Carol had always been a lonely boy. The companionship of other children was a pleasure he had never known. In the remote Devonshire village, where all the years of his young life had been spent, there were no children who could be invited to his home as friends and companions for him. First his mother's delicate health, and then his own, had prevented visits to or from his cousins. When he was seven years old a fall from his pony caused an injury to his hip, which eventually developed into what the doctors diagnosed as tubercular disease of the hip bone. For three years his mother had been slowly dying of consumption, and the boy had been the joy and brightness of her life. She did not live long after she was told that what she was suffering from he would suffer, too, in another form. She died about six months before the war broke out in South Africa, and fulfilling a promise made some time before, a favorite cousin, then resident in America, whose girlhood had been spent with her as a sister, came to take charge of the household and the young motherless invalid. Major Willmar was ordered to the front shortly after operations commenced, but before he went he had hopes that his boy would grow well and strong. There had been such a marked change in him from the day Cousin Alicia arrived, bringing to that saddened home love and--Truth.

It can, therefore, be easily understood that the first few days at the Manor were to Carol days almost of bewilderment. As soon as his cousins found that their joy in having Father back again, safe and sound, did not hurt Carol, nothing restrained their wild exuberance of spirits. They could not understand the gentle, reserved boy, who spoke with so much love and tenderness of his father, yet had no tears or sadness because he would return no more.

"Perhaps he doesn't quite understand," said Gwendolin.

"I think he does," said Edith, "and I am sure he loved Uncle as much as we love Father. There is such a far-away look in his eyes, when he speaks of his father and mother, just as if he were looking at something we cannot see. Although he is so gentle and kind, especially to the little ones, I am sure no one could persuade him to do anything he thought wrong. He is a dear boy. I am glad he is going to study with us for the present, because the boys at school would not understand him. Even Percy and Frank are inclined to mistake his gentleness for weakness. Yet I could imagine him standing and facing any real danger, when most boys would run away."

From the first Edith had conceived a great affection for her Cousin Carol, and, as a consequence, she understood him better. On many occasions she was able to help him, when Percy and Frank were somewhat brusque and impatient in their treatment of him. They could not understand his reluctance to join in some of their games. He loved to look on; but everything was new and strange to him. He had never been used to playing the games which were so much to Frank and Percy. Edith then quietly explained to her less thoughtful brothers that they should not expect a boy who had spent three years on an invalid's couch to be able to play the games in which they were so proficient.

Carol was often in the nursery, Nurse was so big and motherly. She had welcomed him, as if he had been one of her own children from the first. It was a fixed idea amongst the children that as long as there had been a Manor House, Nurse had presided over the nursery. She was always ready to tell them stories of their father and uncles and aunts in the old days. She even had tales of their grandfather, and many past generations of Mandevilles, and in all the stories, of however long ago, they imagined Nurse playing part. One thing they never could imagine: that was the Manor House without her.

When the little girls wanted him, and that was very frequently, Carol was always ready to go to the nursery, and often accompanied them on their walks. Percy and Frank considered it much beneath their dignity to take a walk "with the babies."

The improvement in Mrs. Mandeville's health, which had commenced on Carol's first visit to her room, continued. In a few days she had taken her usual place in the household, and the children rejoiced in the nightly visits to their bedrooms. How glad they were when there were no visitors downstairs, and they could keep her quite a long time.

Upon the occasion of her first visit to Carol's room, she found him sitting up in bed, reading. She had expected to find him asleep, as the other children had detained her so long.

"My little book-worm, what is the story you find so interesting?" she asked playfully, intending to tell him lovingly the next morning that she did not like the children to read in bed.

"Auntie, it isn't a story book. It is Science and Health. I read it every night and morning."

"What a very strange book for a little boy to be interested in! The title sounds quite alarmingly dry."

"Oh, Auntie, have you never heard of it? It is such a wonderful book. I am beginning to understand it now. At first I could not, but Cousin Alicia used to explain it so beautifully to me, and now I love to read it."

"I cannot say I remember the title, dear, but I should like to look into it. Will you spare it to me this evening? I think it is time now for lights to be extinguished."

Carol gave the book to her gladly, little thinking it would be many long days before he would see it again.

When Mrs. Mandeville returned to the drawing-room, the Rector was there. "Do you know anything of this book, Raymond?" she asked, giving it into his hand. "I found Carol reading it in bed--Science and Health." The frown which was habitually on the Rector's face deepened.

"Indeed I do," he said, "and I should like to do with every copy what I am going to do with this."

He walked over to the fireplace; his intentions were plain. Mrs. Mandeville caught hold of his arm.

"No, no, Raymond, you must not. The book was a present from Miss Desmond to Carol, and you have no right to destroy it, however strongly you may disapprove of his reading it."

"I do more than disapprove. I absolutely forbid him to read any more of it; the most unorthodox rubbish that has been published for centuries. The worst of it is, it has taken hold of some people, especially women, and they are carried away by it."

