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Albert’s mind darted blindly from one conjecture of disaster to another. At one minute he was ready to march in rashly before Miss Ann and demand what was the matter; at another he was cold at the thought of blundering in on a deathbed.

He gasped with relief when the door opened and Miss Keith came out, smiling and calling: “Mrs. Conner! Mrs. Conner! hurry up that beef tea, and make some strong coffee as soon as you can!”

Then he did venture to come into the room, essaying a general bow and smile.

“I hope Aunty Darter is better!” he stammered. The children of the old friends had always given them a brevet relationship. Mrs. Darter was “Aunty Darter” to Albert, and Mrs. Glenn “Aunty Lida” to the Darter girls.

“Mrs. Darter will be well to-morrow,” said Miss Keith, quietly; “she is going to take some coffee–“

“And some toast and plum jam,” interrupted Mrs. Darter herself. “I know Mrs. Conner has been making jam. The times I’ve hankered after jam these last months! I’m going to eat everything I didn’t dast to–“

“By degrees,” said Miss Keith, “as the mental power grows stronger.”

“Is that Albert?” said Mrs. Darter. “Albert, lift me up while I drink that beef tea.”

Albert and Emmy held her while Mrs. Conner fed her a cup of the tea. They laughed hysterically, with tears in their eyes, as Mrs. Darter sighed weakly. “Oh, but that’s good!” while Mrs. Conner radiated satisfaction and Miss Ann rocked to and fro, announcing that it was “mirac’lus!” They did not comprehend what had happened; they could not look into the future and a time when Mrs. Darter should throw herself with energy into preparing for Emmy’s marriage; they only dimly foresaw her recovery and reconciliation with the common pleasures of life; but it was enough for Emmy that her mother’s black hour had passed, and for Albert that he was close to Emmy, and that there was a vague omen of happiness in the atmosphere.

Mrs. Darter took her tea. She went to sleep, as Miss Keith directed her; and she partook with relish of coffee, toast, and jam that selfsame day, so rapidly had her state improved by evening. It was after this last meal, she being vastly strengthened by the food and drink, that she received Albert’s messages from his mother–rather, that she cut them short.

“No, Albert, your ma shan’t keep on feeling bad. She was right. It was all in my mind. All disease is in the mind, I guess. But I wasn’t putting it on–“

“Oh, she knows; she didn’t mean–“

“We didn’t, either of us, mean all we said; the truth is, I felt so bad and so hungry I couldn’t see straight, anyway; and as to Dr. Abbie Cruller, I guess your mother wasn’t far out. She said I never had had a well day since I knew that woman, and I do believe that’s so; but I’ve got a wonderful new doctor now; don’t charge a cent; and you tell your mother to come over and see me and stay to tea. My hand’s out making blueberry cake, but I’m going to try.”

But this interview was hours after Doris Keith and the Conners had driven away. Mrs. Conner gave her husband a graphic account of the “miracle.” “Ann Bigelow will have it’s no less,” says she.

“Thing pleased me,” chuckles Conner, wrinkling his eyes out of sight in his ironic enjoyment–“thing pleased me was the way she’d go on ’bout Miss Keith’s eyes piercing her right through, after Miss Keith had practysed them eyes on you ‘n’ me all the evening, jest from my description of that Indian doctor. Well, she done it well; but I wish I could have seen it!”

“Will Mrs. Darter keep right on and not back-slide, think?” said Mrs. Conner.

“I think she will,” said Doris; “I hope she will. And there’s one thing: after I’m gone (I shall have to run away from my reputation) you must own up about your ankle–and me to Miss Darter and poor, trusting Miss Bigelow. She’s such a good soul! Mrs. Darter–well, you will know when it’s safe to tell Mrs. Darter.”

“Humph!” said Conner, “Emmy’ll be grateful! I guess we’ll go slow on the Widow Darter; and as to Ann Bigelow–“

“I do feel sneaky about her,” sighed Doris. “It’s touching, her faith. She’s a simple-hearted creature. I hate to uproot her.”

“Oh, you needn’t be afraid,” said Conner, grinning; “she won’t be uprooted. She will say it’s jest as much mental healing as if you done it in earnest. And ain’t Mrs. Darter healed? she’ll say.”

“Well,” Doris mused aloud, “I dare say she’s right. It certainly was a mental healing, and how far the power of the mind to heal goes none of us can say. Perhaps, after all, she is right, and it is a bit of a miracle, although it was only a miracle play!”