“Interesting psychologically,” observed Dr. Le Corr.
“And personally,” Dr. Herschel continued, who regarded Hernando as his own handiwork.
Further conversation was cut short by their arrival at the house. Surely, if appreciation of honest effort is gratitude, Dr. Herschel must have been a happy man. The entire family from Mr. De Vere to Margaret burst into tears of joy.
Dr. Herschel blew his nose vigorously and, as every one else seemed to have lost his head, he took the part of host upon himself and ushered them into the library. Mr. Genung was the first to collect his scattered senses and, beckoning to Reuben, he said: “My good man, lead us in prayer.” Reuben obeyed instantly, and every one knelt. For a few seconds there was profound silence and then Reuben repeated word for word the ninety-first Psalm. Though each may have interpreted it differently, every soul in that group realized that God is “friendly.”
Hernando’s eyes looked bluer than ever under the snow-white curls. The old hurt look was gone and in its place was one pure and full of loving compassion for the sufferings of others. The glow of perfect health was in his cheeks and his frame was vigorous. Mr. Genung hung about him as one raised from the dead and, as Hernando lovingly stroked those locks, silvered through sorrow for him, he again and again thanked them all for their loyal friendship.
“My life has been spared for some definite purpose and it shall be my duty to find out what that is,” he concluded.
Dinner was announced—such a dinner! Here also, Hernando saw evidenced the same kindly thought, the same endeavor to make him forget that he had ever been away from them. It was a Thanksgiving dinner in very truth, and in each one’s heart was a prayer of gratitude.
The doctors wished to take the ten o’clock train for New York City, so, after dinner, they, with Mr. De Vere and Mr. Genung, withdrew to the library and as soon as they were seated, Mr. De Vere said, “Dr. Herschel, money cannot pay our debt of gratitude. It seems an insult to mention it in connection with such miraculous skill; but this is a practical world, and if you will allow us to place at your disposal a certain sum, it could be used in any way you thought best.”
“To ‘Old Ninety-Nine,’ not me, is your gratitude due,” Dr. Herschel replied.
“And but for you his cure would without doubt be still unknown,” broke in Mr. Genung. “No, modesty is an estimable trait but, giving ‘Old Ninety-Nine’ due credit, our indebtness is to you.”