Independent Christian Science articles

The Questions of my Friend

From the April 27, 1907 issue of the Christian Science Sentinel by


In the supposed conversation contributed by Mrs. Yates to the March issue of The American Queen she answers several of the trite criticisms of Christian Science which the followers of that faith have had to meet on many occasions. Mrs. Yates has told her story so well that the thought of many of our readers will immediately turn to some experience of their own of a similar character. — Editor, Sentinel.


A friend said to me the other day: “Of course I know that there is ever so much good in Christian Science, and I have seen plenty of people who have been helped by it, and of course I think it is all right for certain things; but do you honestly believe that when there is something serious the matter, something really serious, that Scientists ought to try to get along without a physician?”

“Well,” I said, “what do you think is the reason that we employ a Christian Science practitioner instead of a physician?”

“I suppose —” she hesitated, “I suppose it is because you think it would be wrong to have a doctor; and because you wish to be consistent, and —” she seemed at a loss for further explanation of our very peculiar conduct.

“You have,” I said, “omitted a most exceedingly important point.”

“What is it?” she inquired.

“This: that we wish to get well.”

She looked somewhat taken aback.

“And that, quickly,” I added, “and permanently Don’t you think this a fairly good reason in itself?”

“Yes,” she said, “but you don’t always.”

“Do doctors’ patients, always?”

“No,” she admitted rather reluctantly; “but I don’t see how you can think that you can get well without a doctor, that is, from anything serious. It doesn’t seem reasonable. I don’t understand what foundation you have for such a belief.”

“Have you ever studied the matter?” I asked.

“Well, no, I have never exactly studied it; but I have asked, ever so many times, to have it explained to me, and no one ever made it seem reasonable to me, though they do seem to understand it themselves.”

“Now listen for a moment,” I said. “Suppose that a civil engineer is engaged in his work, and remarks that a certain tree, upon the opposite side of the river, is at such and such a distance from the bank.

“But,” observes a bystander, “how do you know? You have not been to that side of the river.”

“I have a means of calculating,” says the engineer, “which brings me the right result, without the need of crossing over.”

“Nonsense!” exclaims the bystander, “how can you calculate a thing like that? There is no way to find it out but by going over there and measuring.”

“And yet I do calculate it correctly, by means of my instruments and my rules.”

But the other shakes his head. “It isn’t reasonable,” he says, “to believe that you can measure that space without going over there.”

“Well,” says the engineer, “I don’t care to argue the matter with you; but if you wish, go over there and measure the distance, and then come and verify my figures.”

The man does so, and finds that the engineer’s figures are correct. He is momentarily puzzled, then declares it to be a mere coincidence; adding, “for nothing can make me believe that there is any rule for working out a thing like that.”

So the engineer selects another tree and once more proves the accuracy of his calculations. The man becomes more interested. “It really does seem to work!” he exclaims. “Tell me how, so that I may do it.”

“I cannot explain it in a few words,” says the engineer. “You will have to study the process, as I have had to.”

The other looks incredulous. “It is very odd,” he says, with some irony, “that if there really is a rule, you cannot tell it to me, so that I may use it for myself, — or perhaps it is a secret that you do not wish others to know?”

“No,” says the engineer, patiently; “the facts and methods are open to all who care to take the pains to learn; but they cannot be stated in a few words; they must be studied, practised, and proved.”

“Well,” rejoins the other, “I don’t understand it, and I could never have any confidence in a rule like that. I could never place any dependence upon it. It might be all right to experiment with, in small matters; but I would never base any important calculations upon any such basis as that. I’ll take my measuring line and go across the river every time.”

“But suppose that your measuring line is inadequate? Suppose that you wish to know the width of a river where there are rapids and no bridge? What will you do then?”

The other considers for a moment. “Well,” he says, “when I can’t use my measuring line, I’ll throw up the sponge. Anyway, I haven’t the slightest confidence in that method of yours, and I don’t understand it, and I don’t think that you ought to be allowed to use it in important calculations.”

But the engineer only smiles. “It is your privilege,” he says, “to use your own methods in your own affairs, and I claim the same right. I have proven my rule over and over again, hundreds and hundreds of times, and I know that it is not coincidence or guesswork. I know that it is founded upon a solid basis of mathematical truth. Your measuring line may stretch or shrink, or be inadequate for your purpose; but my method is always accurate and sure. Wherever I have failed to obtain an immediate and correct result, the fault has been in some mistake in my reckoning, not in the method itself, and this I have always discovered by a careful review of my work. The method is logically clear and correct when one has studied it, — so clear and so logical that, had I never once obtained a correct answer, I would still know that the rule is exact, just as you know that two absolutely straight horizontal lines must be parallel to each other, whether your hand is steady enough to draw them absolutely and accurately horizontal, or not. Your result may not show parallel lines; but that is because your hand trembled, or your eye was not true, not because of any variation of the fact. Your wavering lines cannot affect that.”

My friend nodded her head over the little allegory. “Yes,” she said, “I see. I suppose that you can depend upon what you understand and prove for yourself. But, honestly, if you were very, very sick, wouldn’t you be afraid not to have a physician?”

“My dear,” I said, “I’d be afraid to have one. Not but that I believe them to be honest and noble in their profession, but —”

“Ah,” interrupted my friend, “there is your fanaticism, that you fear to be punished for doing what you think wrong, and there is your stubborn effort toward consistency, also.”

