The Miracle Man. Frank L. Packard

never taken much stock in faith cure and that sort of thing."

      "Mabbe," suggested Mr. Higgins deeply, "you ain't had much experience."

      "No," confessed Madison reflectively; "I haven't—I haven't had any."

      "Well then, you just wait an' see," said Mr. Higgins, waving his mittened hand as though the whole matter were conclusively settled. "You just wait an' see."

      "But I'm afraid I don't quite understand," prodded Madison innocently. "What kind of cures does he perform?"

      They turned a right-angled bend in the road, disclosing a straggling hamlet in a hollow below, and, farther away in the distance, a sweep of ocean.

      "Most any kind," said Mr. Higgins. "There's Needley now. All you've got to do is ask the first person you see about him."

      "Yes," said Madison, "but take yourself, for instance. Did this Patriarch ever do anything for you?"

      "He did," said Mr. Higgins impressively. "An' 'twasn't but last week. I'm glad you asked me. For two nights I couldn't sleep. Had the earache powerful. Poured hot oil an' laud'num into it, an' kept a hot brick rolled up in flannel against it, but didn't do no good. Then Mrs. Higgins says, 'Hiram, why in the land's sake don't you go out an' see the Patriarch?' An' I hitched right up, an' every step that horse took I could feel it gettin' better, an' I wasn't five minutes with the Patriarch before I was cured, an' I ain't had a twinge since."

      "It certainly looks as though there were something in that," admitted Madison cautiously.

      Hiram Higgins smiled a world of tolerance.

      "'Tain't worth mentionin' alongside some of the things he's done," he said deprecatingly. "You'll hear about 'em fast enough."

      "What's the local doctor say about it?" asked Madison.

      "There ain't enough pickin's to keep a doctor here, though some of 'em's tried," chuckled Mr. Higgins. "Have to have 'em for some things, of course—an' then he drives over from Barton's Mills, seven miles from here."

      "And do all the people in Needley believe in the Patriarch?"—Madison's voice was full of grave interest.

      "Well," said Mr. Higgins, "to be plumb downright honest with you, they don't. Folks as was born here an' are old inhabitants do, but the Holmes, bein' newcomers, is kinder set in their ways. They come down here eight years ago last August with new-fangled notions, which they ain't got rid of yet. You can see the consequences for yourself—got a little boy, twelve year old, walking around lame on a crutch—an' I reckon he always will. Doctor looks at him every time he comes over from Barton's Mills, but it don't do no good. Folks tried to get the Holmes to take him out to the Patriarch's till they got discouraged. 'Pears old man Holmes kinder got around to a common sense view of it, but the women folks say Mrs. Holmes is stubborner than all git-out, an' that old man Holmes' voice ain't loud enough to be heerd when she gets goin'. 'Tain't but fair to mention 'em, as I dunno of any one else that's an exception." Mr. Higgins pointed ahead with his whip. "See them woods over there beyond the town?"

      "Yes," said Madison.

      "That's where the Patriarch lives," said Mr. Higgins. "On the other side of 'em, down by the seashore. An' here we be most home. Folks'll be glad to see you, Mr. Madison, and now you're here I hope you'll make a real smart stay—we'll try to make you feel to home."

      "Thank you," said Madison cordially. "I haven't any idea, of course, how long I'll be here—it all depends on circumstances."

      "No," said Mr. Higgins; "I don't suppose you have. Anyway, I hope you'll take a notion to go out an' see what the Patriarch can do for you. An' now you ain't told me yet which hotel you're goin' to."

      "Oh!" said Madison gravely. "Well, since you recommend it, I guess we'd better make it the Congress."