He roused himself.
“Wife,” he said, rising to his feet. “Wife.”
He placed an arm about her. He threw back his shoulders.
“Wife,” he announced with emphasis, “I’m going to take up Art!”
CHAPTER XXII
THE BLIND SEE
Barnes was awakened the next morning by a gentle tap at his door. He thought it was John. But, in answer to his response, his mother entered. She looked as fresh as a girl of twenty. Her face was radiant. She crossed swiftly to his bedside.
“Oh, Dicky boy,” she cried joyously, “there’s been a miracle! The prodigal father has come back home.”
“Miracle?” questioned Barnes, patting her hand. “What about my part in it?”
“Why, you,” exclaimed the mother, “you’re the miracle.”
Barnes smiled. It was just so Dr. Merriweather had answered him when he had put a similar question about Carl. He was learning something about how miracles are performed. It seemed as though if you loved mightily it was possible to accomplish most anything. And yet, in the supreme undertaking of his life, where he had loved most, he had lost. All night long he had wondered about this.