“You are wrong,” I said, “entirely wrong. Now suppose that you had been very ill, and had employed Doctor Jones, and that you liked and respected him; but that you were confined to your bed for many weeks, and that for a long time afterward you suffered from the effects of the illness. Now suppose you were again attacked in just the same way, with symptoms just as severe, conditions just as serious, and suppose that you employed Dr. Smith this time, and that his mode of treatment was radically different from that of Dr. Jones, and that he explained to you its process and the reason for its results, so that you understood; and suppose that this time you recovered within a few days, and that there were no evil effects remaining. Now, should you, in the course of time, be taken ill again, what would be your natural inclination? To send for Dr. Jones, under whose care you lay in bed for weeks, or for Dr. Smith, who had you on your feet in a few days? Would you stop very long to consider the question?”

“No,” said my friend.

“Now,” I continued, “suppose that some one should say to you: ‘I don’t see how you dare to employ Dr. Smith. I never tried him. I always have Dr. Jones, I have a standing account with him, for I am sick a great deal; but I wouldn’t trust Dr. Smith. He may be all right in small matters; but I don’t understand his methods, and I wouldn’t trust him with anything serious. I think that you go too far in your loyalty and your effort to be consistent with your eulogies of him and his methods, when you trust him with grave cases or with the care of your innocent little children.’

“‘But,’ you say, ‘I have tried Dr. Jones, and I was nearly always sick while under his care, and I have had very little illness, and that quickly met, by Dr. Smith. I would be afraid to go back to Dr. Jones.’

“‘Oh,’ says your friend, ‘you are afraid that Dr. Smith would do something to revenge himself, if you should leave him.’ Now what would you say to her?”

My friend nodded again. “It does look different from that point of view,” she said; “but still, I cannot bear the idea of using Science alone upon little children, who cannot choose for themselves.”

“My dear,” I said, “you know a good many Christian Scientists, have you ever noticed that they seemed to care less for their little ones than do other people?”

“Oh, no, — no indeed.”

“Well, now, do you know of any normal, loving mother or father who would deliberately risk a little one’s life for a mere stubborn whim? You know what a child’s life is to its parents; then you surely need not question whether that parent is or is not going to employ for that little one the method of healing which he honestly and earnestly believes in his heart will bring to it the swiftest and surest relief. Look at it from a common-sense point of view. We are not pagans, sacrificing our lives and the lives of our little ones to some sense of religious fanaticism, to some cruel pagan god; but we are normal men and women, using for ourselves and for those dear to us that which we have learned to know is the wisest and most efficacious remedy, and trusting ourselves to the conduct of a tender and loving God. That we have studied along certain lines which cause our opinions to differ from yours, does not argue that we are, necessarily, in the wrong. When you have studied as diligently and as honestly along the same lines, you will think with us.”

My friend shook her head doubtfully. “I haven’t much time for study,” she said, “and, besides, I don’t seem to have much success when I use Christian Science. I guess I haven’t faith enough. I tried it on the last cold I had. I just made up my mind that I wouldn’t take any medicine or do one thing for myself. My husband was worried almost to death, for I coughed day and night for two weeks. I never did have a cold hang on so. But I just told him that I was going to stick to it, and see what Science would do; and when I did finally get well, he said he hoped I was satisfied, so well satisfied that I’d never try it again. I told him I guessed I was.”

“Did you see your practitioner often?” I asked.

“Oh, I didn’t have a practitioner! I just used it myself.”

“But, — but you have never even read the text-book!”

“No, but I just thought I would see what I could do with it.”

“Well, you say you used it; how did you use it?”

“Why, I told you, — I didn’t take any medicine, or do anything.”

“And was that all?”

“Yes, only I tried to think I didn’t have a cold.”

“And you call that using Christian Science?”

“Yes. What do you call it?”

“Well,” I said, “if you wish my honest opinion, I call it a very foolish proceeding.”

“Why? Isn’t that what you do?”

“Let us have another illustration,” I said. “Suppose that you had been living upon an entire meat diet, and should decide to become a vegetarian, and should begin by recognizing the very important point that you must stop eating meat. Therefore you stop. Now suppose that in so doing you entirely lost sight of the fact that a very necessary feature in being a vegetarian is that one should eat vegetables. You did not take that into consideration, — you simply stopped eating meat; and, as you had been eating nothing else, and now substituted nothing, you ate nothing whatever. You merely kept telling yourself that vegetarians averred that meat was not necessary, and went on, from day to day, growing hungrier and hungrier, and thinner and thinner, and stating to all enquirers that you were testing vegetarianism to see what was in it. It wouldn’t take you very long to come to the conclusion that vegetarianism was not practicable, that you, at least, couldn’t get along without meat, and you would notify your friends that you had tested the theory to your sorrow; and then you would return to your meat diet, sadder and not much wiser; but well convinced of the error of vegetarianism; for you are positive that you would have starved to death if you had kept it up. Now, in so doing, are you giving the vegetarian theory a fair showing? Aren’t you really slandering it and misleading those who do not understand exactly your method of testing it?”

“Yes, I suppose so; but to test it that way would be absurd.”

“Now, you needn’t laugh,” I said, “for that is exactly the sort of test that you gave Christian Science. The foundation of your method of treatment was negative, — not to take medicine. A continuous negative never yet brought a positive result, its ultimate is nothing. Your foundation must be positive, an accepted fact; and your method must contain more positives than negatives, more knowledge of the truth than denial of error, if you would realize a positive result. That you took no medicine, no more argued that you were using Christian Science than that you were using osteopathy or voodoo practices; and as for having given it a fair trial, — well, what do you think about it now, yourself?”

