On a railway train the "peace and rest" of all the passengers was much disturbed by the pitiful crying of a babe in the arms of its mother, who had three other children demanding a share of her attention.
Varying theories were exchanged among the occupants of the car, as to the probable cause of the child's discomfort, but the crying continued and seemed to grow worse, none of the passengers venturing to do anything, until several commercial travellers appointed one of their number a committee to appeal to the conductor to put "the woman and her young ones into the smoker," but that official replied that, having paid her fare, she had just as much right in the first-class coach as any one. When the drummer demanded that "something be done," the kind-hearted railroader asked, "What would you suggest doing? It seems to me that when a mother can't quiet her own baby, a stranger had better keep hands off." I then spoke to the conductor, and ascertained that the lady was going a few stations further, but had travelled all night, and he thought the supply of food for the infant had run low, and believed it was crying from hunger. I had, however, noticed one of the other children feeding the little one from a bottle which still contained a goodly quantity of milk. Going forward I asked if I might render some assistance; the mother looked at me in some surprise, saying, "You are very kind, sir; but I guess if a baby's mamma can't quiet it, a strange man wouldn't be likely to succeed very well with it." But I politely insisted that, with her permission, I would gladly at least endeavor to help her out of her dilemma, adding that I was very fond of children, and sorry to see them suffer needlessly. At that remark she delivered the baby over to me, saying, with an air of almost hopeless reluctance, "It's strange with strangers." Without waiting for further comment, I started with my charge to my seat, and the dear little baby at once became quiet, and continued so to the end of the journey. Our genial conductor came to look at it, and remarked that it was the funniest thing he had ever seen done on a train, and he had been running for twenty years. I told him it was Christian Science. Arrived at their destination, the mother came for her little one, but I asked if I might hand it off at the platform for her; she said, "O yes; anything you wish." At the station she was met by her sister, to whom she was hurriedly relating the incident in a whisper, and this sister exclaimed, "Are you that man?" "I am a Christian Scientist." "You are? Well, I never saw one before, but"—— but the train was moving off, so I stepped aboard, and the first man I met inside the car said in a loud voice, "What that young one wanted was milk." I told him that was what I gave it. He retorted, "Well, I didn't see any bottle." "I gave it of the milk of human kindness." He said no more.
As I returned to my seat, I observed that all eyes were centred upon me in an almost imploring manner; but as I was to leave the train at the next station, I would not have had time to tell them all about it, so I bethought me of the supply of Christian Science tracts which my good wife has trained me to have always about me, and opening my travelling bag, I was much pleased to note again how clearly our dear Mother prophesied, when she wrote in Science and Health. "Divine Love always has met and always will meet every human need," for what could so well answer their mute inquiries as the tract, "There is Rest and Peace on Earth for You."
