse than the cause." 
 
 Dorothy forced a smile as she said : 
 
 "Should this union result unfortunately for me, I 
 hope, with all my heart, its consequences may not touch 
 either of you. I must admit I am not entering it as 
 willingly as I wish I were ; it is because I must, I can 
 see no other way. You, Margaret, I know, would 
 have me continue my struggle with the ever-accumu 
 lating and insurmountable obstacles rather than risk 
 a change which might prove, as you say, disastrous in 
 its results. Douglas, you are more hopeful, and you 
 must forgive me for saying what I am going to say, 
 but it is because you are less interested. Your dream 
 ing faith satisfies you, and you are slow to be aroused. 
 To you everything is all right when really it is all 
 wrong. Delightful companion to many upon the road 
 of life though you are, you are not a safe one to 
 follow. The crier who cries out, All is well, knowing 
 not himself that all is ill, is not the one to heed. When 
 I consented, at last, to Bob s earnest and persistent 
 
230 The Success of Failure 
 
 pleading that I should marry him, I firmly believed 
 that it would bring about a reconciliation between you, 
 Margaret, and him ; and you, Douglas, could enjoy 
 again the companionship of your old friend. In this, I 
 am pained to learn, I was mistaken. That I love you 
 both, I think you know, and to break a friendship of 
 so many, many years, I feel you cannot fail to appreci 
 ate, is costing me dear." 
 
 As Dorothy finished speaking, her voice broke and 
 she felt in her bag for her handkerchief, and, pushing 
 back her plate from which she had made a pretense 
 at eating, she leaned back in her chair and wiped the 
 tears from her streaming eyes. 
 
 "Don t cry, Dorothy," said the doctor; "everything, 
 no doubt, will come out much better than we an 
 ticipate." 
 
 "Let her alone, Douglas," commanded Mrs. Gordon. 
 "A good cry will do her good," and the doctor 
 subsided. 
 
 In a few minutes Dorothy s sobs ceased, and she 
 wiped the last trace of her tears away. 
 
 "I didn t mean to do this," she said, making a pitiful 
 attempt to smile. 
 
 "Don t apologize, Dorothy; I feel very much the 
 same way, myself," said Mrs. Gordon huskily. "How- 
 
Dorothy Bids Fareivell 231 
 
 ever, what must be, must be, I suppose, and we must 
 make up our minds to bear it." 
 
 "Is a reconciliation between you and Bob so im 
 possible, then?" wistfully asked Dorothy. 
 
 "Under present conditions, Dorothy, I regret to say 
 it is quite impossible," decidedly replied Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 "Why under the present conditions, Margaret?" 
 asked her husband, mystified. 
 
 "Because a reconciliation under the present condi 
 tions would mean the ultimate doom of my supremacy ; 
 it would mean the acknowledgment of a greater force 
 than mine and a willingness to submit to its domina 
 tion/ explained Mrs. Gordon. 
 
 "And this you cannot do because you recognize no 
 such force ?" queried her husband. 
 
 "That is just it, exactly," replied his wife, pushing 
 her cup and saucer back and rising from the table. 
 
 "Bob, I am sure, would not insist upon that," said 
 Dorothy, as she, too, rose from the table. 
 
 "Not in words, perhaps," said Mrs. Gordon, ringing 
 the bell for the maid and then leading the way upstairs, 
 "but in deeds, yes." 
 
 "I think you are mistaken, Margaret," said her hus 
 band from the rear. "Indeed. I am sure you are ; for 
 my experience with Bob has proven to me that he is 
 
232 The Success of Failure 
 
 a mighty fine fellow. I don t claim to understand him, 
 altogether, but " 
 
 "No, nor no one else," tartly interrupted Mrs. Gor 
 don. "There might be some living with him if one 
 could." 
 
 "Come now, you are rather hard upon the poor 
 fellow," said her husband, laughing. 
 
 "Not a bit more so than he is on me," said Mrs. 
 Gordon as she reached the top step and led the way 
 to the room where they had been previously sitting. 
 "How many times has he intimated that it would be 
 agreeable to him if I would mind my own business ; 
 that my interference was not desired, and he would 
 be grateful to me if I would wait until it was so 
 licited !" 
 
 "Poor Bob," mused Dorothy, taking up her hat and 
 putting it on ; "I am beginning to believe our failure 
 to appreciate him is due to our lack of understanding." 
 
 "He will not be slow to improve yours, Dorothy, 
 never fear," replied Mrs. Gordon sarcastically, as her 
 husband picked up Dorothy s coat from the couch and 
 he]d it open for her to put her arms into its sleeves. 
 "You may rest assured he will see to it that you have 
 every opportunity to duly appreciate him. I must say 
 T do not envy you the experience." 
 
 "Come now, Margaret," interposed the doctor, shak 
 ing his head rebukingly at her, "the experience mav 
 
Dorothy Bids Farewell 233 
 
 not prove so altogether unpleasant as you think. We ll 
 hope not, anyway," added he encouragingly. 
 
 "Thank you, Douglas," said Dorothy, buttoning up 
 her coat. 
 
 "I suppose you think I am very hard, Dorothy," said 
 Mrs. Gordon, placing a hand upon each of Dorothy s 
 shoulders and looking down into her face with swim 
 ming eyes. "If I appear so, it is only because I feel I 
 must; for in this union about to take place I recog 
 nize, in a way you and Douglas cannot, its awful signifi 
 cance. It is not easy, believe me, my dear, to bid good- 
 by to an old friend and stand quietly by and watch 
 her pass out of your life, knowing that her identity 
 will soon be submerged into that of another, whose 
 only desire and purpose is to make her unrecognizable 
 even to herself. Conditions, I know, must indeed 
 have been alarming to have made you contemplate 
 such a step; but do you think it possible that a mar 
 riage brought about by the pressure of circumstances 
 can result happily ? Would it not be wiser to struggle 
 and fight with known conditions than to permit them 
 to force you into a life of which you know nothing, 
 and into which you admit you are about to enter un 
 willingly ? Is it wise to exchange a known present 
 for a strange and untried future? You have some 
 little time between now and four o clock, and in that 
 time I strongly advise you to stop and think well and 
 
234 I > lc Success of Failure 
 
 long before definitely deciding to take this terribly im 
 portant and non-retreating step." 
 
 "It is useless to tell me to think, Margaret," said 
 Dorothy, with a hoarse laugh, "for, if thinking alone 
 were necessary, I should not be here now about to bid 
 you goodby. I have thought and thought until my 
 brain reels with thought, but without a satisfactory 
 result. Now, come what may," emphatically, "I am 
 going to act." 
 
 "Very well, Dorothy," replied Mrs. Gordon, remov 
 ing her hands and stepping back a little; "I shall not 
 attempt to dissuade you further." 
 
 "Then I shall bid you goodby, Margaret," said Dor 
 othy, holding out her hand and lifting her face to be 
 kissed; "and, in spite of what you have said, I shall 
 look forward to a meeting and a greeting between us, 
 some day." 
 
 "Goodby, Dorothy," said Mrs. Gordon, stooping 
 down and kissing her ; "you little guess how lonely I 
 am going to be without you," and a tear dropped upon 
 Dorothy s forehead. 
 
 "Goodby, Douglas," said Dorothy, turning to place 
 her hand in the doctor s outstretched palm ; "bright and 
 happy friend that you are, I shall miss you sadly." 
 
 "I don t think you will, Dorothy," said Doctor Gor 
 don, doubtfully. "Although I am regarded by many as 
 being the greater physician, I know I am not. I am 
 
Dorothy Bids Farewell 235 
 
 but the shadow of the infinitely greater physician, and 
 he it is with whom your life is to be united today. 
 Goodby, Dorothy, it has been pleasant to know you, 
 but you will soon cease to think or speak of me, for 
 you will have found in your husband one greater 
 than I." 
 
 And thus Dorothy bade farewell to Convention and 
 to Optimism. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE MARRIAGE 
 
 " DON T believe you were ever late in keeping an 
 JL appointment, were you, Bob?" asked Dorothy as 
 Doctor Ross helped her into the automobile and she 
 sat down in a seat to the right of the open door. 
 
 "No; I have always taken particular care to keep 
 my engagements promptly," replied the doctor, step 
 ping in behind her, "and," sitting down and pulling 
 the door shut, "it would indeed be surprising, would 
 it not, if I failed to put in an appearance at the ap 
 pointed time upon my wedding-day?" 
 
 Dorothy smiled and nodded in response. 
 
 "You may proceed, John," said Doctor Ross to the 
 motionless figure sitting in front. 
 
 "Very well, sir," replied John, and the car began to 
 make its way slowly up the street. 
 
 "Well, Dorothy," queried the doctor, taking posses 
 sion of her small hands and holding them tightly, 
 "does our prospective marriage still frighten you?" 
 
 "I can t say that it does ; but to tell you the truth, 
 236 
 
The Marriage 237 
 
 Bob, my condition is such that I have neither the power 
 to dread nor fear anything. All my faculties are be 
 numbed and I feel as though I were partly asleep." 
 
 "Poor little girl," tenderly said the doctor, releasing 
 her hands and putting his arm gently around her and 
 drawing her close to his side, "you have had a pretty 
 hard time." 
 
 "Yes, indeed I have; and even you, Bob, I don t 
 believe know how very hard it all has been." 
 
 "Don t you believe that, Dorothy, for, I assure you, I 
 fully appreciated your position. But bid it goodby and 
 leave it with the many other things of yesterday, for 
 today you enter into a new kingdom, a kingdom in 
 corruptible and without decay." 
 
 "I have often planned and dreamed of such a king 
 dom," replied Dorothy sadly, "but try as I would I 
 was never able to realize it." 
 
 "You could not without me, dearest," replied Doctor 
 Ross, pressing her to him. 
 
 "It seems not," replied Dorothy, making a feeble ef 
 fort to withdraw from his embrace. "But tell me 
 something of this kingdom into which I am about to 
 enter." 
 