The Rector slipped the little book into his pocket. As he had not destroyed it, he meant to make sure there should be no chance of its falling again into Carol's hands. He, as well as Mrs. Mandeville, was the boy's legal guardian.

Mrs. Mandeville was sorry. She felt sure from the way Carol had spoken that the book was precious to him. Very gently, the next morning, she told him of his uncle's decision. She noted the quivering lips; the tears he was bravely trying not to shed.

"Dear boy, did you value it so much?" she said.

"Oh, Auntie!" The simple exclamation expressed more pain and regret than many words could have done.

"Darling, I am sorry; but we must believe that Uncle Raymond has good reasons for taking the book away. He says it is fearful heresy. You must not forget that your dear grandfather was a bishop, also your great-grandfather. I could not tell you during how many generations there has always been at least one member of our family a dignitary of the Church."

"What does unorthodox mean, Auntie?"

"It means contrary to, or opposed to the teachings of our beloved church. Your dear father and mother were both good church people."

"Yes, Auntie; but that did not make Mummie better when she was so ill. The vicar often used to sit with her, and pray for her in church, but she was never better for it. When Cousin Alicia came and I was so ill, I began at once to get better. That little book, Science and Health, had taught her to understand the Bible, and God answered her prayers for me!"

"It was certainly a remarkable coincidence--your improving so quickly after Miss Desmond came; but it may have been the result of some fresh medicine the doctor was trying."

"Auntie, I was not taking any medicine. The first night Cousin Alicia came I slept till morning, and the next day I wanted something to eat. The nurses thought it was wonderful, because they had had such difficulty to get me to eat before. Then when they dressed the wounds on my hip every morning I used to scream so, some of the servants went where they could not hear me. In only one week I lost all the pain and I did not cry at all, and very soon one by one the wounds healed."

"It was very remarkable, dear. But do you associate your healing with the book which Uncle Raymond has taken away?"

"Why, Auntie, Science and Health is the Key to the Bible, and the Bible is the 'tree whose leaves are for the healing of the nations.' But people have not understood until they had that Key how to go to the Bible for healing. Cousin Alicia understood; that was why she was able to heal me."

"What you say seems very strange, Carol. If Uncle had not taken the book away, I should have liked to look into it. I expect he would refuse if I asked him to let me read it."

It did not occur to Mrs. Mandeville that she could obtain another copy of the book. The confiscated copy was not the only one to be had. Her conversation with Carol was interrupted just then. The same night when she went, as the evening before, to his bedroom, she found him sitting up in bed. He greeted her eagerly with the words:

"Auntie, I have been thinking."

"Dear boy, what have you been thinking?" She kissed the earnest, upturned face, and realized for the first time that he had a very beautiful countenance, so like, she thought, one of Murillo's child angels.

"I have been thinking, Auntie, of what you said about unorthodox. A good many years ago when Protestants were called heretics, they were unorthodox to the Church of Rome, were they not?"

"Certainly, dear."

"But Protestants are not called heretics now, are they?"

"I think we never hear them so spoken of now, dear, because there are more Protestants in England than Roman Catholics."

"Then, Auntie, when there are more Christian Scientists than other church people, they won't be called heretics."

"Will that ever be?" Mrs. Mandeville asked with a smile.

"Yes, Auntie; it must be, because Christian Scientists obey Jesus. All that he said and commanded in the New Testament, they try to carry out. He commanded his disciples to heal the sick."

"His disciples of that day, dear."

"But, Auntie, didn't he say: 'What I say unto you I say unto all.' If we love him we shall keep all his commandments. That is why I am sorry Uncle Raymond has taken away my Science and Health. I want to understand it like Cousin Alicia does; then some day, if I know little boys or girls ill like I was, I could heal them. It makes me so sorry now that I cannot study. I have written to Cousin Alicia to help me. I know she will. It has been so difficult all day to stand 'porter at the door of thought.' Such a lot of unkind thoughts would keep trying to get in. I know I must not let any of them in, and Cousin Alicia will help me to keep them out."

"I am afraid I do not quite understand, Carol."

"Don't you, Auntie? I have a little book that will explain. It is called 'At the Door.' Our mind is like a beautiful white mansion, and thoughts are like people who go in and out. If we let unkind thoughts pass in, all kind thoughts go away. Self-pity isn't at all a nice person, I have had such difficulty to keep him out all day, especially when I remembered that Father knew I was studying Science and Health, and he did not take it away from me."

"I will tell that to Uncle Raymond, dear, perhaps it will cause him to alter his decision."

"Thank you, Auntie; I know it will be all right. I have only to be patient. They have all gone away now, self-pity and indignation, and anger. If I keep my mansion so full of love, there will be no room for them to squeeze in, will there?"

"No, darling. Now go to sleep. I will take the little book down with me and read it."

Mrs. Mandeville remembered as she went downstairs her visit three years ago to Carol's home. Then she would have described him as a very spoilt child, making allowance for his illness, he was fretful, selfish, exacting. What had wrought such a marvellous change? The physical healing seemed slight in comparison.