My friend pursed her lips. “I suppose you are right,” she said; “but I didn’t see it that way before.”

“And you have told others that you used Christian Science on that cold, and what the results were?”

“Yes, I suppose I have. — quite a number.”

“Well, don’t you think that it would be a good plan to modify that statement to them, when you have a chance?”

“Yes,” she said, “I will. And I suppose it wouldn’t hurt me to really try Science some time.”

“No,” I said, “I don’t think that it would hurt you, and the chances are that it would do you a lot of good.”

“There is one more thing that I would like to ask,” she went on. “It seems to me that if the healing is of God, it ought to be free. I don’t see how the practitioner can think it right to charge for it.”

“I’ll tell you one reason,” I said. “You see, the practitioners have not yet demonstrated over the necessity of eating food and wearing clothing and having roofs over their heads. When a person gives up his ordinary pursuits which have heretofore furnished him with a livelihood, and takes up the study and practice of Christian Science, can you tell me by what means he can obtain the necessaries of life if he makes no charge for the time which he devotes to this work? He cannot give all of his attention to it, and still carry on other vocations, and yet he must eat and be clothed. Can you solve the problem otherwise than by the charge of the very low rate for the time given to the patient?”

“No,” said my friend, “I suppose that he has to live, the same as the rest of us.”

“He surely has,” I said, “and there is, also, another reason for the charge. A gift, as of work in this case, given without charge, and accepted by the recipient as his right, not as a favor (for that seems to be your argument), has little value. It has cost no effort, — it makes little impression. It is a small matter. If it fail, there seems to be little lost; hence much of the efficacy of the treatment is forfeited through the indifference of the recipient. His attitude of apathy is a bar to the good which he might otherwise receive. But let him feel that he has something at stake, and lo, his attitude is eager and receptive. And, again, were this work given without charge or price, the mere curiosity seeker, the searcher after new experiences, the chronic sponge, the seeker for something for nothing; all of these would so fill the time of the practitioner that the real sufferer, the earnest seeker, the honest investigator would be crowded from their places; for it would be well-nigh impossible to supply practitioners enough to do the work.”

My friend nodded once more. “I see the argument,” she said, “and I am glad to know your side of the question. I have argued quite a number of such questions with Christian Scientists, and they always seem to get the best of the argument. As I said, I think that there is a lot of good in it; but there are quite a number of points that I don’t believe. I can’t argue them very well, though, for I am not exactly sure as to what you really do think. You see, nearly all of the absurd things that people say you accept, I find are just as ridiculous to Christian Scientists as they are to me, and that you really do not believe them at all. I don’t argue as much as I used to, though, I just ask questions,” she added.

“That is a good sign,” I said, laughing; “but let me give you a word of advice, — read the text-book. Then you will know what we really do accept, and what we really do prove, and that will be better than asking questions to find out what we don’t believe and what we don’t practise. And when you have read it, you will be in a very much better position to argue than you are now.”

“But,” protested my friend, “perhaps I will not wish to argue when I have read the book.”

“Perhaps you will not,” I agreed, heartily.

The Church Manual

Take Notice

From the September 17, 1910 issue of the Christian Science Sentinel by

The article on the Church Manual by Blanche Hersey Hogue, in the Sentinel of Sept. 10, is practical and scientific, and I recommend its careful study to all Christian Scientists.

Mary Baker Eddy.


The Church Manual

by

Christian Scientists have for their instruction the Scriptures, the writings of Mrs. Eddy, which open to them the Scriptures, and the Church Manual, the rules of which help them to apply what they have been taught. The Bible, understood through Christian Science, is aiding its students individually to live in Christian discipleship; the Manual of The Church of Christ, Scientist, in providing that Christian Scientists shall work together, is helping them collectively to live in Christian fellowship. The teaching of the Scriptures and the Christian Science text-book bring about the individual correction of thought, while the rules of the Church Manual make possible right action through groups of individuals and through the whole body of Scientists. So, the Bible, Science and Health, and the Manual are equally important in their places. The Manual bears definite relation to the other two books in that it shows us how to take the steps that will bring their teaching into our lives in all necessary relations with our fellow-men. It safeguards and regenerates Christian fellowship by promoting the best possible form of church organization. For these reasons, therefore, it can no more be dispensed with than can the Scriptures or the Christian Science text-book.

Of the Bible Mrs. Eddy has written: “Christian Scientists are fishers of men. The Bible is our sea-beaten Rock. It guides the fishermen. It stands the storm. It engages the attention and enriches the being of all men” (Sentinel, March 31, 1906). Christian Scientists themselves know what place the Christian Science text-book holds in their regeneration; how it makes plain the words of prophet, apostle, and of the Master himself; how it brings Christian healing into human experience today. And concerning the Manual Mrs. Eddy has said: “Of this I am sure, that each rule and by-law in the Manual will increase the spirituality of him who obeys it, invigorate his capacity to heal the sick, to comfort such as mourn, and to awaken the sinner” (Sentinel, Sept. 12, 1903). In keeping with the law and order set forth in the Manual, we have the Sunday Lesson-Sermons, the mid-week testimony meetings, the provision of monthly, weekly, and daily reading-matter, the board of lecturers, the Christian Science reading-rooms, the publication committee work, the rotation of church officers, etc., while, in keeping with its instructions, students are being taught and patients are being healed in all the world. Great reforms, indeed, are going on through the united action for good which operates through the Christian Science movement, and the outward and visible activities bear witness to the inward and spiritual understanding, which is itself being quickened by the law and order and discipline of right organization.

