Our Nervous Friends | Page 5

her unselfish radiation of cheer. Ethel
Lord has learned truly the infinitely rich possibilities of our nerves
when we make them our friends.


CHAPTER II
THE NEUROTIC
For four heart-breaking years, the strife of a nation at war with itself
had spread desolation and sorrow broadcast. The fighting ceased in
April. One mid-June day following, the town folk and those from
countrysides far and near met on the ample grounds of a bride-to-be.
Had it not been for the sprinkling of blue uniforms, no thought of war
could have seemed possible that fair day. The bride's home had been
a-bustle with weeks of preparation for this hour, and nature was

rejoicing and the heavens smiling upon the occasion. Sam Clayton, the
bridegroom, was certainly a "lucky dog." A quiet, unobtrusive son of a
neighboring farmer, he and Elizabeth had been school-children together.
Probably the war had lessened her opportunity for choice but the night
before he left for the front, they were engaged--and her family was the
best and wealthiest of the county. "Lucky dog" and "war romance," the
men said. Nevertheless, six weeks ago he had returned with his
chevrons well-earned, and fifty years of square living later proved his
unquestioned worth. Elizabeth at twenty, on her bridal day, was slender,
lithe, fair-skinned; of Scotch-Irish descent, her gray eyes bespoke her
efficiency--to-day, they spoke her pride, though neither to-day nor in
years to come were they often softened by love. But it was a great
wedding, and the eating and dancing and merry- making continued late
into the night with ample hospitality through the morrow for the many
who had come far. "Perfectly suited," the women said of the young
couple.
Sam Clayton had nothing which could be discounted at the bank, but
the bride was given fifty fertile acres, and they both had industry and
thrift, ambition and pluck. The fifty acres blossomed--Sam was a good
farmer, but he proved himself a better trader, and before many years
was running a small store in town. They soon added other fifty acres--
one-hundred-and-fifty in fifteen years, and out of debt--then a partner
with money, and a thriving business. At forty-five it was: Mr. Samuel
Clayton, President of the Farmers' and Merchants' Bank, rated at
$150,000. Mrs. Clayton's ability had early been manifest. Before her
marriage she had taken prizes at the County Fair in crocheting and
plum-jell. In after years no one pretended to compete with her annual
exhibit of canned fruits, and the coveted prize to the County's best
butter-maker was awarded her many successive autumns.
Our real interest in the Claytons must begin twenty-five years after the
happy wedding. Their town, the county seat, had pushed its limits to
the skirts of the broad Clayton acres; theirs was now the leading family
in that section. Mr. Clayton, quiet, active, practical, was capable of
adjusting himself without disturbance to whatever conditions he met.
Three children had been born during the early years--a girl and two

younger boys. The daughter was of the father's type--reserved, studious
and truly worthy, for during the years that were to come, with the man
she loved waiting, she remained at home a pillar of strength to which
her mother clung. She turned from wifehood in response to the selfish
needs of this mother. She and the older brother finished classical
courses in the near-by "University," for their mother, particularly,
believed in education. The brother and sister had much in common,
were indeed much alike; he, however, soon married and moved into the
new West and deservingly prospered. Fred, the youngest, was different.
During his second summer he was very ill with cholera infantum--the
days came and went--doctors came and went-- and the wonder was how
life clung to the emaciated form. The mother's love flamed forth with
intensity and the nights without sleep multiplied until she, too, looked
wan and ill. She did not know how to pray. Her parents had been
Universalists--she termed herself a Moralist; for her, heaven held no
God that can hear, no Great Heart that cares, no Understanding that
notes a mother's agony. The doctors offered no hope. The child was
starving; no food nor medicine had agreed, and the end was near. A
neighboring grandmother told how her child had been sick the same
way, and how she had given him baked sweet potato which was the
first thing he had digested for days. As fate would have it, it was even
so with Fred, and he recovered leaving his mother devoid of faith in
any one calling himself doctor, and fanatically devoted to the child she
had so nearly lost. From that sickness she hovered over him, protecting
him from the training she gave her other children--the kind she herself
had received. His wish became her