rld during the last
twelve or fifteen years. How did I come to Needley? Well, you can call
it luck, or something more than that, whichever way it appeals to you. I
was feeling seedy, a little off-color, and I started down for a rest and
lay-off in Maine. I happened to ask a man in Portland if he knew of a
quiet place. He meant to be humorous, I imagine. He said Needley was the
quietest place he knew of. I took him at his word."

"But how do you account for these miraculous cures?" they asked.

"You have seen them--the results," Madison replied. "You know the cures
to be living, vital, irrefutable facts--don't you?"

"Yes," they agreed.

"Then," said Madison, "there can be but one answer--faith. There is no
other--faith. Are we not, in view of what has happened, of what exists
before our very eyes, forced to the belief that faith is the greatest
thing, the most potential factor in the world?"

"And do you believe then that all who come here will be cured?"

Madison shook his head.

"Ah, no," he said; "far from it. Many will come with but the semblance
of faith, and for those there can be no cure--that is evident on the
face of it, is it not?"

They interviewed Thornton--and Thornton, too, talked to them, but the
very presence of Mrs. Thornton was weightier far than words.

They interviewed the Holmes, and they interviewed Needley individually
and collectively; and they interviewed Helena--but they did not
interview the Patriarch. Here Helena barred their way--they were free to
enter the cottage, to copy the names, the record of gifts inscribed in
the book, already a long list for Needley had required no other
incentive to give than the example that had been set--but that was all.
Quietly, with demure simplicity, Helena, prompted by Madison, like a
priestess who guards some holy, inner shrine, told them that sensational
notoriety had no place there--and the notoriety for that very cause
became the greater! Not that they were denied a sight of the Patriarch's
venerable and saintly form--they were permitted to catch glimpses of him
on the beach, on the lawn, walking with bowed head in meditation, a
figure whose simple majesty inspired words and columns of glowing
tribute--but from personal contact, Helena and the Flopper, always in
attendance, warded them off; retreating always to the privacy of the
cottage, to the inner rooms.

All this had taken four days; and now, on the fourth day, there came to
Needley the