me and in which I feel that I shall do well. Let me just tell you what I do feel about it. First of all, there's nothing that interests me more than people . . . and studying them, both their outsides and their insides. That's my head, Mummy. And, as well as that, there's something else, a question of feeling. I feel for nothing so much as for any one who suffers, physically or mentally. And then I get a sort of impulse, which comes to me as naturally as sitting or walking or talking, to help as much as I can. That's how I feel; and I can't tell it you in any other way. It's no use my trying to explain it in a lot of words; I couldn't say more than I have already said. But, just telling it you like this, I do hope that you understand it, Mamma, and that you get the same feeling as I do. . . . And then, Mummy, there's something else, something I hardly dare say to you, because you will perhaps think that I am imagining. . . ."
"Say it, dear. . . ."
"It's this, Mamma: I feel inside me the power of curing people. And I feel that that power is growing. . . ."
His great seriousness startled her.
"But I'm only saying this to you, Mamma; I won't say it to any one else . . . not even to Papa, because I feel that he would not understand. I am only saying it to you; and I shall never say it to any one but you; and I'm only saying it to you as
