The Alchemist's Secret

by Isabel Cecilia Williams

"That building? Why, that is St. Teresa's Orphanage, a home for poor children who have no parents or else have bad ones who neglect or ill treat them. The good sisters gather in all such needy children whom they can find, care for them, educate them and teach them a trade so that they may——"

The rest Peter had not heard, but those few words, spoken by the passing lady on that day last summer, had suddenly recurred to his mind. "St. Teresa's Orphanage, a home for children with bad parents who neglect or ill treat them." That was their case exactly, baby's and his. To St. Teresa's, then, they must go in search of a home. He was quite sure he could find it again. It was ever so far away, over on the other side of the city, but he remembered the way perfectly, and would have no difficulty in reaching the orphanage.

For some time Peter trudged bravely along the city streets. It was quite dark now and lights streamed from the windows of shops and houses as he passed. Throngs of people hurried by anxious to escape from the cold night to the firesides of home. All these people carried mysterious-looking parcels; "Christmas presents for some happy little boy or girl," thought Peter. Twice he stopped to shift the baby from one shoulder to the other. He never knew before that she was so heavy; his half frozen little arms almost refused to carry their burden any longer. He was terribly tired, and he wondered why the lights were dancing so. They were turning round and round and made him so dizzy he could scarce see where he was going. He did not think, that day last summer, that the way was quite so long as this. Surely, he must have been walking for hours and hours. Oh! why was baby so heavy and why would those lights persist in dancing so?

He wondered if they could be lost and what would happen to them if they were. He was almost certain he had taken the right turnings every time, but he might have made a mistake. At that last corner he was not quite sure whether he should turn to the left or the right. If they were lost, what would become of them?

The lights were acting very strangely to-night; they had stopped dancing now but were all turning black, and what was this funny feeling that was creeping over him? He sat down hurriedly on some steps he was passing and leaned his head against the railing for support. He felt baby slipping from his arms onto the step beside him but was powerless to hold her. Once more that funny feeling was creeping over him and he wondered if he could be dying. Mr. Dempsey's Tim had died. Peter had gone upstairs to see him. They had put him into a funny-looking white box that was nearly covered with flowers, and he looked so strange lying there all white and still among the blossoms. The next day the white box, the flowers and poor little Tim were carried away. The neighbors said Tim was dead; Mrs. Dempsey said he had gone to heaven. Peter wondered if he died would anyone put him in a white box and cover him with flowers; if he died, would he go to heaven and see Tim there?

Peter had often been very anxious as to what heaven was like. He had asked Mrs. Dempsey. Her answer had not been quite satisfactory, but then she could not know exactly since she had never been there. And the angels, what were they like? Again Mrs. Dempsey had been referred to and again the reply was most disappointing. Beautiful beings with wings? Why, birds had wings and some of them were very beautiful. As for singing before the throne of God; well, Peter could not even guess what the throne of God meant.

He guessed he must be dying; he felt dead already, all except his head. That would go soon and then he would see the angels he had wondered so much about. But if he died, what would become of baby? Who would look after his precious baby? That dreadful thought caused him to open his eyes suddenly. With a great effort he raised his head and the sight of the iron railing against which he was leaning made his heart bound with a sudden thrill of hope and put new life into the exhausted little frame. It was the railing through which he had watched the children on that day last summer, and the steps on which he sat were the steps of St. Teresa's Orphanage. He had taken the right turning after all and had reached his destination without knowing it.

With difficulty. Peter got upon his feet, lifted the baby and essayed to drag himself up that long flight of steps. Panting, exhausted, he reached the top and laid his burden down at the threshold of that door which always opened so gladly to receive such waifs as he. In the darkness Peter felt around for the bell. Surely, there must be a bell somewhere. He must find it quickly for that dreadful feeling was creeping over him and he knew in another moment he would fall. Where was it; oh! why could he not find it? At last the despairing fingers touched the button of an electric bell; they pressed it hard, and a loud peal rang through the hall inside. Then Peter sank down to the ground beside the baby and even his head went this time.

A moment later (or so it seemed to Peter) he opened his eyes and saw bending over him the most beautiful face he had ever beheld. He knew now that he was in heaven was looking on the face of an angel. It was just what he should think an angel's face ought to be, so sweet and kind and gentle, the soft eyes filled with heavenly love and pity. And there were the wings, too, all white and shining, but Mrs. Dempsey had neglected to mention that angels' wings grew out of their heads. Somehow, Peter had supposed their wings grew from their shoulders; he was sure Mrs. Dempsey had said so. He would like to send her a message and tell her how mistaken she had been. He wondered if he could.

He felt a gentle hand slip beneath his shoulders and raise him a little and the angel commenced to feed him with something warm and sweet upon a spoon. It tasted better than anything he had ever eaten before.