 "It is a kingdom, Dorothy," replied Doctor Ross, 
 with one of his rare smiles which lit up his usually grave 
 
238 The Success of Failure 
 
 face and made it for the moment astonishingly beauti 
 ful, "where, as in the world you are leaving, men reap 
 what they sow; the only difference being, however, 
 that in the one to which we are travelling no tares are 
 sown and, therefore, the reaping is a pleasant task; 
 and, although his labors are many, the voice of man is 
 never heard raised, pleading weariness, hunger, cold 
 or nakedness, for here man finds his rest, his suste 
 nance, his warmth and raiment in his work. Here man. 
 without the thought of what evil his brother-man may 
 do unto him, enters into the morning of life. Fearless 
 he runs, undaunted by the fear of a possible failure 
 coming to him on the morrow ; for, for him, no such 
 word exists. Failures do not grow here; man fulfills 
 the purpose of his creation and succeeds. Here " 
 
 "What a wonderful kingdom it must be !" interrupted 
 Dorothy musingly. "I wish I were not so skeptical." 
 
 "Until you are torn up root and branch, you will 
 continue to be so, Dorothy," replied the doctor, ten 
 derly smiling down into her tired and care-worn face. 
 "However, don t despair, for your tree is soon to be 
 planted in a decidedly different soil, the elements of 
 which are so sadly needed for its perfect growth." 
 
 Dorothy sighed, shook her head and sadly smiled. 
 
 "I trust it will not suffer from the transplanting," 
 she said. 
 
The Marriage 239 
 
 "Don t let that cause you any uneasiness, Dorothy ; 
 there is no fear of that. So beautiful will it become, 
 you will be unable to recognize in it the gnarled and 
 scarred trunk, with its stooped, over-burdened and 
 yellow-leafed laden branches, of your old tree. Proud 
 ly erect will it stand, flaunting its stout branches de 
 fiantly to every wind that blows, be they ever so 
 destructive-seeking in their tempestuousness. And 
 how you will love this tree. Dorothy, for it will reflect 
 your strength as the one now reflects your weakness. 
 It will proclaim to all the world in the song of the 
 leaves, as they sway back and forth upon their branches, 
 man s conquest of self, as the one now proclaims him 
 her devotee. Its growth will mean the perfection of 
 man, rendering all his works acceptable and worthy of 
 their creation. 
 
 You are foretelling a strange future, Bob," said 
 Dorothy, gazing dreamily ahead, "and one so amaz 
 ingly different from all that I have ever known, that 
 I can hardly believe its existence possible. Neverthe 
 less, I hope it comes true. Anyway." resignedly, "it 
 is too late, if it were of any use, to look back." 
 
 "That is true. But in a very little while I shall have 
 taken vour future and made it mine, and I shall then 
 be responsible for its fulfillment. Trust me, Dorothy," 
 
240 The Success of Failure 
 
 he pleaded, "for the joys of the morrow and for the 
 replacing of your yesterday with a greater today." 
 
 "There is nothing left for me to do, now, but to trust 
 you, is there, Bob?" asked Dorothy plaintively. 
 
 "There has never been anything else you could 
 safely do but to trust me, Dorothy. The fact that you 
 did not do so long ago, showed a lack of wisdom which 
 you proudly boasted you possessed." 
 
 "Well, I boast of nothing, now," replied Dorothy 
 listlessly. "But don t talk about that any more; tell 
 me something more of this wonderful kingdom which 
 is yours and is soon to be mine." 
 
 "There is so much to tell and so little you are able 
 to understand, now, Dorothy. I might tell you many 
 things, but what would be the use? You would fail 
 utterly to appreciate their beauty or significance. They 
 are the things of tomorrow, while you, you must re 
 member, are still a part of today." 
 
 Dorothy moved restlessly in her seat. 
 
 "Have we much farther to go before we arrive at 
 our destination?" asked she. 
 
 "Not so very far ; we are very nearly there. Anxious 
 to have it over with ?" the doctor asked teasingly. 
 
 "Well, I shall not be sorry when it is," replied Dor 
 othy, vainly endeavoring to control the trembling of 
 her lips. 
 
The Marriage 241 
 
 "Nor shall I," replied he. "However, it isn t going 
 to be half as bad as you think," and he patted her hand 
 reassuringly. 
 
 At that instant the car stopped at the entrance of a 
 very narrow road. It was sufficiently wide to permit 
 the tread of the human foot, but forbade all other con 
 veyances. Here John got down from his seat and 
 opened the door. 
 
 "We get out here, Dorothy," said the doctor, rising 
 to his feet and stepping to the sidewalk. 
 
 "Do we?" queried she, getting to her feet and look 
 ing curiously around. "But I don t see any churches," 
 added she as she placed her hand in the doctor s and 
 stepped out, and she glanced anxiously up and down 
 on both sides of the avenue. 
 
 "They are not necessary to our union," said the 
 doctor, taking her arm and directing her steps toward 
 the narrow entrance. "We will find our temple at the 
 end of this road." 
 
 As they stood and viewed the road from the en 
 trance, it seemed to Dorothy that it extended in a 
 straight line a great, great distance, but in reality 
 it proved to be a very, very short road. At the end 
 of it, entirely covering the ground and concealing all 
 that lay beyond, stood a huge temple. Indescribably 
 
242 The Success of Failure 
 
 beautiful was this monument of unsurpassed archi 
 tecture, defying in its structure and being all imita 
 tion ; nor was it possible for any alien school to admit 
 of its reproduction. Through its large doors passed in 
 and out a great multitude of men, women and children. 
 With appalling indifference to the marvelous beauty 
 of this magnificent edifice they came and went. Some, 
 in their hurry, gave it barely a glance as they stepped 
 in and stepped out. Others, moving more leisurely, 
 paused for a moment or so to gaze upon it with more 
 or less idle curiosity, while others, lazily loitering 
 about, amused themselves with a show of seeming in 
 terest; but they, too, finally, wearied of what to them 
 were its many bewildering intricacies, passed on. 
 
 Awed by its gigantic proportions, Dorothy withdrew 
 her arm from the doctor s and, stopping abruptly in 
 the road, surveyed it with evident uneasiness. Its 
 form was familiar and, in a vague way, it seemed to 
 her to strangely resemble the representation of existing 
 humanity. 
 
 "What an extraordinary building, Bob!" she ex 
 claimed, stepping to one side a little and regarding it 
 somewhat fearfully. 
 
 "Do you think so, Dorothy ?" 
 
 "Indeed I do! Don t you?" 
 
The Marriage 243 
 
 I can t say that I do," replied the doctor, smiling. 
 "But then, that may be because it has always been my 
 place of worship. You see, I know no other temple 
 but this." 
 
 "And yet you have never brought me here before ?" 
 
 It was not my fault; you know I could not prevail 
 upon you to come, Dorothy." 
 
 "You never asked me." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I have." 
 
 "I don t remember." 
 
 "But I have. Not only have I asked you, but I have 
 pleaded with you to worship with me in my temple. 
 You preferred your own, your temples of brick and 
 stone, and you found that these, too, had their limi 
 tations." 
 
 "And has not this, also, its limitations?" 
 
 "When united to me, no," replied the doctor, his face 
 shining. "As it is impossible to render a perfect 
 service without me, so also it is impossible to truly 
 worship in this temple without me. To worship with 
 me. here, Dorothv. we must be united ; old things must 
 pass away and all things become new. But come, they 
 are waiting," and the doctor once more placed his arm 
 within Dorothy s. 
 
 "Who are waiting?" asked Dorothy, reluctantly per- 
 
244 The Success of Failure 
 
 mining him to lead her toward the entrance of the 
 temple. 
 
 "The forces which are to make us one," replied the 
 doctor, releasing her arm and pushing open the doors 
 to permit them to enter. 
 
 Side by side, up the long aisle they went until they 
 reached the chancel-rail, where they stopped and stood 
 perfectly still, listening to the murmuring of the many 
 riotous voices that filled the air about them. Then a 
 voice which silenced all the others filled the mighty 
 temple. It was like the roar of the raging sea and of 
 the driving wind. Loudly it thundered forth its com 
 mands, and Dorothy listened and trembled; with au 
 thority it made its mandates known, and, as peal after 
 peal rang out, her courage and strength deserted her. 
 Turning, she put out two unsteady hands and clung, 
 weak and drooping, to Doctor Ross and hid her face 
 upon his breast. Thus she stood, repeating feebly, 
 after that awful voice, the words which were to make 
 them one. 
 
 At last it was all over and silence once more reigned 
 within the temple. With a sigh of relief, Dorothy 
 made a weak attempt to lift her head ; bat in vain, for 
 with a shuddering 1 groan, which shook her from head 
 to foot, she slipped a lifeless heap to the floor. 
 
 Although dead to all that was without, Dorothy was 
 keenly alive to the growing disturbances that were 
 
The Marriage 245 
 
 within. A war, over which she had no control, was 
 being waged; the members of her body were arrayed 
 against each other. It was a strife between the new 
 and the old, between youth and old age. And what a 
 strife ! How they struggled for supremacy ! The old, 
 in their determination not to make way for the new, 
 battled fiercely with their adversaries. Not willingly 
 would they surrender her to their opponents. In fact, 
 they stubbornly decreed there should be no surrender ; 
 they would retain what they had or die in the losing. 
 The new, no less unyielding, fought their foes valiant 
 ly, holding determinedly every bit of ground gained. 
 On and on they pressed, forcing back, step by step, 
 the old, who, in spite of age and worn-out and much- 
 used weapons, fought bravely. They were, however, 
 no match for the new, and their boasted strength was 
 a weak thing when directed against that of the enemy ; 
 and their implements of war were as the toys of chil 
 dren when used in combat with the up-to-date ones 
 of the new. Bravely they tried to hold their ground, 
 but in vain. Back and back they are pressed until 
 there is no longer any standing room. Vanquished 
 at last are they, and prisoners of war must they be 
 come. The new are now in possession of the field and, 
 after due deliberation, sentence the old to confinement 
 
246 The Success of Failure 
 
 in the historical structures of the past, their liberation 
 being wholly dependent upon the instruction they may 
 afford to coming humanity. 
 
 That her life was dependent upon the change 
 through which she was going, Dorothy was vaguely 
 conscious ; and when she opened her eyes it was with 
 the realization that she had been born anew, and her 
 spirit rejoiced at the newness and fitness of things. 
 And the face that was bending over her in tender 
 solicitude was no longer the face of a stranger, for 
 she recognized it as belonging to that of an old but 
 untried friend. It was the face of the Great Father 
 of Service. As she gazed into that all-inspiring face, 
 fully alive at last to its wonderful beauty, she knew 
 and the knowledge filled her with unutterable gladness 
 that the veil that had obscured it from her vision 
 for ages was rent in twain forever. Her whole being 
 rang with the song that had been shut up in her heart 
 for untold years Such a joyous song it was, divinely 
 composed, so sweet and tender, and yet withal so 
 strong. 
 
