Madison stopped abruptly--and a silence fell. Each seemed busy with their own thoughts. About them was quiet, stillness, peace--twilight was falling, and a soft, mellow light was in the room.

"No one would dare"--the words came from Mrs. Thornton in almost breathless corroboration, almost of their own accord it seemed, as though heavy upon her lay the solemnity of her surroundings.

Madison's hand went to his pocket--slowly he drew out his check-book and laid it upon the table.

"I am not a rich man"--his voice was very low, very earnest--"but I feel that this is something deeper, grander, bigger than anything the world perhaps has ever known before; something higher and above one's own self; it seems as though here were the chrysalis that, once developed to its perfect state, would sweep pain and sorrow from suffering humanity; it is as though a new, glad era had dawned for all mankind. I am glad to give and humbly proud to have a part in this." He took out his fountain pen, opened the check-book, and began to write.

Thornton leaned forward a little, watching him.

Silence fell again--there was no sound save the almost inaudible scratching of Madison's pen. Upon Mrs. Thornton's face was a happy, radiant smile; Helena's face was impa.s.sive, but in the dark eyes lurked a puzzled light; the two Holmes sat awkwardly, still upon the edges of their chairs, gazing at their son across the room, incredulously, as though they still could not believe--and occasionally Mrs. Holmes wiped her eyes.

Madison's pen moved on: "Pay to the order of Miss Helena Vail the sum of ten thousand dollars." He carefully inscribed the amount in numerals in the lower left-hand corner. "Honest," he confided to himself, as he signed the check, "I feel so philanthropic I could almost make myself believe I had this money in the bank." He tore the check from its stub, and, standing up, handed it to Helena. "I am not a rich man, Miss Vail, as I said," he smiled gravely, "but I can give this, and I give it with great joy in my heart."

Helena took the check, glanced at it, gasped a little, lifted her eyes, an instant's mocking glint in them, and veiled them quickly with her long lashes.

"No"--Madison's hand, palm up, went out protestingly--"no, do not thank me--it is little enough." He sat down again, drew the Patriarch's blank book toward him, and, on the line beneath the one where the Patriarch had ended his essay with the words, "such is the power of faith," wrote his name and set down the amount of his contribution after it.

"Ten thousand dollars!"--it was Mrs. Thornton speaking, as she took the check from Helena. She turned quickly to her husband. "Robert, have you your check-book here?"

Thornton shook his head.

"No, dear," he said. "I'm afraid I haven't."

"Well, it doesn't matter," said Mrs. Thornton brightly. "You can use one of Mr. Madison's checks and write the name of your own bank on it--you've often done that, you know."

"A suggestion," said Madison to himself, "for which I thank you, Mrs.

Thornton--it sounds so much less crude coming from you than from me."

But aloud he said courteously, "Take my pen, Mr. Thornton."

"Thank you," said Thornton, as Madison placed it in his hand.

Mrs. Thornton and her husband had their heads together now, and were whispering--Thornton with his eyes on Helena, who sat with lowered head, twirling Madison's check in her hands. Then Thornton drew the check-book toward him, scratched out the printed name of the bank that it bore, wrote in another, and went on filling out the check.

"Eeny-meeny-miny-mo," said Madison to himself. "The suspense is awful.

How much does he raise the ante? Next to the miracle, this is the first real thrill I've had--I feel like an elevator starting down quick."

As Madison had done, Thornton tore out the check and handed it to Helena. Helena stared at it, lifted her eyes to Thornton, flushed--and looked down at the check again.

"_Fifty thousand_," she murmured breathlessly.

"Splendid!" cried Madison enthusiastically, rising from his chair and pushing the newly established record of contributions toward Thornton.

"Splendid! There's sixty thousand of the five hundred already.

Splendid!"

Young Holmes ran toward his parents.

"I want to give too, dad," he whispered. "I want to give too."

"Reckon so," said Holmes, getting up heavily. "Reckon so--an' I was a-goin' to. I ain't got much though," he added timorously, as his hand went into his pocket.

There was a little exclamation from Helena, and she moved a step forward as though to interpose. Madison looked at her quickly--and quietly stepped around the table, placing himself between her and Holmes; and, facing Holmes, leaned over the table from the far side toward the other.

"It's not the amount, Holmes," he said kindly. "In the broad, true sense the amount counts for nothing--all cannot give the same."

"Yes," said Holmes. "Reckon that's the way I feel." He counted the bills in his hand, and dropped them into the little j.a.panned box; then scrawled his name in the book beneath Thornton's, adding the amount--eight dollars.