It is best for the Christian Scientist at present that he is not allowed to live to himself. His place in organization teaches him many things that he cannot learn otherwise, for it lifts him from the selfish consideration of his personal problems to the unselfish support of an impersonal cause. Within the ample boundaries of the Christian Science organization he finds multiplied opportunities for surrendering his own will, his own opinion, and his own comfort to the good of the whole,—opportunities unafforded even by the home or by any outside life in the world; and he is cheered by good example and by happy fellowship to higher faith in good as the ends of organization are worked out together.

If, then, the Church Manual, with the organization for which it provides, has so large a place in the establishment and growth of Christian Science, it is essential that Christian Scientists be keenly alive to its provisions and its demands. Continual fidelity, for instance, to the instruction found in Article VIII., Section 1, that “neither animosity nor mere personal attachment” shall govern motives and actions; to the warning in the same paragraph against “prophesying, judging, condemning, counseling, influencing or being influenced erroneously;” to the demand for a charitable attitude toward all religious, medical, and legal points of view; to the adoption, so insistently urged, of the spirit of the golden rule,—this fidelity, we know, will help in the making over of human nature, until in some fair day by-laws to provide for such consistent Christian behavior shall be no longer necessary. And it is unquestionably true that he who really does heed the requirement set forth in the Manual concerning Jesus’ teaching that each shall go to his brother alone and tell him of his fault before publishing it to others, accepts a discipline which makes him in deed as well as in profession a genuine Christian Scientist.

Because the question of church organization is so vital a matter, it becomes naturally an important point to protect. A Christian Scientist who cannot at the moment be made suddenly disloyal to the Bible, to the Christian Science text-book or to its writer, can perhaps, through innumerable arguments, be persuaded into a lukewarm attitude toward church organization. Indifference, restlessness, criticism that is mere fault-finding and is not constructively helpful, are the symptoms of coming under such persuasion. To prevent this each member needs to keep his thoughts warm and loving toward all church activities; to be cheerfully in his place at meetings whenever possible; to be helpfully interested in every detail of cooperative work, though this does not mean necessarily that he shall take part, personally, in every church undertaking; for the quietest and least conspicuous church-member is sometimes best serving the church. It does mean, however, that we must guard zealously our love for organization, even in its present incomplete form, that we may not hinder its growth into greater beauty and utility.

Indifference to organization indicates that we believe we value the Scriptures and the Christian Science text-book, but refuse the discipline their teaching asks of us through the rules and by-laws of the Manual. Finding and keeping a place within organization means sometimes the surrender of ease and self-will, but it means, too, shelter and safety and the right to peace. So long, then, as the Leader of the Christian Science movement sees there is need for organization to establish Christian Science, no student may fancy that he has rightly “outgrown” organization. The Christian Scientist is a standard-bearer within The Church of Christ, Scientist, and he who remains loyally and lovingly at his post best serves God, all humanity, and himself.

It may be said, truly, that the inspiration for the Church Manual is found in the life of Mrs. Eddy. Everything asked of Christian Scientists in maintaining the cause beyond and above all personal interests, Mrs. Eddy herself has done before them. Had she consulted only her own comfort she might have been tempted to apply what she knows of God just to the working out of her own salvation. Instead, she has labored forty years and more to give of her store to the world; she has been impelled to found the church with all its educational branches, and to protect its growing activities; she has foregone ease, and has bound herself to this task, that we, too, may find the Christ-healing for our sin and pain. Consistent and blessed is the Christian Scientist who can bind himself with her until many more shall find their healing and until The Church of Christ, Scientist, shall stand in good will to all men, radiant and triumphant in the earth.

On the Way There

A Wonder Tale for Boys and Girls, Both Little and “Grown Tall.”
by


“A Little Gem”

“I recommend to Christian Scientists, and to all lovers of truth, to read the little book, On the Way There, by Katherine M. Yates. It is scientific, simple. It is an object lesson for each one of us to learn the meaning of this saying of our Master: ‘Be ye therefore wise as serpents and harmless as doves.’

Mary B. G. Eddy

Pleasant View, Concord, NH August 18, 1904”

Quoted from The Christian Science Sentinel of August 27, 1904, page 828.

Preface

An allegory may tell much or little, according as the reader reads between the lines or sees only the printed page. The story is but the symbol of a greater truth lying behind and inspiring it, just as man, as we seem to see him, is but the imperfect symbol of the perfect man which is, the only man, the man which we should learn to recognize despite the appearance which he seems to show to us.

The loyal Christian Scientist “reads between the lines” whichever way he turns; for his wonderful textbook, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, by Mary Baker G. Eddy, is a key to the understanding of all which comes into his consciousness; and with this joyous comprehension of “a new heaven and a new earth” comes a heartfelt love and gratitude of which there are no words to tell.

The little story of what Marjorie saw “On the Way There,” is for big or little folks, according as he who reads it, finds it worth while, in the best sense of the phrase.