 "Come, my child," said the melodious voice of the 
 Father of Service, smiling and extending his hand to 
 assist her to arise, "for your husband stands without, 
 patiently awaiting the coming of his bride." 
 
 Without a word, Dorothy laid her hand in his and 
 
The Marriage 247 
 
 obediently arose and accompanied him to the door of 
 the temple. At the threshold stood her husband, who, 
 at their approach, smiled and extended his hands. 
 
 "Love," said the Father of Service, addressing Doc 
 tor Ross, "I give into your keeping my child, Service." 
 and taking the hands of Dorothy he placed them in 
 the outstretched hands of her husband. "She will be 
 to you a faithful, true and obedient wife, will you not. 
 my daughter?" 
 
 "I will," earnestly replied Dorothy. 
 
 "And you, Love," continued the Father of Service, 
 enfolding them both in his gigantic arms, "will be unto 
 her a husband indeed. To no other could I so safely, 
 so utterly and so happily confide her, for in you only is 
 her abiding place. No longer will she be storm-tossed 
 and tempest-driven, for you will be to her a pilot of 
 ways, a leader of the paths wherein to dwell. As a 
 wedding-gift, I present you with my mantle," and, re 
 moving his arms, he took from his shoulders a mantle 
 of azure blue, trimmed with a soft, transparent ma 
 terial of pure white. This he placed about them. 
 
 "This mantle is indestructible and will last to the end 
 of time," he said. "Now go forth into the world and 
 give unto it the fruit of your perfect union, that man 
 kind mav eat and live." 
 
248 The Success of Failure 
 
 Then Love and Service, with arms entwined, passed 
 on and out into the world to fulfill their great mission. 
 There will be no more stumbling for Service, for Love 
 will ever be a light unto her feet. No longer will she 
 prohibit Love from taking his place in the affairs of 
 men, for now she recognizes her great need of him. 
 There will be no more shadowy daylight, but a perfect 
 day ; no more hoping to end in idle dreaming, no seem 
 ing without a meaning, but a love of life and a perfect 
 being. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 HANNAH LEARNS OF THE DOCTOR S MARRIAGE 
 
 WHEN Hannah arrived at the office the morning 
 following the day when Dorothy and Doctor 
 Ross (as we shall continue to call them) became one, 
 she found the doctor already there, busily engaged in 
 the perusal of the morning s mail. 
 
 "Good-morning," said he, glancing smilingly up as 
 she entered. 
 
 "Good-morning, doctor," replied she, hurriedly un 
 buttoning her coat as she, with quickened step, crossed 
 the room and opened the door leading into her office. 
 In a few moments she came out ready for work. 
 
 "Is the mail unusually large this morning, doctor?" 
 she asked, 
 
 "No; but I expect it will be from now on," he re 
 plied, looking up and bringing to view a face wholly 
 transfigured. With her eyes fixed upon it, Hannah 
 gazed with wondering awe and mute amazement. In 
 outline the face was the same, and yet, in some un- 
 explainable way, it was totally different in other re- 
 
 249 
 
250 The Success of Failure 
 
 spects. There was the same nobility of expression, 
 but the eyes had lost their look of sorrowful rebuke, 
 and in their depths there glowed an unfathomable and 
 unspeakable joy. The hitherto drawn and troubled 
 brow was smooth and serene, and the smile that played 
 about the lips was no longer sweetly grave and patheti 
 cally sad, but was tenderly happy and wonderfully 
 glad. The skin, too, had changed and become healthy- 
 hued. Truly, it was the face of a bride-groom rejoic 
 ing in the possession of his bride. 
 
 "Well, are you satisfied?" asked he, as Hannah con 
 tinued to look speechlessly into his face. "Are you 
 pleased with the improvement?" 
 
 "I can t say, yet," replied she, without removing 
 her eyes. "You see, I was not, in any way, prepared 
 for the change. May I ask what produced it?" 
 
 "Certainly. I was married yesterday." 
 
 "Married !" exclaimed Hannah incredulously. "You 
 are joking. I can t believe it." 
 
 "Am I so impossible as all that?" 
 
 "Nb, it is not that. I do not believe there is a woman 
 worthy of you." 
 
 "And yet no woman is truly worthy without me," 
 said he, smiling. 
 
 "No?" queried she, wrinkling her forehead per 
 plexedly. "I am afraid I don t quite understand you." 
 
Hannah Learns of the Doctor s Marriage 251 
 
 "That is because, in spite of our pleasant acquaint 
 anceship, you have made no real effort to know me." 
 
 "I can t think that that is my fault," she replied 
 thoughtfully. "Your altogether loveliness of char 
 acter I cannot fail to admire, but," sadly shaking her 
 head, "I despair of ever understanding it." 
 
 "And yet my admirable qualities are not something 
 which you may not possess. They really belong to 
 you and are the rightful inheritance of every member 
 of the human family." 
 
 "I don t know about that," replied Hannah, doubt 
 fully shaking her head ; "for, if that is so, why is hu 
 manity so slow in claiming its inheritance?" 
 
 "Because of its self-satisfied ignorance, and it suf 
 fers therefor a painful consequence." 
 
 "It apparently is not cognizant of its cause," replied 
 Hannah, sitting down upon a chair near the desk. 
 
 "And for that reason suffers the suffering." 
 
 "And is it not through striving and suffering that 
 man hopes to attain perfection?" asked Hannah won 
 der ingly. 
 
 "It is ; but that is only because his blindness prohibits 
 him from seeing any other way." 
 
 "Then, surely, he is not to blame if he is unable to 
 see any other way," protested Hannah. 
 
252 The Success of Failure 
 
 "He would not be, if his blindness were not of his 
 own seeking." 
 
 "You mean he could see if he would, but he won t?" 
 
 "That is just it. He obstinately shuts his eyes, and 
 it is only the way of the suffering that will make him 
 open them. It is only by traveling this way that he 
 can be induced to look for another and better way." 
 
 "Then it is the obstinacy of man which has made the 
 way of suffering possible?" 
 
 "Yes ; he prefers to travel the way of the blind, and 
 will not, willingly, see any other. Questioningly, falter- 
 ingly and with uncertain step he travels along, un 
 mindful of the light flooding the roadway close by 
 him. On, and on, with hands outstretched feeling his 
 way, he goes, stumbling oft and receiving many a need 
 less bruise and fall. To avoid the many prostrate 
 forms lying in his path, his steps are necessarily in 
 creased and he makes but little headway. Indeed," 
 said the doctor, mournfully shaking his head, "his 
 progress is a slow and painful one." 
 
 "Indeed it is," assented Hannah, sighing. "Why, oh 
 why, is it necessary for man to learn only through 
 painful experiences?" questioned she, adding, "and 
 these, even, do not always avail." 
 
 "That is true; they do not. For, in spite of mis 
 takes and unfortunate happenings, he, stubbornly dis- 
 
Hannah Learns of the Doctor s Marriage 253 
 
 regarding the cause, continues to blindly struggle on 
 along the old pathway, unwilling to open his eyes to 
 the light of day which shines over him, in him and 
 around him; and, at last, unable to stagger longer 
 under the burdens of life which he has piled, bit by 
 bit, upon his shoulders, he becomes one more prostrate 
 form to fill the roadway, and, muttering unintelligible 
 somethings about a Divine Providence, he lies there, 
 not knowing that he is a victim of his own blindness." 
 
 "You are awfully hard upon poor man, doctor," 
 said Hannah, smiling sadly and shaking her head 
 dolefully. 
 
 "No, indeed," denied the doctor. "I am simply 
 stating a fact." 
 
 "Is there no way to relieve man of this terrible 
 blindness you have described ?" asked Hannah. 
 
 "There is but one." 
 
 "And what is that?" 
 
 "Love." 
 
 "Love !" exclaimed Hannah. "Why, there is nothing 
 in the world so blind as Love f" 
 
 "Such an understanding of Love is but a proof of 
 man s blindness," said the doctor, rising from his 
 chair and beginning to walk up and down the room. 
 "There is naught so great a stranger to man than 
 Love." 
 
254 The Success of Failure 
 
 "What is this, then, that humanity calls Love?" 
 
 "An exalted self or one of the emotions of the in 
 stinctive animal. In other words, it is a very poor 
 counterfeit of what Love really is." 
 
 "It is not always reliable, that is true," agreed Han 
 nah. "It passes so often away with youth, and leaves 
 to loneliness the remaining years." 
 
 "Ah, no ! not Love," said the doctor, throwing out his 
 hands protestingly. "Love is enduring, faithful and 
 unchanging. No fickle or ephemeral thing is he, here 
 today and gone tomorrow, but his presence is ever as 
 sured and certain, and is as necessary to man s exist 
 ence as the light from the sun or the air he breathes." 
 
 "If this be true," asked Hannah, perplexed, "how 
 is it possible that man remains so ignorant of his 
 presence ?" 
 
 "Does the knowledge that the sun shines in the 
 heavens render the pathway of the blind any clearer?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What benefit, then, is the slumbering fact that Love 
 is ready and willing to lead humanity in the way of 
 all-understanding, if it shuts its eyes and will not see ?" 
 
 "But what of the consequences ? Surely, if man can 
 not see, he must lose his way." 
 
 "That is true ; he loses the way and becomes a wan- 
 
Hannah Learns of the Doctor s Marriage 255 
 
 derer Hpon the earth ; an alien not only to his brethren, 
 but also to himself." 
 
 "An alien to himself?" repeated Hannah, puzzled. 
 "What do you mean by that ?" 
 
 "Because he knows not himself and, therefore, can 
 not know another." 
 
 " Am I, then, a stranger to my child?" 
 
 "You are, if you know not yourself. No matter how 
 close the human relationship, without the undimming 
 light of Love, there can be no real knowledge of one s 
 self or another. The eyes must be opened." 
 
 "Whether my eyes are opened or not, I do not know ; 
 but I do know I love my child," declared Hannah 
 stoutly. 
 
