"We were three or four miles from home, when, in a very narrow lane, where it was impossible to pass another vehicle, we met a farmer, driving a dog-cart. The farmer showed his reluctance to be the one to back out of the lane. He accosted me with these words: 'Ma'am, I am in great haste; it is a matter of life and death.'
"'Indeed,' I said, 'is it the doctor you are in haste to reach?'
"'No,' he replied, briefly, 'the doctor has given her up. It is the lady that lives at Willmar Court I want to see.'
"'Then you have not far to go,' I said. 'She is here. What is your trouble?' Then he told me that his only child, a girl of seven, was believed to be dying. The doctor gave no hope of saving her. 'It seems the news of your beautiful healing has spread through the neighboring villages, and the grief-stricken parents of this little girl thought there might be hope for her.'
"I told the farmer I would go with him, and straightway sent Bob home with the pony, bidding him to tell the servants I should return as soon as possible, but not to trouble if I did not return that night.
"As soon as we had backed out of the lane, the farmer drove furiously, and it was not long before we reached his homestead. I found the belief of death so strong surrounding the child, that it seemed necessary to remain there.
"In two days it was overcome, but I stayed another day to give the wearied mother a good rest. The farmer drove me home last night, when I found everyone sadly troubled. They had begun to fear I was never going to return, and Bob could not give them any idea as to who had driven away with me. The letters and telegrams from Mandeville naturally added to their anxiety.
"Now, all is well: Good was governing--Love leading all the time. I cannot yet understand how it was the bull tossed you. Were you not able to realize your dominion? or was it the mesmerism of fear that seized you? Mrs. Mandeville mentions in her letter that you stood between your little cousins and the bull. My dear boy, of course you would! I could not imagine your doing otherwise. Doubtless the nurse's fear and the cries of the little girls affected you--the contagion of thought. Had you been quite alone, I feel so sure that you would have been able to realize your God-given dominion.
"Tell me more when you write (I am longing for a letter) of the old man and his little grand-daughter. Work always comes to willing hands and loving hearts, and what work is, or ever can be, so beautiful as work for the Master in His Vineyard. Never think any service little. Merely carrying even a cup of cold water will in no case lose its reward. But the joy of working--of being allowed to work--is sufficient. We do not look to the reward.
"With loving thoughts,