“Why, those are germs of typhoid and tuberculosis!” he exclaimed.
“And manifestations, externalizations, of the fear germ itself, which is mental,” she added. “These things don’t cause disease,” she went on, pointing to the slide. “But the thoughts which they manifest do. Do you scientists know why people die, Doctor?”
“No,” he admitted seriously. “We really do not know why people die.”
“Then I’ll tell you,” she said. “It’s because they don’t know enough to live. This poor Doctor Bolton died because he didn’t know that God was life. He committed sickness, and then paid the penalty, death. He sinned by believing that there were other powers than God, by believing that life and thought were in matter. And so he paid the wages of sin, death. He simply missed the mark, that’s all.”
She turned and perched herself upon the table. “You haven’t asked me to sit down,” she commented brightly. “But, if you don’t mind, I will.” 34
“I––I beg your pardon!” the doctor exclaimed, coloring, and hastily setting out a chair. “I really was so interested in what you were saying that I forgot my manners.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head as she declined the proffered chair, “I’ll sit here, so’s I can look straight into your eyes. You go ahead and cut up poor Yorick, and I’ll talk.”
The doctor laughed again. “You are much more interesting,” he returned, “than poor Bolton, dead or alive. In fact, he really was quite a bore. But you are like a sparkling mountain rill, even if you do give me a severe classification.”
“Well,” she replied, “then you are honestly more interested in life than in death, are you?”
“Why, most assuredly!” he said.