 "Why do you love him?" 
 
 "Because he is mine." 
 
 "And for no other reason ?" 
 
 "Is there any other greater reason that I can give 
 you? He is all I have, my baby, my little, blind boy!" 
 
 "Not any that you are capable of understanding at 
 present, at any rate. However, there is a greater 
 reason, which you will learn as the years go by." 
 
 "I am very well satisfied with the one I have given 
 you." 
 
 "That is because your eyes are not opened." 
 
256 The Success of Failure 
 
 "And I don t know as I want them opened, if the 
 opening is to bring a knowledge which will make of 
 my mother-love a little thing." 
 
 "But it will not do that. Instead, you will com 
 prehend and appreciate in its fulness what a wonder 
 fully great thing it is, this mother-love." 
 
 "I can t see how that can possibly be, for just now 
 it is great and big enough to warm and brighten every 
 cold and dark corner of my life." 
 
 "Ah ! but then, it will not only warm and brighten 
 the dark corners of life, it will banish them." 
 
 "You re a dreamer," replied Hannah, smiling. 
 
 "And my dreams will come true," and the words 
 rang clear and true, defying contradiction. 
 
 "What makes you think so ? " 
 
 "Because I know." 
 
 "How do you know ?" 
 
 "You would not understand if I should tell you; 
 therefore, I can only say, I do." 
 
 "And how is all this to come about?" 
 
 "Through my marriage." 
 
 "Through your marriage!" repeated Hannah in 
 credulously. "What has that got to do with it?" 
 
 "Everything." 
 
 "I don t understand. Won t you explain? " 
 
Hannah Learns of the Doctor s Marriage 257 
 
 The doctor stopped in his walk and again took his 
 seat at his desk. He regarded Hannah with a quizzi 
 cal smile for several seconds, and then he said : 
 
 "The union, which took place between the lady and 
 myself yesterday, will bring about a happy change in 
 the affairs of men. Unfortunately, up to this time, 
 they have been more or less unhappy and disappoint 
 ing, owing to their many complications and to the fact 
 that their direction was the sole and uninterrupted 
 concern of my wife, who, although willing, was totally 
 unable to cope with their growing intricacies. For a 
 long, long time she was slow to realize her limitations 
 and believed unquestioningly in her ability to bring 
 everything out right and all things would eventually 
 adjust themselves to the needs of man. This erroneous 
 understanding and false view of the situation at last 
 slowly dawned upon her, and she perceived, to her 
 dismay and astonishment, her multiplying difficulties. 
 Even so, she proudly disdained all proffers of assist 
 ance, determining to overcome them alone ; but, in 
 spite of her perseverance and hard work, she found, 
 instead of diminishing, they increased, and the home- 
 living place which she hopes to establish was not a 
 success. It " 
 
 "Oh, I wonder why I did not think of her !" ex- 
 
258 The Success of Failure 
 
 claimed Hannah excitedly. "So it is Miss Dorothy 
 Richardson whom you have chosen for your wife?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the doctor, with one of his altogether 
 beautiful smiles ; "Miss Dorothy Richardson and I 
 are one." 
 
 "Well, you are to be congratulated. She is such an 
 excellent woman, and you well, I can t tell you what 
 I think of you." 
 
 "You will not object, then, to remain in our service?" 
 "No, indeed, I shall be very glad to do so." 
 "Then that is arranged," said he, rising. "You may 
 begin your correspondence; the letters are all marked 
 for reply." 
 
 "Very well, doctor," replied Hannah, standing up ; 
 and, picking up the neat pile of letters, she walked 
 back to her office. The click of the latch and the 
 closing of the door leading into the hall told her the 
 doctor had gone ; and, standing by her desk, she tried 
 to compose her mind for the work that was before her. 
 But this she found very difficult, for the marriage 
 of the doctor, although decidedly fortunate, was so 
 surprising. She had, in some way, believed he would 
 never marry. She was glad, however, for one thing 
 it would mean no change in her life. She was to re 
 main. 
 
Hannah Learns of the Doctor s Marriage 259 
 
 Before sitting down to her work, she took from a 
 pocket of her coat a letter that she had received that 
 morning from her father and mother. She opened it 
 and for the second time read it carefully, and then 
 slowly folded it and put it back in her pocket. Very 
 thoughtfully she sat down upon her chair in front of 
 her desk. 
 
 "Poor little Ronald," said she, softly talking to her 
 self, while a tender smile played about her lips, "do 
 they think, no matter how great the inducement of 
 fered, I would part with you? Is there aught, rather, 
 I would not give up for you, and find my joy and de 
 light in the giving? What would father, mother, or 
 home be to me without you, my little, blind, baby-boy ? 
 They speak of the disgrace your presence would bring 
 to them in their old age and ask me to place you in 
 other hands than mine, and then go home to them. 
 How can they suggest such a thing, when to do so 
 would mean your every essential deprivation? They 
 do not hesitate to recommend that I place upon your 
 tinv head, honey-boy, the consequence of my wrong 
 doing, making you pay the price of what they deem 
 my disgrace and shame. Never mind, little man, 
 mother counts the shame and disgrace as naught with 
 the pleasure of having you. What cares she for dis- 
 
260 The Success of Failure 
 
 grace as long as it never touches you? and it never 
 will, if she can help it. Sometimes, mother is glad 
 you are blind, son; she can hold you the longer and 
 tighter. Nevertheless, dear, innocent little chap, 
 mother will never go home alone ; when she goes, you 
 will go with her. Nay, nay, little son, our four-room 
 apartment will be all the home mother will ever want, 
 if to get it she has to part with you But there, the 
 tears are falling, and that will never do ; for there are 
 a lot of letters in front of mother which she must 
 answer and see that they are mailed. So, baby-mine, 
 mother must stop thinking about you for a little while 
 and get to work." And, wiping her eyes with her 
 handkerchief, Hannah opened her desk. 
 
 At twelve o clock the letters were all answered and 
 she placed them upon the doctor s desk. Then she 
 adjusted her cap and smoothed her hair and was about 
 to wash her hands when the door opened and Dorothy, 
 accompanied by her husband, came into the room. 
 
 "Good-morning, Miss Thompson," said Dorothy, 
 walking leisurely over to where Hannah smilingly 
 stood, and extended her hand. 
 
 "Good-morning, M " replied Hannah hesitatingly, 
 her hand resting for an instant in Dorothy s. "How 
 are you this morning?" 
 
Hamiah Learns of the Doctor s Marriage 261 
 
 "Very well. And you?" 
 
 "I can t complain." 
 
 "Well," after an embarrassing silence of several sec 
 onds, "why don t you wish me happiness?" asked Dor 
 othy, looking into Hannah s face with smiling scrutiny, 
 "for your face expresses only too surely that you al 
 ready have been told of my passing from single- 
 blessedness into matrimonial bliss." 
 
 Does it?" asked Hannah, laughing. "I didn t know 
 it was such a telltale. I must exercise greater caution, 
 or it will be betraying me when I least wish it to. In 
 this instance, however, I cannot plead ignorance, for 
 Doctor Ross told me about the happy event shortly 
 after I came in this morning." 
 
 "Oh, you awful man," said Dorothy, with a smile 
 and a rebuking shake of her head at her husband, "to 
 deprive me of the pleasure of proclaiming to one and 
 all the greatest event of my existence." 
 
 "You will have plenty of time to do that, Dorothy," 
 said the doctor, returning her smile. "But come, let 
 me help you off with your coat," and stepping to her 
 side he removed from her shoulders her new wedding- 
 coat; and, when she had replaced the pins in her hat, 
 he took it from her and hung both up upon the rack. 
 "Now," after he had hung up his own, "I will look 
 
262 The Success of Failure 
 
 over my letters and then we will make arrangements 
 to leave here this afternoon." 
 
 "And I will improve the opportunity to become bet 
 ter acquainted with Miss Thompson," said Dorothy, 
 establishing herself comfortably in one of the doctor s 
 big, leather armchairs. "How is little Ronald?" asked 
 she, addressing Hannah. 
 
 "He is as well as usual," replied Hannah, moving a 
 little to one side to permit the doctor to reach his 
 desk. 
 
 "And I trust that is as well as it is possible for him 
 to be. But why not sit down ?" and Dorothy motioned 
 with her hand to the chair opposite. 
 
 Hannah smiled and sat down. 
 
 "Now let us talk about your little boy," said Dor 
 othy, leaning back in her chair. "I am afraid you 
 1 may think I have not given him much attention, but 
 I can assure you it really was not my fault. You 
 see, my time was completely taken up with so many 
 other things I deemed of greater importance that the 
 children were totally neglected. However," with a 
 bright smile, "I hope now to become better acquainted 
 with them, and they and I will begin to learn of each 
 other. It is strange, isn t it," mused she, "that we 
 grown-up people disdain the knowledge to be gained 
 
Hanmh Learns of the Doctor s Marriage 263 
 
 by associating with the child, and give it no serious 
 thought, but receive it with more or less indulgent 
 amusement ?" 
 
 "Yes," agreed Hannah, "we are not apt to consider 
 it of much importance, and prefer to regard the sav 
 ings and doings of children as little better than the 
 murmurings and antics of other delightful little ani 
 mals/ 
 
 "Well, I want to learn all that your little son can 
 teach me, for in the ways of children I am woefully 
 ignorant, and I am very desirous that he and I, as 
 the days go by, shall become the best of friends." 
 
 "Thank you," murmured Hannah, striving to over 
 come a growing nervousness, herebefore wholly un 
 known to her. "I am sure he will appreciate your 
 friendship. You will not expect too much of him. 
 will you? for you know, poor little chap, he is blind." 
 
 "Yes, I know," and Dorothy sighed. 
 
 "They are all ready now for enclosing," remarked 
 the doctor, rising from his desk. 
 
 "Very well, I will attend to them at once," replied 
 Hannah ; and, getting up from her chair, she took the 
 letters from the desk and disappeared with them into 
 her office, closing the door gently behind her. 
 
 "And so you were talking about Hannah s boy," 
 said the doctor to his wife. 
 
264 The Success of Failure 
 
 Yes, isn t it too bad he is blind?" 
 
 "Yes, but he will not continue to be so/* 
 
 "No?" queried Dorothy, surprised. "It is possible, 
 then, that some day he may see ?" 
 