Foreword

The little books of the “Marjorie and the Dream” series are not written primarily for children in years; but are for the little girl or boy within, who never has grown up and never will grow up. Those who would find the kernel of these bits of allegory, have but to know that Marjorie is this ever- young child within; and the Dream besides his dream character, is the prosecuting attorney, self-analysis, who asks us questions — questions which we all must answer either now or sometime in the years to come.

On the Way There

“I don’t see what you are good for, anyway,” said Marjorie, crossly. “It’s queer that I can’t go to bed and to sleep quietly, without a horrid old Dream like you coming to bother me.”

The Dream balanced himself on the foot-board and cracked his heels together saucily. He was little and thin and brown; and he wore a tight fitting brown velvet suit, and very pointed little brown velvet slippers, and a little brown velvet cap perched jauntily on one side of his head.

“Well,” he said, grinning in a most aggravating manner, “what is it that you don’t like about me? Didn’t I just let you walk along the ridge-pole of the house? Even your mother never lets you do that.”

“Yes, and when I got to the edge of the roof you pushed me off and I kept falling, falling and falling — why I’d be falling yet if I hadn’t wakened up.”

The Dream giggled. He had a very unpleasant way of giggling when things were not at all funny.

Marjorie went on. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you would take me to places where I really want to go, and let me see really interesting things; but you never let me have anything to say about it. You just take me anywhere that you have a notion to, and you don’t care in the least whether I like it or not.”

“You think that you could plan your trips better, yourself, do you?” asked the Dream.

“Of course I could,” said Marjorie. “You don’t know where I want to go, and I do.” “Well, where do you want to go tonight?” asked the Dream.

“Nowhere,” said Marjorie. “I want to be let alone tonight.” “All right,” said the Dream, “we’ll go there, then.” “Where?” asked Marjorie, in surprise.

“To Nowhere, of course,” said the Dream. “That’s where you said you wanted to go isn’t it?”

“Yes,but — ” began Marjorie.

“Then what are you waiting for?” asked the Dream.

“Well, I — I guess I don’t want to go there, after all,” said Marjorie, looking somewhat worried. “I guess you don’t know where you do want to go,” sniffed the Dream, contemptuously.

Marjorie hesitated. “I’ll tell you what!” she exclaimed, suddenly, “take me to the very nicest place that you know of, will you?”

“Sure,” agreed the Dream, cheerfully, only the way there isn’t so nice.”

“Oh, I don’t mind that,” said Marjorie, “if it’s only nice when I get there.”

“Look out for that mud-puddle!” exclaimed the Dream.

Marjorie stepped over the mud puddle very carefully. “It’s bad walking,” she said, looking about her.

They were making their way through some very low and swampy ground, and there was mud and water upon every side, much of it hidden by a growth of long rank grass, which looked particularly green and coarse. There seemed to be a great many other children going along the same way, and Marjorie looked at them curiously. Some appeared to be intelligent and well dressed, and other dull and poorly clad; but all showed, upon their features and clothing, spots of mud and dirt from the marsh through which they were passing.

“Do we have to go far in this swamp?” asked Marjorie.

The Dream pointed to where, a long, long way ahead, they could see roofs and spires shining in the distance, surrounded by groves of trees.

“It seems a pretty long way,” said Marjorie, turning from the sight to look about her once more. The swamp stretched away as far as she could see upon one hand, and upon the other was a high, thick hedge. Here and there, about the marsh, were scattered little islands which were fairly dry and sported a few trees and bushes; and upon each of these knolls was a crowd of children, still soiled and grimy from plodding through the mud, but laughing and singing and playing games in the gayest and noisiest manner.

“Let’s go and watch them,” said Marjorie, pointing to a nearby island.

“All right,” agreed the Dream, “only you won’t get to the nice place so quickly.”

“I don’t mind,” said Marjorie. “I’d like to see what they are doing.”

As the two drew near, they saw that the children were not having such a very good time, after all; for scattered thickly about among them, were a lot of unpleasant looking little dwarfs about ten inches high, and with very ugly faces. The dwarfs did not seem to have any games of their own; but merely spent their time hanging on to the arms or perched upon the shoulders of the children as they played and appeared to be annoying them in every way possible. The children did not pay much attention to them, though they really almost spoiled the fun, being such a weight and hindrance; and besides, every once in a while, one of the dwarfs would bite or kick the child to whose arm it was clinging, or begin to fight with others of its own kind.

Marjorie glanced about and noticed now, that nearly all of the children who were plodding through the swamp, carried one or two, or sometimes even more, of these ugly little fellows; so that, in some cases, they were so hampered that they could scarcely step. It seemed as if the dwarfs could not walk alone; but when a child would shake one off, which was not very often, for they clung most obstinately; it would crouch down in the long grass, out of sight; and then, when some other child would pass along, it would spring out and catch her hand, almost before she knew it; and then it was very hard indeed to shake it off.

Marjorie was about to ask the Dream concerning these queer little fellows, when she noticed a little girl who was just stepping up on to the island. She was the very prettiest child that Marjorie had ever seen, and her hair was much longer than Marjorie’s, and of a brighter brown. Just as Marjorie observed this, one of the little dwarfs sprang up from the ground at her own feet, and caught hold of her arm.

For a moment she scarcely noticed him, so intent was she upon getting nearer to the lovely girl; but, presently, as a slight breeze tossed the bright hair so that it looked as if it were full of sunbeams, the dwarf set his teeth in one of her fingers and bit it quite hard.

“Oh!” exclaimed Marjorie, trying to shake him off. “You ugly little thing! What did you do that for?”