Madison looked around the group benignantly.

"I think they should know out there what we have done," he said, pointing toward the lawn. "Let us go and tell them, not in any set speech, but just simply--each of us speaking to a few--the few will tell others. Shall we go?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Thornton. "Yes; let us tell them." She turned to Helena and kissed her. "Try and come often to see me, dear--we shall be here now for a little while at least. Is it asking too much? Robert will bring you back and forth from the village. And perhaps, if I may, I will come out here to see you--may I?"

"I shall be very glad to do as my wife suggests," said Thornton, holding out his hand. "You will come, Miss Vail?"

"You are very good, both of you," Helena answered simply. She raised her eyes to Thornton--her hand was still in his. "Yes, I will try to come."

"Oh, break away!" muttered Madison impatiently--but silently. He stepped to the door and opened it. "Will you lead the way, Mrs. Thornton?" he said calmly.

Thornton and his wife pa.s.sed out; and the Holmes, with clumsy, earnest words upon their lips to Helena, followed. Madison hung back--then stepped quickly to Helena.

"Tear up that check of mine so small you can't find the pieces, Helena,"

he said hurriedly; "and send Thornton's right off to any old bank you like in New York. Endorse it, and write them a note saying you wish to open an account. Enclose your signature, and tell them to mail back the bank-book, a check-book, deposit slips and all that. They'll know by the newspapers that Thornton's subscribed fifty thousand before they get the check, and they'll feel honored to be your depository. Do it to-night, understand?"

"Yes," said Helena, nodding her head. "I'll see to it all right." Then, a little perturbed: "But those poor Holmes and their eight dollars, Doc, I--"

"Now don't be greedy, Helena," said Madison cheerfully. "You mustn't expect everybody to hand out ten and fifty thousand, just because Thornton and I did--try and appreciate the little things of life too."

"Oh!" exclaimed Helena angrily. "Doc Madison, I'd like to--"

"Yes, all right, of course," interrupted Madison, grinning. "Good-by, that's all--I'm off--see, they're waiting for me"--and leaving Helena with an outraged little flush upon her cheek, he hurried through the door after the others.

--XIV--

KNOTTING THE STRINGS

It is a very old saying, and therefore of course indisputably true, that some have greatness thrust upon them. True of men, it is, in one instance at least, true of places--Needley, from an unheard of, modest, innocuous and una.s.suming little hamlet, leaped in a flash into the focus of the world's eyes. In huge headlines the papers in every city of every State carried it on their front pages. And while the first astounding despatch from the metropolitan newspaper man was being copied by leading dailies everywhere, there came on top of it, clinching its veracity beyond possibility of doubt, the news that Robert Thornton, the well known Chicago multi-millionaire, had given fifty thousand dollars to the cause. A man, much less a multi-millionaire, does not give fifty thousand dollars for a bubble, so the managing editors of the leading dailies rushed for their star reporters--and the star reporters rushed for Needley--and the red-haired, sorrowful-faced man in the Needley station grew haggard, tottered on the verge of collapse, and, between the sheafs of flimsy that the reporters fought for the opportunity of pushing at him, wired desperately for a relief.

Needley awoke and came to life--as from the dead. There was bustle, activity, and suppressed and unsuppressed excitement on every hand--the Waldorf Hotel once more opened its doors--the Congress Hotel was already full.

The reporters interviewed everybody with but one exception--the Patriarch.

They interviewed Madison--and Madison talked to them gravely, quietly, a little self-deprecatingly, a little abashed at the thought of personal exploitage.

"I wouldn't be interviewed at all," he told them, "if it were not that mankind at large is ent.i.tled to every bit of evidence that can be obtained. Yes; I gave what I could afford, but it was Holmes, a poor man, who gave most of all--have you seen him? Myself? What does that matter? I am unknown, my personality, unlike Mr. Thornton's, can carry no weight. I am, I suppose, what you might call a rolling stone, a world wanderer. My parents left me a moderate fortune, and I have travelled pretty well and pretty constantly all over the world during the last twelve or fifteen years. How did I come to Needley? Well, you can call it luck, or something more than that, whichever way it appeals to you. I was feeling seedy, a little off-color, and I started down for a rest and lay-off in Maine. I happened to ask a man in Portland if he knew of a quiet place. He meant to be humorous, I imagine. He said Needley was the quietest place he knew of. I took him at his word."