 "Quite." 
 
 "Oh, I am so glad ! Does his mother know ? Have 
 you told her?" 
 
 "All that she is capable of understanding at 
 present." 
 
 "What did you tell her?" 
 
 "I told her under certain conditions he would re 
 ceive his sight." 
 
 "And what are they?" 
 
 "Those which shall come from our union, Dorothy. 
 Not only will they remove little Ronald s blindness, 
 but will make impossible the blindness of every child 
 born into the world." 
 
 "Will it, indeed, do that?" 
 
 "It will, indeed," replied the doctor, seating himself 
 in the chair that Hannah had vacated. 
 
 Just then the bell announcing the midday meal rang 
 clear and loud from the foot of the basement steps. 
 The doctor and his wife made no movement to indi 
 cate that they intended to respond to its summons. 
 Instead, they sat quietly talking; and Hannah, when 
 she opened the door of her office a few minutes later 
 
Hannah Learns of the Doctor s Marriage 265 
 
 was surprised to find them sitting there. When the 
 bell rang, she thought, of course, they would go right 
 down to luncheon. 
 
 "I didn t expect to find you here," she said, going 
 to the bowl to wash her hands. "I thought you would 
 be downstairs." 
 
 "No; we are waiting for you," replied the doctor, 
 smilingly raising his head. "As I have ceased to be 
 a lodger and am now a part of the home-living place/ 
 it will be necessary for you to take your meals there, 
 also. So while we are getting ready to go over, put 
 on your hat and coat. Leave everything as it is, here, 
 for I have instructed John to take charge." 
 
 Hannah hastened to do his bidding, and in a very 
 few minutes they were on their way to the "home- 
 living place." 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 "VY/ HAT S going on here?" ased Mrs. Thompson, 
 
 W very much surprised, of Martha, who ad 
 mitted her into the little flat. "Looks very much as 
 though my daughter intended to move/ gravely re 
 garding the pieces of furniture and boxes which occu 
 pied nearly the entire space of the narrow hall. 
 
 "Yes, ma am," replied Martha, closing the door. 
 
 "Is Miss Hannah in?" 
 
 "Yes, ma am, she s inside," and Martha indicated by 
 a nod of her head the room at the end of the hall. 
 
 "Very well, I ll find her," and Mrs. Thompson 
 began slowly to make her way down the crowded 
 passageway. 
 
 "All right, ma am," and Martha went back to her 
 packing in the kitchen. 
 
 When Mrs. Thompson reached the entrance of the 
 room, she stopped and glanced uneasily at the bare 
 floor and walls and the furniture, pushed to one side 
 
 266 
 
Mrs. Thompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Place" 207 
 
 of the room, all ready for the moving-van. Hannah s 
 back was to her; she was kneeling upon the floor in 
 front of a trunk in which she was packing Ronald s 
 clothes, which lay piled up on a chair beside her. Her 
 mother s step upon the bare boards, however, caused 
 her to turn her head, and with an exclamation of de 
 light she sprang to her feet and rushed to meet her. 
 saying : 
 
 "Why, mother, what good wind brought you here 
 today?" 
 
 "I m not sure whether it was a good or a bad wind." 
 replied her mother, bending her head to receive Han 
 nah s kiss. "I ll tell you better about that after you 
 have told me the meaning of this." and she indicated 
 with a ware of her hand the dismantled room. 
 
 "We are going to move, mother, that s all," replied 
 her daughter, stepping back and gathering up in her 
 arms the clothing lying qn the chair and placing it 
 over the open top of the trunk. "Come, sit here. 
 wiping with her apron the dust from the chair, "and 
 I ll tell you all about it. I won t ask you to take off 
 your hat, for there is no place to put it where it will 
 be safer than upon your head." 
 
 "Why, I thought you were very well satisfied here/ 
 said her mother as she sat down. "Where is Ronald?" 
 
268 The Success of Failure 
 
 "He is over with Doctor and Mrs. Ross," replied 
 Hannah, kneeling down upon the floor and resuming 
 her packing. "You remember, I told you of his mar 
 riage in my last letter." 
 
 "Yes ; and has it turned out as happily as ex 
 pected ?" 
 
 "So far it has fulfilled every expectation." 
 
 "That s encouraging. And, apparently, they do not 
 object to the unfortunate circumstances connected with 
 Ronald s birth." 
 
 "Not at all. For them, they do not exist, and he is 
 only too happy when permitted to be with them." 
 
 "I wish I might have him," said Mrs. Thompson, 
 sighing regretfully ; "but it is no use thinking of such 
 a thing, for your father will not consent." 
 
 "It s just as well, perhaps," replied Hannah thought 
 fully. 
 
 "Perhaps so. But you have not told me anything 
 of your proposed new location. It is, of course, more 
 desirable than what you have here, or else you would 
 not have moved." 
 
 "It is, indeed." 
 
 "And your expenses they will be greater, I sup 
 pose ?" 
 
 "I can t say that thev will. You see, I have decided 
 
 / 
 
Mrs. Thompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Place" 269 
 
 to move to the home-living place/ established by Doc 
 tor and Mrs. Ross, and they are to be responsible for 
 any expense I may incur/ 
 
 "Do you think that altogether wise?" 
 
 "I do. In fact it is the only wise thing I have ever 
 done in my life. Oh, mother," said Hannah, laying a 
 hand upon her mother s knee and looking up earnestly 
 into her face, "if you only knew the beautiful condi 
 tions prevailing in their home-living place/ the thing 
 that would astonish you the most would be that any 
 one could hesitate to become a part of it ! No greater 
 foundation can be found than that upon which it is 
 built, the imperishable and everlasting foundation of 
 Love and Service/ 
 
 "And do you think you will be happy there?" asked 
 her mother, with a tender smile, as she laid her hand 
 affectionately upon her daughter s head. 
 
 "I have no doubt of it; for, if happiness is to be 
 found anywhere, it must be found there/ 
 
 "I should want to be very sure of it, my child," said 
 Mrs. Thompson, smiling gravely, "for the promises 
 which lead us into the pursuit of happiness are very 
 slow of fulfillment." 
 
 "That is true, mother," agreed Hannah, "but I have 
 learned, by painful experience, it is because we follow 
 
2/o The Success of Failure 
 
 the formulating of our own selfish promises in the false 
 pursuit of happiness. Happiness, I have found, is no 
 elusive thing, now here, then there, and then else 
 where. She does not seek to deceive nor to betray, a 
 thing of yesterday and not of today. Something that 
 steals away when tomorrow s here, leaving all stricken, 
 stark and drear. No, no, happiness is ever faithful and 
 true, and it is we who are faithless, it is we who are 
 untrue to ourselves and to her." 
 
 "Perhaps you are right, I don t know," said Mrs. 
 Thompson sighing. "But what of Martha?" 
 
 "She will go with me. Indeed, she belongs there, 
 for has she not, these many years, lived daily the life 
 of the home-living place ? The conditions which exist 
 there will cause her no wonderment nor be to her at 
 all strange. She will be perfectly at home with sur 
 roundings which to me are as equally indescribable as 
 they are incomprehensible. While I can admire and 
 marvel, I am unable to fully understand or appreciate 
 the working of the forces employed. And yet, Doctor 
 Ross says they are so simple they are understood by the 
 child." 
 
 "Your lack of understanding is not surprising, then, 
 for is it not the simple things of life which confound 
 us?" queried Mrs. Thompson. "But go on with your 
 packing." 
 
Mrs. Thompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Place" 271 
 
 Before I do," said Hannah, rising, "I ll tell Martha 
 to make us a cup of tea. It must be nearly lunch- 
 time. Is it ?" as Mrs. Thompson looked at her watch. 
 
 "Just twelve." 
 
 "I thought so," and Hannah hurried out. 
 
 Almost immediately she was back, and, as she 
 chatted with her mother, finished packing the trunk, 
 and when Martha came in with the tea, it stood closed 
 and locked and ready for strapping. 
 
 "When we have finished our tea, I ll put on my hat 
 and coat and we ll go over and see Ronald," said Han 
 nah as she took the tray from Martha and set it upon 
 the top of the trunk. "That is all, Martha," turning 
 with a smile to the waiting bent figure, "you may go," 
 and, with a nod of her grizzled head, Martha turned 
 and walked out of the room. 
 
 "Are you not afraid the doctor and his wife may 
 regard it as rather an intrusion?" questioned Mrs. 
 Thompson, as she unfolded the paper napkin Hannah 
 placed upon her lap. 
 
 "No indeed, they will both be glad to see you, and 
 I am very anxious that you should meet them," and 
 Hannah poured out a cup of tea and handed it to her 
 mother. "Here, I ll place the cream and sugar on the 
 trunk right near you, so von may help yourself. I 
 
272 The Success of Failure 
 
 know the service is novel and not at all what you are 
 accustomed to, but you will pardon it in this instance." 
 
 "Don t mention it, my child ; I m only too glad to be 
 with you," and Mrs. Thompson took between her fore 
 finger and thumb a lump of sugar and dropped it into 
 her tea, and then poured sufficient cream from the 
 pitcher to color it. 
 
 "Then you won t object to eating your sandwich 
 from the trunk, also," and Hannah placed a small plate 
 upon which was laid two thinly sliced pieces of bread 
 and butter enclosing crisp lettuce leaves. 
 
 "\ T o. it s all right. Don t bother about me, I ll help 
 myself. Now, to get back to Ronald, if you think it 
 wise I should dearly love to go over and see him." 
 
 "And are you not anxious, after all I have told you, 
 to see the doctor and his wife?" asked Hannah dis 
 appointedly. 
 
 "Not so anxious to see them as I am to learn some 
 thing of this liome-living place they have established. 
 But that is only because vou are about to make it vour 
 home ; otherwise, I should not be at all interested." 
 
 "After you have learned something about it you may 
 wish to make it vour home," said Hannah, laughing. 
 "And what would father sav about that?" 
 
 "He would never permit it." 
 
Mrs. Thompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Place" 273 
 
 "He might not be able to prevent it," said Hannah 
 as she lifted the teapot from the tray. "Have another 
 cup of tea and another sandwich ?" 
 