The dwarf made no answer, but the Dream giggled his unpleasant little giggle. Marjorie turned upon him angrily.

“What made you bring me to such a horrid place?” she exclaimed, “and what makes these abominable dwarfs act this way? Why don’t you help me get it off?” and she tried in vain to shake the little fellow from her arm.

“I can’t take it off for you,” said the Dream. “You’ll have to get rid of it for yourself.”

“But what is it?” cried Marjorie, “and what does it hold on to me for, and bite me, too?”

“It holds on to you because it can’t get around by itself. It has to attach itself to somebody. It has no power of its own.”

“But what is it?” repeated Marjorie.

“It’s an Error,” said the Dream, looking at her with a broad grin.

“An Error!” echoed Marjorie, in surprise.

“Yes,” said the Dream, “that’s what it is.”

“And are all of those Errors?” asked Marjorie, pointing to the multitude of little dwarfs scattered about among the children. “Yes,” said the Dream.

“But they are not all alike,” said Marjorie. “Some are larger than others, and some are uglier.”

“Why, of course they are not all alike,” said the Dream. “They only belong to the same family. They have any number of different names.”

“Have they, really?” asked Marjorie, growing interested. “Well, what is the name of this one?” and she held up her arm to which the ugly little fellow was still clinging.

“Don’t you know?” asked the Dream, with a funny grin.

“Of course I don’t know, how should I?” cried Marjorie impatiently. “Well,” said the Dream slowly, and still grinning, “His name is Envy.” “Oh-h-h!” said Marjorie.

“Yes,” said the Dream, nodding his head several times, “that is his name. Do you like him?”

“No,” said Marjorie, “I don’t. But how did he happen to catch hold of me just then?”

The Dream glanced toward the very pretty little girl, and Marjorie followed his gaze.

“Oh-h-h!” she said again, her face flushing. Just then the wind fluttered the bright hair once more and the dwarf bit her sharply upon the hand.

Marjorie stood silently for some minutes and then she began anew to try to dislodge the little pest; but she could not pull him off nor shake him off, and at last she gave up in despair. “Can’t you really help me?” she asked the Dream, pleadingly.

The Dream shook his head. “No,” he said; “you may be able to shake him off if you shake hard enough, but it will hurt you. “Or, “he added, consolingly, “he may drop off, of himself, in time, though he isn’t likely to.”

Marjorie looked about her miserably; and just then she noticed that the little girl with the bright hair, was surrounded by a whole swarm of the little dwarfs, all bent upon making her as wretched as possible. As Marjorie saw and half started forward, as if to go to the rescue, the dwarf which had been holding her own arm, suddenly dropped off and hid in the grass at her feet.

“There!” she exclaimed, delightedly, “He’s gone! How glad I am!”

The Dream looked amused. “Of course you are,” he said grinning, “but you are probably not thinking of the hundreds of his brothers of the same name, who are hiding in the tall grass all about you; and this one is just waiting for some other child to happen along.”

“Oh, dear!” cried Marjorie, “what shall I do?”

“There’s just one way to get entirely rid of these fellows,” said the Dream.” “And what is it?” asked Marjorie, eagerly,

“Wait a while,” said the Dream. “Perhaps you’ll find it out for yourself. Shall we go on now?”

“Yes,” said Marjorie, and they started on plodding through the mud and long, tangled grass, and going out of their way to avoid great black-looking pools, or clumps of tall rushes and other water plants. Many times Marjorie stumbled, and sometimes even fell over logs or stones lying buried in the soft mud and ooze.

At last she stopped short in desperation, and turned upon the Dream. “You abominable Dream!” she cried. “What on earth did you bring me here for?”

Just at that moment a particularly ugly little dwarf sprang out of a clump of rushes and alighted on her shoulder.

Marjorie started, with an exclamation of disgust and tried to shake him off. The Dream chuckled.

“Oh, dear!” cried Marjorie. “What is it?”

“Anger,” said the Dream, grinning.

“Well, I don’t care,” sobbed Marjorie; “it is dreadful here, and I know I shall never get through this awful swamp.”

Here another dwarf sprang out and landed beside the first. “Discouragement,” remarked the Dream.

Marjorie began to look frightened. “Why, what shall I do–” she began, glancing hurriedly about for a way of escape, and instantly up sprang another little fellow and took possession of the other shoulder.

Fear,” chanted the Dream, monotonously, as if he were repeating a roll call.

“Oh, dear, I can’t bear it!” cried Marjorie, trying to fight them off. “And they bite so! Oh, what shall I do?”

“Pain,” called the Dream, as a fourth little fellow clutched one of her arms.

The Dream’s dry, teasing little voice was most aggravating to Marjorie’s suffering, and she turned upon him in a perfect passion of anger. “I’ll get even with you!” she cried. “I hate you. I didn’t want to come with you, anyway, and you know it!”

Here, three more of the ugly little fellows threw themselves upon her, while the Dream called out, in his monotonous tones: “Revenge, Hatred, Falsehood.”

Poor Marjorie was nearly overwhelmed. She could scarcely take a step, and the dwarfs kept fighting among themselves, and now and then here another dwarf sprang out and landed beside biting her viciously.

“Oh, dear,” she cried, “what shall I do? What shall I do?”

Just then she became conscious of a sweet childish voice calling to her. In fact, she suddenly remembered that she had been hearing the voice for a long time; but she had been too much occupied with her own interests and troubles to pay any attention to it. Now she listened.

