Cut in the
wall above it in large gold-filled letters was the admonition: "Suffer
little children to come unto me."
That group was the work of a student and a thinker who could carry an idea
to a logical conclusion, and then carve it from marble. The thought it
gave James Minturn, arrested before it, was not the stereotyped idea of
Christ, not the conventional reproduction of childhood. It impressed on
Mr. Minturn's brain that the man of Galilee had lived in the form of other
men of his day, and that such a face, filled with infinite compassion, was
much stronger and more forceful than that of the mild feminine countenance
he had been accustomed to associating with the Saviour.
He entered the door to find his former home filled with workmen, and the
opening day almost at hand. Everywhere was sanitary whiteness. The
reception hall was ready for guests, his library occupied by the matron;
the dining-hall a storeroom, the second and third floors in separate
wards, save the big ballroom, now whiter than ever, its touches of gold
freshly gleaming, beautiful flowers in tubs, canaries singing in a brass
house filling one end of the room, tiny chairs, cots, every conceivable
form of comfort and amusement for convalescing little children.
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