 "No, no, nothing more. If I am to see much of 
 Ronald, we must go over to the doctor s as soon as 
 possible, for I have to leave for home shortly after 
 three." 
 
 "We will go right away," said Hannah, rising and 
 taking from the wardrobe her coat and hat, which she 
 quickly put on. "If I had know r n you were coming, I 
 wouldn t have had these things put in the hall," said 
 she, as she opened the door of the apartment and pre 
 ceded her mother out. 
 
 "If you can put up with the inconvenience, I am 
 sure I should not object," replied Mrs. Thompson, fol 
 lowing her daughter down the stairs. 
 
 Hannah laughed happily, and her mother s heart 
 gladdened at the sound. Ah! if it rested with her, 
 Hannah and her baby should seek no other "home- 
 living place" but hers. She would close the door upon 
 the world and live only for them. What cared she 
 for money or position? They were nothing in com 
 parison with the companionship, of which they de 
 prived her, of her daughter and her child. Gladly 
 would she dispense with the former, if she could but 
 
274 The Success of Failure 
 
 have the latter. And as she thought of her husband, 
 her heart hardened toward him. He had asked her 
 that morning before leaving home to try and prevail 
 upon Hannah to give up her child. "Surely," he had 
 said, "there are plenty of places in a large city where 
 a child would be well cared for, for pay." How stub 
 bornly he had refused to listen to her pleadings that 
 they permit Hannah to bring her baby home, thunder 
 ing out at her : "No ! no ! I say, no ! Don t speak of 
 that again to me ! * Well, she would never ask Hannah 
 to give up her child, never, never ! If her father was 
 so blind that he could not see that they were responsible 
 for their child and what was hers, she could and would. 
 And when they climbed the steps leading into the 
 "home-living place/ she did so with no feeling of 
 shrinking from a disagreeable task. This was to be her 
 daughter s home and the home of her child; and, UM 
 that reason, she would try to understand and appreci 
 ate the forces at work here. When they reached the 
 top step, the door opened, and Doctor Ross, with hand 
 extended, stood in the doorway. 
 
 "I am very glad to see you, Mrs. Thompson," he 
 said, looking smilingly from Hannah to her mother. 
 "Come right in," and he took Mrs. Thompson s hand 
 and gently drew her through the entrance, along the 
 
Mrs, Thompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Place" 275 
 
 hall and into the large room of the "home-living place/ 
 "Won t you sit down ?" and he led her to a comfortable 
 seat not far from the door. "My wife will bring Ron 
 ald, whom you are longing to see, I know, in pres- 
 entlv." 
 
 "It is very good of you and your wife to take so 
 great an interest in my little grandson." replied Mrs.- 
 Thompson as she sat down. "I assure you I fully ap 
 preciate it." 
 
 "Thank you," replied he. Then turning to where 
 Hannah stood, he directed her with a motion of his 
 hand to an open door on the right, to which she 
 hastened her steps. "I think, though." resuming the 
 conversation with Mrs. Thompson as he stepped to a 
 chair a few feet from her and sat down, "it would be 
 rather remarkable if we were not interested in the 
 little fellow, for we love him and he is growing to 
 love us." 
 
 "That is fortunate/ replied Mrs. Thompson, her 
 eyes scanning the doctor s face closely, "for, I believe, 
 he and his mother expect to make their home here." 
 
 "Yes, I am glad to say. their home is to be here." 
 
 Just then their attention was attracted to the opening- 
 wide of the door of the room on the right, and Ronald, 
 accompanied by his mother and Dorothy, came out 
 
276 The Success of Failure 
 
 and directed their steps to where they were sitting. As 
 they approached within a short distance of him, the 
 doctor arose and, stepping forward, stooped and picked 
 up the child and held him in his arms. This, apparent 
 ly, was no strange place for Ronald to be, nor was he 
 averse to being held there ; for he unhesitatingly placed 
 his baby-arms around the doctor s neck and laid his 
 head confidingly against his shoulders. 
 
 "Were you talking to g andmother, doctor?" asked 
 he, putting up a tiny hand to pat the doctor s cheek. 
 
 "Yes, and I am going to carry you over and place 
 you upon her lap, so you, too, may talk to her" ; and, 
 kissing the child s sunny hair, the doctor walked over 
 and gave him into his grandmother s outstretched arms. 
 
 "And how is Ronald?" asked Mrs. Thompson, her 
 arms closing around the little form. "And is my little 
 man glad to see me ?" 
 
 "I am quite well and vewy glad to see you. g and 
 mother. Are you well and glad to see me ?" asked he, 
 gravely holding up his little blind face to be kissed. 
 
 "Grandmother is well, darling, and is ever and ever 
 so ,elad to see you," replied Mrs. Thompson, her arms 
 tightening around the child as she drew him closer 
 to her. 
 
 "Mother," interposed Hannah from where she stood 
 
Mrs. l hompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Place" 277 
 
 between the doctor and his wife in the middle of the 
 room, watching with shining eyes and trembling, smil 
 ing lips the meeting between her mother and baby-son, 
 "you have not met Mrs. Ross." 
 
 "That is true," replied Mrs. Thompson, and she 
 raised her eyes from the face of the child and looked 
 over, with an apologetic smile, to where Dorothy stood. 
 
 "I am very glad to see you," said Dorothy, stepping 
 quickly over to Mrs. Thompson s side, "and I want to 
 bid you welcome to the home-living place. v 
 
 "Thank you," replied Mrs. Thompson, taking the 
 hand Dorothy extended, "I am beginning to feel very 
 much at home." 
 
 "It gives me great pleasure to hear you say so," re 
 plied Dorothy, sitting down on a nearby stool, "and I 
 hope, some day, you may decide to become a part of 
 this wonderfully beautiful thing we have established." 
 
 "I hardly think so," replied Mrs. Thompson, with a 
 doubtful shake of her head. "Not as long as my 
 husband lives, anyway, for he, I know, would never 
 sanction it." 
 
 "No?" queried Dorothy. "What would be his ob 
 jection ?" 
 
 "Well, it would necessitate the abandonment of his 
 pride of position, of his wealth, of a hundred and one 
 things he holds and prizes dearly." 
 
278 The Success of Failure 
 
 "Oh, you never can tell," said Dorothy encouraging 
 ly; "he may be made to see, as I have been, the folly 
 of such pride, and be willing, as I now am, to let Love 
 have his way." 
 
 "I see you are quite ignorant of how greatly pride 
 influences people in my station of life." 
 
 "Yes, I think I do," replied Dorothy slowly. "But 
 I am learning, little by little, what a small thing it is 
 and how cruelly indifferent it is to the best interests 
 of man." 
 
 Mrs. Thompson s response was a wrinkled forehead, 
 a puzzled smile and a mystified shake of the head, and 
 she placed Ronald more comfortably upon her lap 
 and laid his head gently against her breast. 
 
 At this, Dorothy s eyes traveled in wistful inquiry 
 over to where her husband stood in the middle of the 
 room. He, with Hannah, had been a silent listener to 
 their conversation. As his eyes met hers, he read 
 aright the message they conveyed, and in his smile and 
 nod there was not only acquiescence, but comprehen 
 sion as well. She needed him, and he only could re 
 spond to that need. So saying a few words in a low 
 tone to Hannah, which caused her to immediately 
 leave him and take up a position behind her mother s 
 chair, he quickly crossed the room and drew up a chair 
 to the other side of Mrs. Thompson and sat down. 
 The conversation then became general. 
 
Mrs. Thompson Gets a Glimpse of the "Place" 279 
 
 The hour thus spent conversing with the doctor and 
 his wife was not only a particularly agreeable one to 
 Mrs. Thompson, but she found it also highly instruc 
 tive ; for, in that short time, she acquired a knowledge 
 hitherto unpossessed by her, and one she deemed of 
 no mean value. Just what its valuation might be, she 
 was not quite able to determine, nor to interpret cor 
 rectly its intrinsic worth : but, measured by a mother s 
 love, it was to her incalculable, for it enabled her to 
 conclude that Hannah and her boy could not have 
 fallen into better hands than into those of the founders 
 of the "home-living place." And it was with a mind re 
 lieved and a heart lightened that she kissed them and 
 bade them goodby and started on her journey home 
 ward. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 FRANK, RESTORED TO HEALTH, LEAVES THE HOSPITAL OF 
 THE NEW BIRTH 
 
 IT was shortly after the marriage of Dorothy and 
 Doctor Ross, that Frank wholly cured and re 
 stored to perfect health and strength accompanied by 
 the doctor, passed out through the doors of the Hos 
 pital of The New Birth. 
 
 As he walked down the steps and entered the doc 
 tor s automobile, it would be difficult for anyone who 
 had been familiar with Frank s face and form before 
 his admission into the hospital to recognize them now ; 
 for, in place of the bent, stooping shoulders, the re 
 luctant and faltering step and the hesitation of an evi 
 dently discouraged and dejected manhood, there was 
 the erect carnage, the firm, quick step and the ex 
 pressed and unquestioned assurance in face and man 
 ner of man s right to be and do. Youth at its best 
 was his ; and, as one beheld him in all the newness of 
 life, it was to conclude that for him to live was indeed 
 yvell worth while; for he was good to look upon. The 
 
 280. 
 
Frank Leaves the Hospital of the New Birth 281 
 
 tones of his voice, as he conversed with the doctor, 
 the light of his eyes and the smooth, unwrinkled brow, 
 all proclaimed a regenerated manhood that man, at 
 last, had come into his own into a kingdom whose 
 every breath was fragrant with the joy of being, 
 whose sight was of an infinite seeing and in all of its 
 doings there was a wonderful meaning. 
 
 On their way homeward, Doctor Ross spoke of his 
 marriage to Dorothy and dwelt largely upon the 
 changes it would make in the "home-living place," all of 
 which interested Frank immensely, and he remarked 
 when the doctor had finished speaking : 
 
 "Ah, now it will be a home-living place, indeed !" 
 
 "But we must consider you," said the doctor, laying 
 a hand affectionately upon Frank s shoulder. "Now 
 that you are well and strong, what work shall I assign 
 you to in the home-living place ? " 
 
 "The seeking of patients," promptly replied Frank 
 with a smile, "for, I can assure you, there is no other 
 work I should so greatly enjoy." 
 
 "There is none other so important," returned the 
 doctor, "excepting the finding, and that is assured if 
 one seeks aright." 
 