“Little girl, little girl,” it called, “don’t be afraid! God is taking care of you.”

Marjorie looked all about. At first she could see no one to whom the voice could belong; but presently she turned toward the tall hedge; and there, above its top, she saw, peering through the branches, the sweet face of a woman.

“Don’t be afraid,” called the loving voice again. “Nothing can hurt you. Just come through the hedge. There is a fine, dry highway here, which leads clear across the swamp to the beautiful city where you wish to go.”

Marjorie hesitated and looked around over the great, dismal morass where she stood. She noticed now, that there were many painted signs sticking up out of the mud all about. Just in front of her lay a broad pool of dingy water, at the side which stood one of the signs, which read: “DANGER! The Pool of Ill Health.” A little farther on was another, marked: “BEWARE! Pool of Accidents,” and one of the small islands near by was marked: “The Island of Bad Company,” and just to one side was a pool marked: “DANGER! Pool of Death.” It seemed as if she were so surrounded by dangers that she could not hope to get through them alive, and meanwhile, the little dwarfs were weighing her down, as well as tormenting her almost beyond endurance.

Marjorie looked back at the bright, loving face above the hedge. “How do I know that there is a high-road there?” she asked, doubtfully.

“Come closer and see,” said the woman; and Marjorie, with her heavy load of Errors, staggered nearer until she could look between the leaves and branches of the hedge; and there, sure enough, she saw an embankment with a smooth road running along the top of it, upon which were passing many happy-faced children. “Children,” she called, “is that truly a smooth, dry road? and does it really lead to the beautiful city where I am trying to go?

“Yes,” called the children; “yes, it does. Come up out of the mud.”

Marjorie turned again toward the sweet, smiling face which she had first seen, and took a step forward. Then she stopped. “It isn’t any use!” she cried, woefully. “These dreadful dwarfs! They won’t let me come! I can never get through the hedge and up the bank with them.”

“No, you cannot,” said the woman, gently; “but you do not wish to, do you? You do not wish to take them with you?”

“No, no!” cried Marjorie; “but I can’t get rid of them. I’ve tried and tried.”

“You haven’t tried the right way, Dear,” said the woman. “Do you know what they are?”

“Yes, they are Errors,” said Marjorie, sorrowfully.

“Do you know what they are made of?” asked the woman, smiling.

“No,” said Marjorie.

“Of just the same stuff as the Dream,” said the her friend, smiling. “What!” exclaimed Marjorie, in astonishment.

“Just the same,” said the woman, nodding and smiling again. “But-but-the Dream isn’t really anything,” said Marjorie.

“No, and neither are the Errors,” said the woman, nodding and smiling again. “They are no more real than you let them be, by believing in them.”

“Oh-h-h-h,” said Marjorie. “But how shall I get rid of them, then?”

“Only by knowing that they are not anything. Just hold one up to the light and look through it.”

Marjorie did so. At first it looked pretty solid; but as she kept on looking, she could see that it appeared to be only a sort of a misty and dusty shape, and here and there she could see the light through it; and the longer she looked, the mistier it grew, until at last there was nothing but a little wavering, smoky column, which faded away into the air as she gazed.

“Oh, how strange!” cried Marjorie, delightedly. “Now I know that they really are not anything. I can see it plainly. How glad I am!” and she tried to shake the rest of them off. However, to her surprise, they clung as tightly as ever.

The woman smiled. “What are you trying to do?” she asked. “Why, I’m trying to shake them off, because they’re not anything.”

“If they are not anything, how can you shake them off?” asked her friend. “You are making them seem to be something when you try to shake them off.”

“Oh!” said Marjorie. “Then what must I do?” “See through them,” said the woman, confidently.

“But I can’t see through them all at once, they squirm so,” said Marjorie, “and I’m in a hurry.”

Her friend smiled again. “You must not try to do too much at once,” she said, gently, “or you may not do it thoroughly. If you leave even a whiff of the little last column of mist, as soon as your back is turned, it will seem to get solid once more.”

“And if I get rid of them this way, won’t they ever attack any one any more?”

“No, they are blown out like the flame of a candle, and can never come back. Of course there are ever so many of their brothers, bearing the same names, left; but there will never be so many again, when you have disposed of these; and if every one did it, there would soon be no Errors left at all.”

“Oh, why don’t they?” cried Marjorie. “Well, I’m going to do my part anyway.”

And so she went to work, very carefully, to see through every one of the Errors that had attacked her; and even sooner than she had expected, they seemed all gone, and she and the Dream crept through the hedge to the side where lay the high road.

As she stood up straight, beyond the hedge, Marjorie stretched her arms in delight at her freedom. “Oh, I’m so glad to be rid of them!” she cried. “I think that I did finely to manage it so quickly, don’t you?” just here the Dream giggled, and Marjorie felt a sharp nip on the back of her neck.

“Oh, what is it?” she cried, reaching back to knock it off. “Self-conceit,” called the Dream, in a teasing voice.

Marjorie’s face was flushed. “And I never even knew it was there!” she exclaimed.

“I did,” said the Dream; “I’ve been watching it for a long time.”

“Well, it’s hour has come now, anyway,” said Marjorie, taking a firmer grasp upon the small torment, and, after a short tussle, breaking its grip and holding it up to the light. “You little no account nothing!” she said, laughing and shaking the little monster; and then, with a puff of her breath, blowing the last tiny, smoky column that remained, away into the air. “Are there any more on me?” she asked, turning around to show her back, just as one asks if there are burrs sticking to one’s dress.

