The Miracle Man eBook

Its consummation? That was another thing—­a
thing that in the presence of such faith as this brought
human pity, sympathy and sorrow to its full, brought
dread and terror. Faith such as this they had
never conceived; faith such as this, if it was to
prove a shattered thing, was for its exponent to drink
the very dregs of misery and despair—­and
yet, rising above that possibility, flinging grim challenge
at their doubts, stood this very faith, mighty in
itself, perfect in its confidence, heroic in its agony,
that all might gaze upon from a common standpoint
and know—­as faith.

No whispering breeze stirred the young leaves in the
trees; in the stillness of the afternoon came only
the heavy, pulsing throb of Nature’s breathing.
One hundred, two, three hundred, they moved along,
slow, sinuous, troubled, their eyes straight before
them or upon the ground at their feet—­only
the children looked with frightened, startled eyes
into their parents’ faces, and clung the closer.

Out upon the wagon track they debouched and spread
in a long, thin line beneath the maples on either
side of the Flopper—­and waited.

—­X—­

THE MIRACLE

There was utter silence now—­the tread of
shuffling feet was gone—­no man moved—­it
seemed as though no man breathed—­they
stood as carven things, inanimate, men, women and
children strained forward, their faces drawn, tense
and rigid. In the very air, around them, everywhere,
imprisoning them, clutching like an icy hand at the
heart, something unseen, a dread, intangible presence
weighed them down and lay heavy upon them. What
was to come? What drear tragedy was to be enacted?
What awful mockery was to fall upon this maimed and
mutilated creature within whose deformed and pitiful
body there too was a human soul?

From the cottage door across the lawn came two figures—­a
girl in simple, clinging white, her head bowed, the
sun itself seeming to caress the dark brown wealth
of hair upon her head, changing it to glinting strands
of burnished copper; and beside her walked the Patriarch,
his hand resting lightly upon her arm, a wondrous
figure of a man, majestic, simple, grand, his silvered-hair
bared to the sun, his face illumined.

“There he is, mister!” whispered young
Holmes hoarsely. “There he is! Go
on, mister, go on—­see what he can do for
you!”

There came a sound that was like a great, gasping
intake of breath, as men and women watched. Out
toward the Patriarch, alone now, the Flopper began
to wriggle and writhe his way along. God in Heaven
have pity! What was this sight they looked upon—­this
poor, distorted, mangled thing that grovelled in the
earth—­that figure towering there in the
sunlight with venerable white beard and hair, erect,
symbolic of some strange, mystic power that awed them,
his head turned slightly in a curious listening attitude,
the sightless eyes closed, upon the face a great calm
like a solemn benediction.