 "And I, now being in my right mind, shall seek 
 aright," replied Frank, the light of his eyes being ex- 
 
282 The Success of Failure 
 
 ceedingly tender as he looked thoughtfully into the 
 distance. 
 
 "Yes, there is no doubt, now, but that you will," 
 replied the doctor, bestowing upon Frank one of his 
 beautiful smiles. "However, here we are," and the 
 car drew up at the curb. "The home-living place is 
 just where you left it, you see," and the doctor rose 
 and stepped out upon the sidewalk. 
 
 "Yes, but I have no doubt I shall find it quite a 
 different place," replied Frank, getting out and follow 
 ing the doctor up the steps. 
 
 "Somewhat, yes," said the doctor as he pushed the 
 door open and held it so for Frank to enter. "Never 
 theless, if it is to steadily and unquestionably improve, 
 your co-operative assistance is an absolute necessity. 
 Isn t that so, my dear ?" said he to his wife, who was 
 standing at the door to greet them. 
 
 "It certainly is," replied she, holding up her face 
 to receive her husband s kiss. Then turning to Frank 
 with a friendly smile, she held out her hand to him and 
 said: 
 
 "How-do-you-do, Mr. Thompson, or Frank, as Bob 
 has told me to call you. I am very glad to welcome you 
 back to the home-living place. " 
 
 "Thank you," he replied, taking her hand and press- 
 
Frank Leaves the Hospital of the New Birth 283 
 
 ing it gently, "it is good to get back," and releasing 
 her hand he closed the door and followed them up the 
 hall. Upon coming to the door of his room, he laid 
 his hand upon the knob and was about to turn it, when 
 Dorothy, turning her head quickly, interposed with, 
 "Not yet, there is someone else in there who would 
 like to see you," and with a pretty movement of her 
 head she indicated a room, at the entrance of which 
 the hall ended. 
 
 "Indeed," said he ; and, removing his hand from the 
 krob, he continued on. 
 
 "And we, Dorothy," said the doctor, placing his arm 
 about her, "will go in here," and he opened the door 
 of the room on the right. 
 
 \Yhen Frank entered the room, Hannah was seated 
 on a chair talking to her boy who was standing by her 
 knee. She arose as he addressed her and came forward. 
 
 "So, at last, you are back," said she, and they shook 
 hands warmly. "It seems such a long, long time since 
 you went away. But my." stepping back and regard 
 ing him wonderingly and with not a little curiosity, 
 "you have improved. So much so, I should not have 
 known you had I met you elsewhere. What great 
 miracle caused so great a change in you?" 
 
 "The passing away of the old man and the coming 
 of the new." 
 
284 The Success of Failure 
 
 "And do you think it possible so great a change 
 could be brought about in me?" 
 
 "Indeed, I do." 
 
 "Ah, but then I should have to leave Ronald," and 
 she put out her hand and took one of the little hands 
 held out in self-protecting fashion as the child felt his 
 way to his mother. 
 
 Frank smiled tenderly down upon the little chap. 
 
 "Yes," said he; "but the treatment accorded you 
 would be, to him, a priceless inheritance." 
 
 "But what is the treatment ?" 
 
 "To know that, you must experience it." 
 
 "Well, would you recommend it?" 
 
 "I certainly would, for it is the only remedy that 
 produces a cure." 
 
 "I would like to try it," said she thoughtfully, and 
 she sat down upon a chair and took her boy upon her 
 lap ; "and the only thing that makes me hesitate is this 
 little man of mine," and bending her head she kissed 
 the soft curls. 
 
 "I will stay with Mart a, mother," said the child, 
 raising his baby-face with its large, sightless, blue eyes ; 
 and, putting a little hand up, he patted her cheek 
 gently. 
 
 "And she would take good care of you, I know, 
 
Frank Leaves the Hospital of the New Birth 28,5 
 
 little son. But mother, somehow, cannot bear to 
 leave her boy, even for a little while," and she pressed 
 the child closely to her. 
 
 "But mother must leave him, some day," said Frank 
 gently, sitting down upon a chair a few feet away, 
 "and when she goes, she surely wants to leave him 
 something infinitely greater and of more importance 
 than the remembrance of her presence. She wants. I 
 am sure, to leave him with a sight restored that he 
 may tread the roadway of life fearlessly, with no 
 thought of stumbling or falling; and that, as he ap 
 proaches manhood, his questioning, faltering step 
 may be firm and assured, and his changing weaknesses 
 become an unalterable strength." 
 
 "Ah, if that could be possible !" sighed Hannah. 
 
 "It is possible." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "There is but one way," replied Frank earnestly, 
 "and that is your entrance into the Hospital of The 
 New Birth. Old things must pass away, if you would 
 have all things become new. Inherited social weak 
 nesses must be replaced by inherited social strength, 
 if the children are to see and know the way wherein 
 they should walk. There will, then, be no more se^k- 
 ing for the many pathways which are now believed to 
 
286 The Success of Failure 
 
 lead to life, for all will know there is but the one, and 
 to it the children s steps will be directed." 
 
 "And who will be a mother to my boy while I am 
 gone? asked Hannah with a trembling smile as she 
 placed the child s sunny head against her breast. 
 
 "Mart a will take care of me, mother," said Ronald 
 sleepily, his baby -mouth opening wide into a yawn. 
 
 Rut Martha isn t mother, darling. But, never 
 mind," as his head began to slowly drop backwards 
 from her breast to her arm, "go to sleep," replied Han 
 nah, accompanying her words with a rocking, sooth 
 ing motion of her knees. Then putting a finger upon 
 her lips, she looked over smilingly at Frank and then 
 down at her sleepy boy. Frank smiled and nodded un- 
 derstandingly, and they sat quietly and silently wait 
 ing for the little fellow to go to sleep. 
 
 They had not long to wait, for in a very little while 
 Ronald was sound asleep; and Hannah straightened 
 out his clothes, with that tender lingering touch 
 mothers have, and was about to rise, when Frank 
 hastily sprang to his feet and held out his arms for 
 the sleeping child. 
 
 "No, no," said she softly, "he might wake," and, 
 rising, she carried him over to a couch on one side 
 of the room and laid him down. Then, after placing 
 
Frank Leaves the Hospital of the New Birth 287 
 
 a light covering over him, she leaned lovingly over and 
 touched her lips to his hair. "Now we may resume 
 our conversation." whispered she, as she straightened 
 up and walked back to her chair and sat down. 
 
 "And so it is the leaving of your child that makes 
 you hesitate to avail yourself of the many benefits to 
 be derived from a treatment at the Hospital of The 
 New Birth ?" asked Frank in a low tone. 
 
 Yes. He is all I have, you know. He is my world. 
 A pretty small and unimportant one to others, no 
 doubt, but, to me, he is all of the worlds rolled into 
 one." 
 
 "I see, 1 replied Frank slowly, his eyes fixed thought 
 fully upon the floor. "But have you taken into con 
 sideration that your deprivation is his also : and that 
 you cannot impart unto him a knowledge greater than 
 you possess?" 
 
 "That is very true, and I am afraid T have con 
 sidered little else than the fact that he is mine! all 
 mine! and belongs to no one else," replied Hannah, a 
 sweet smile plavingf about her lips. "And," emphati 
 cally. "I am selfishlv glad to know that this is true." 
 
 "But is it true? asked Frank, raising his eyes and 
 regarding Hannah questioningly. "That mothers 
 thoujrbtlesslv boast of it. I know, failing: to realize, in 
 
288 The Success of Failure 
 
 their vain human joy and pride, how really frail is 
 their hold upon their vaunted possession. So scrupu 
 lously careful are they of the material casket, seeing 
 that it is kept clean, properly dressed and fed, that 
 they forget that within is a hidden chamber, the door 
 of which is closed and locked, and to gain an entrance 
 one must have the key. But alas ! where is the key ?" 
 
 "What key?" asked Hannah wonderingly. 
 
 "The key that will unlock the door of the hidden 
 chamber of that beautiful piece of pink and white 
 flesh that you boast you own. Do you possess it ? And 
 if so, have you unlocked the door and swept from 
 within all that will prevent a life from being well 
 lived?" 
 
 "What do you mean ?" asked Hannah in amazement. 
 
 "I mean this : to fulfill your maternal obligations you 
 must have this key." 
 
 "Key, or no key," replied Hannah impatiently, "I 
 shall do my best for him." 
 
 "But if you know not what is best, how can you ?" 
 
 "Then I shall do what seems best." 
 
 "And which really may be wrong." 
 
 "Then what am I to do?" asked Hannah helplessly, 
 
 "Find the key." 
 
 "What makes you so sure that I haven t it?" 
 
Frank Leaves the Hospital of the New Birth 289 
 
 "Your all too evident uncertainty," replied Frank, 
 rising and walking over to the couch where Ronald 
 slept. "That is, like all mothers, you are not altogether 
 sure what is best for your child," and the tender love 
 liness of his face as he looked down upon her boy 
 would have been a revelation to Hannah, could she 
 but have seen it. 
 
 "That is, I am sorry to say," admitted Hannah, 
 "only too true. But what are we mothers to do to be 
 wholly sure that what we do is best for our children ? 
 Find the key, you say, but where are we to look?" 
 
 "You must seek it where it is only to be found, in 
 the Hospital of The New Birth," replied Frank, turn 
 ing around and facing her. 
 
 "Then I would be committing a great wrong to my 
 boy, should I longer delay," said Hannah, her eyes 
 leaving him and, with a wonderful affection expressed 
 in their blue-gray depths, they rested upon her child. 
 
 "You would be depriving him of his rightful inheri 
 tance," said Frank, approaching her slowly. 
 
 "It is hard to leave him, even though I know he 
 could be in no better hands than in those who have 
 made the home-living place possible." said Hannah 
 with a heavy sigh. 
 
 "But. if he is to enter into the joy of the home- 
 
290 The Success of Failure 
 
 living place, your leaving him is an absolute necessity. 
 If he is to see its beauties and understand its wonder 
 ful workings, the knowledge you impart to him must 
 be greater than you now possess," said Frank with 
 great earnestness. "Why, then, do you hesitate?" 
 
 "I shall not/ replied Hannah, rising determinedly to 
 her feet. "I shall ask the doctor to see that I am 
 admitted at their earliest convenience." 
 