“No,” laughed the woman, holding out her hand; “now come up where it is high and dry.”

The bank was somewhat steep; but with the help of the gentle hand, she soon stood upon the broad, white road, beside her new friend.

“Oh, how good!” she cried, drawing a deep breath. “Why doesn’t everybody come up here? There is room for all.”

The woman shook her head, sadly. “They don’t believe me when I tell them that the road is here,” she said.

“But if they would come and look, they could see for themselves,” said Marjorie.

“Yes,” said her friend, “But they are too busy, plodding along in the mud, and dancing on the islands, and fighting with the dwarfs. They do not wish to take the trouble to look.”

As the three walked along the road, they could see, through the thin top of the hedge, much that was going on in the swamp; and again and again the loving woman stopped to call to some one who had fallen into one of the pools of Ill Health or Sorrow, or was being tormented by the dwarfs. Sometimes those called to, would pay no attention at all, or would argue that there was no road there, and would even laugh, jeeringly. Others would listen, and ask questions, but would make no effort; but some would follow directions of the sweet, earnest voice, see through the Errors, and come creeping through the hedge to the high road.

Once a crowd of children, who chanced to look up and see the woman helping one of their number on to the road, grew angry, and a shower of stones came flying from their direction; but the stones all fell short of their mark, and the Errors soon swarmed about so thickly so as to put a stop to the throwing.

“Why did they throw stones at you?” asked Marjorie, her eyes full of tears.

Her friend looked back at the angry group, compassionately. “They didn’t do it, “she said. “The Errors did it.”

“Why,” cried Marjorie, “it looked as if the children began it, and then as if the Errors crowded in and stopped them; but there were so many Errors around them all the time, that I couldn’t be very sure.”

“The Errors did stop the throwing, but they began it, too. Errors always get to fighting among themselves, and destroy everything that they try to do. They are nothing, and they can do nothing.”

And so Marjorie and the Dream and the loving woman walked on, along the high road, and more and more happy children joined them on the way.

“Who built the beautiful city in front of us?” asked Marjorie, as they drew near its gates.

“The king,” said the woman, reverently.

“And who built the high road? asked Marjorie.

“A very great and good man who knew how hard it is to cross the swamp. He spent his whole life and all that he had, planning and building this wonderful roadway, and made it free for every one to use. He did it a long, long time ago,” added the woman, glancing down, lovingly, at the smooth, white road.

“But why doesn’t every one know about it? Has it always been used?”

The woman shook her head. “No, people forgot that it was here, for a long time. Some never knew about it, and some began going through the swamp again just for the excitement of fighting the dwarfs, and wading in the muddy pools, and playing on the islands; and the hedge grew up between, and it was lost sight of, and no one knew where it was. We are breaking down the hedge now, though,” she added, happily. “See, each of us breaks off a branch wherever he can, and it is growing thinner and thinner, and by-and-by it will be all broken down and then everyone can see the high road and will come up out of the swamp.” The woman’s face was very beautiful as she said this.

“And did you find the road when it was lost?” asked Marjorie. “Yes.

“But how did you happen to?” Marjorie’s eyes were eager.

“It was this way,” said the woman, earnestly: “I knew that there used to be such a road, and so I knew that it must be somewhere, still. I had read about it in a book that I knew told the truth, and, too, I felt in my heart that it was so: and so I began to search, and search, and study the book, and search again-and at last I found it-and oh, I was so glad! So many children were struggling out there in the swamp, who were sure that there was a road, and who wanted, so much, to know where it was.”

“And ever since then, you have been telling people, and helping them?” “Yes, said her friend; “ever since.”

Marjorie patted her hand softly. “And did you show every one of all these, the way?”

“Yes.”

“And don’t you ever get tired?”

The woman let her eyes sweep up and down the lines of many, many happy children, trooping along the road. “Should you think that I would ever get tired?” she asked, smilingly.

“No!” cried Marjorie, eagerly. “No, no!”

Here her friend stopped to help another child who was calling to her from over the hedge, and Marjorie and the Dream walked slowly on. Marjorie looked out over the wide, dreary swamp, and then up at the beautiful city. “Oh,” she said at last, with a great sigh, “I’m so thankful!”

“Thankful for what?” said the Dream.

“For the beautiful city, and for the smooth white high road leading to it,” said Marjorie.

“Thankful to whom?” said the Dream.

“Thankful to the king who built the city; and to the great, good man who built the road; and to the loving woman who showed me the way.”

“I don’t see why you should be thankful to the woman,” said the Dream. “The city and the road were here all the time. She didn’t build either of them. I think that it shows lack of respect to the king and to the great man, who both did such wonderful things, to speak of the woman in the same breath.”

“Why, I don’t think so at all!” exclaimed Marjorie, earnestly. “Of course the woman didn’t do anything nearly so big as to build the city or the high road, and I’m not pretending that she did, or that she could; but she searched and searched until she found the road, when it was lost; and she showed me, and all the rest of us, the way, and helped us up here out of the swamp; and she’s just working and helping all the time, and I think I’d be pretty ungrateful if I couldn’t say ‘thank you’ to the dear, loving woman who showed me the way, and Marjorie, strong in her sense of justice, stood up bravely to meet any objection which might come from the Dream.

But the Dream was gone.
Love is the liberator.