 "Which is whenever you are ready," said the doctor 
 from the doorway. He had been standing there un 
 observed listening to their conversation. 
 
 "Then I shall arrange to go tomorrow." 
 
 "Very well," replied the doctor coming toward them. 
 "I shall take you over and see that you are admitted." 
 Then, laying a hand in a true brotherly fashion upon 
 Frank s arm, he said to him: "You lost no time, I see, 
 in seeking and securing a patient." 
 
 "Nor will she when she returns," replied Frank, 
 smiling knowingly at the doctor. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 FRANK AGAIN VISITS THE SHACK 
 
 WITH the coming of the morrow, Frank s heart 
 burned to again visit the shack. This time he 
 was going with a decidedly different purpose, for now 
 no thought of self-destruction possessed him. Indeed, 
 such a thought was not now possible, for within him 
 dwelt the realization of a non-destroyable life. Nor did 
 he wait until the evening, but went in the morning 
 light of a perfect day. Once more his feet trod the 
 road leading to the little pathway that led to the door 
 of the shack. Reverently and stepping very softly he 
 turned in at the gate and walked up the path. Then, 
 taking the key from his pocket, he unlocked the door 
 and gently pushed k open. Standing thoughtfully 
 within, he looked around the room, surveying each 
 object with unaccustomed interest. He then removed 
 his hat and coat and hung them up on the same rack 
 that had held his rain-soaked hat and coat some time 
 before. Without closing the door, he seated himself 
 
 where he could get a good view of the road and waited. 
 
 291 
 
292 The Success of Failure 
 
 That she would come, he knew, for had she not told 
 him that he would see her again, and he should then 
 decide her name. 
 
 As he sat there waiting, there came from the dis 
 tance the triumphant strains of a far-away music. At 
 first it seemed like the gentle whisperings of the leaves 
 as they swayed lazily back and forth upon their 
 branches. Then it came nearer, and nearer, and he 
 recognized in it the innumerable sounds of the many 
 instruments at work in the world. 
 
 "Ah ! but this was a different music from that which 
 hitherto had fallen upon his ears. In it there was no 
 discordant note, nor the jumbling of non-preconceived 
 sounds, murmuring or loudly proclaiming in their irri 
 tation a confliction of tones. Ah, no! this was music. 
 What blending of tones ! How strong and yet so 
 tender! How forceful and yet so kind! What sub 
 limity of utterance! What height, what depth, what 
 breadth ! What vastness and fullness ! and, yet, in 
 all not a quivering note. It seemed as though every 
 tree, leaf and flower, every tiny green blade of grass, 
 every little root and shrub, responded to this matchless 
 volume of sound, 
 
 Frank closed his eyes and gave himself wholly up 
 to the pleasure of listening to this wonderful and all- 
 
Frank Again Visits the Shack 293 
 
 inspiring music. Indeed, so enrapt was he by the tale 
 that it told, that he was unmindful of a gentle step 
 outside and of the tall, slender form that later stood in 
 the doorway ; nor did he hear a voice that said : "Hear 
 am I, my friend." And it was not until the music 
 passed on and was gradually lost in the distance that 
 he opened his eyes and saw that his expected guest 
 had arrived. 
 
 With a smothered exclamation, he quickly arose and 
 came forward. 
 
 "Pardon," he said, "my seeming indifference to your 
 presence. Have you been here long? 
 
 "No apology is necessary," she replied, smiling 
 sweetly and giving him her hand. "That music you 
 have been listening to," sitting down in the chair he 
 placed for her, "is enough to absorb the whole atten 
 tion of man. And now sit down, my friend," urged 
 she, "and tell me how you are." 
 
 "Surely, that is not necessary," he replied, throwing 
 back his head with a happy laugh, "when my whole 
 being speaks for me." 
 
 That is true. You are, I see, in perfect health." 
 
 "And you?" asked Frank solicitously, drawing his 
 chair nearer to hers and sitting down. 
 
 "Mv health can never be better nor worse than that 
 
294 The Success of Failure 
 
 of mankind s," replied she, regarding him intently with 
 her large, brown eyes, "and their joys and sorrows 
 must be alike mine/ 
 
 "Ah ! if I had but known and understood that," re 
 plied Frank with a mournful shake of his head, "all 
 your days would have been healthful and joyous ones." 
 
 "So would they be, if all understood, but they do 
 not. And, if you would have all my days healthful 
 and happy ones, you must make them understand." 
 
 "I will." 
 
 "And you will teach them my name ?" 
 
 "Indeed, I will, for do I not know it?" 
 
 "Then it will be well with you." 
 
 "It is well with me now." 
 
 "And will be forevermore." 
 
 "Yes," and Frank s voice lingered tenderly upon 
 each word, "for how can it be otherwise, when Love, 
 Service and Success await me in the home-living 
 place. " 
 
 "That is true," replied she quietly. "No greater 
 honor can be bestowed upon man than that of being 
 a co-worker with them. And to live with them is 
 well worth while. Do you not believe so?" and a 
 tender light filled her face. 
 
 "Indeed, I do in fact, I know so." 
 
Frank Again Visits the Shack 295 
 
 "Then you no longer consider yourself a failure?" 
 
 "No," replied Frank decidedly, "I am what I was 
 created to be, a success." 
 
 "I am glad to know," said she smiling broadly, "that 
 my enforced companionship did not prevent you from 
 finding the road to success." 
 
 "Oh no, it taught me that success or failure was 
 not to be determined by accident nor the possession or 
 non-possession of earthly properties, but rather in the 
 losing of man s self and the finding of himself and in 
 his obedience to the ruling of that finding." 
 
 "You have, then, come into your kingdom," said she, 
 "and need fear no man." 
 
 "And no man, I am glad to say," added he, "need 
 fear me." 
 
 "No, because you know the true relationship exist 
 ing between you and your brother-man." 
 
 "Yes, and would that all knew it as I do," said he 
 fervently. 
 
 "They will, in time, never fear," replied she en 
 couragingly. 
 
 "Yes, but how many must suffer through the long 
 years of waiting," replied Frank sadly. 
 
 "That is so," agreed she ; "but the union which has 
 taken place between Love and Service will greatly 
 
296 The Success of Failure 
 
 lessen the time. True, there are many hard and bitter 
 lessons for Service to learn; but, fortunately for the 
 children of men, she has in her husband a teacher who 
 is invincible and never makes a mistake." 
 
 "Indeed, he does not," heartily acquiesced Frank; 
 "but it took a treatment at the Hospital of The New 
 Birth to teach me that." 
 
 "And not to teach you, only," replied she gazing 
 wistfully through the open door and off into the 
 wooded distance, "but all mankind." 
 
 "If one would succeed, yes," agreed Frank. 
 
 "To possess such knowledge, you are wonderfully 
 blessed," said she, withdrawing her eyes and turning 
 them upon him with a serious smile. "But I must 
 not tarry," and she rose from her chair. 
 
 "Shall I not see you again?" anxiously inquired 
 Frank, getting quickly to his feet. 
 
 "Indeed, you shall," replied she, a beautiful smile 
 lightening up her grave face, "for now you will not 
 shun my society nor call me by a name that is not 
 mine ; and well will you know that the way man calls 
 the way of failure is oft-times the way of success, and 
 that the way he calls by my name is not mine at all. 
 but is the way of lies, wherein the seed of deception is 
 sown. And of all ways this is the most disappointing. 
 
Frank Again Visits the Shack 297 
 
 The sower sows the seed, and then eagerly awaits 
 the appearance of the first tiny green leaf. Then with 
 tender solicitude he watches carefully the continuance 
 of its growth, anticipating its every demand and be 
 stowing upon it every attention that it may grow 
 quickly, and he spurns no suggestion that will enhance 
 its beauty and hasten its growth. Indeed, not a thing 
 is left undone that will produce a fruitful tree. In due 
 season, the fruit appears, and the proud possessor calls 
 in his neighbors to witness the result of his efforts. 
 They outwardly rejoice with him, even though they 
 may inwardly envy what they call his good luck. 
 But, in truth, it is not good luck that has produced this 
 tree ; its growth has been watched with unceasing care 
 and nourished at great cost. For its luscious and most 
 to be desired appearing fruit, man has paid a big 
 price ; and although he may proudly point to it as the 
 proof of his success, at its heart, crumpled up and 
 lying useless, are the forms of men failures all, but 
 failures due to the growth of this tree." 
 
 Frank sighed deeply and walked toward the door. 
 
 "Don t sigh, my friend/ said she, laying a hand pro- 
 testingly upon his arm as she joined him in the door 
 way, "for unto you is given the work of planting a 
 different tree ; and this will be a tree, indeed, the fruit 
 
298 The Success of Failure 
 
 whereof one might well be proud. Although it will 
 boast of no particular owner, its growth will be fos 
 tered by infinite care and tender reverence, and of its 
 fruits all may partake yea, even down to old age. 
 But now I must leave you," and removing her hand 
 from his arm she stepped down to the little path and, 
 followed silently by Frank, walked to the gate. Then 
 she stopped and, turning around, held out her hand. 
 
 "Goodby, my friend, until I shall see you again," said 
 she. "Take back with you to my friends, Love and 
 Service, my fondest greetings and tell them you have 
 seen and talked with me and that my name is " and 
 she stopped and her dark-brown eyes met Frank s in 
 quiringly. 
 
 "Success," he unhesitatingly replied. 
 
 "Good!" exclaimed she, her eyes shining. "Now 
 farewell," and passing through the gate she walked 
 with firm and assured step to the road, when she turned 
 and with her hand waved a mute farewell to the silent 
 figure standing at the gate. 
 
 Frank stepped out into the roadway; and, as he 
 watched the tall, slender, erect form as it moved along 
 with certain step, he saw, what he had hitherto failed 
 to see, wondrously colored rays of light that enveloped 
 her in a glorious mist. At last she passed out of 
 
Frank Again Visits the Shack 299 
 
 sight, and Frank with thoughtful face returned to the 
 shack. Then he immediately put on his hat and coat 
 and came out and locked the door, and with a song 
 on his lips, not yet sung by the world, he began his 
 journey back to the "home-living place," to Love and to 
 Service. 
 
 THE END. 
 
M12O3O2 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY