The Toddler

The Toddler By H. L. Johnston If one of Professor Larkin's best friends had told him that he was selfish it, perhaps, would have made him very angry. If the same person had told him that his thoughts centered around himself alone, it is hard to tell what might have hap- pened. Perhaps the elderly professor would have forgotten himself long enough to forget his dignity, and enter into a heated argument; one thing the professor hated. Cynthia, his wife, had learned the true state of affairs shortly after their marriage. She had kept her silence on the matter, probably thinking it would only make matters worse by flaunt- ing her husband's only great fault in his face. She contented herself with overlooking his lack of fellowship and desire to put himself out to give aid to some less fortunate fellowman, by en- joying his other good qualities; and he had a lot. After twenty years had passed with the couple still child- less, no wonder the Professor figured that he was favored of the gods when Cynthia presented him with a wee daughter. All their plans had been made for a son, but by the time little Edith could lisp his name he had forgotten about his wish for a son and was worshiping the little wisp of a girl. In truth, she was the apple of his eye. When Edith was eight years old the Professor suddenly announced that he had purchased a touring car, was going to put all official worries behind him and take a trip from New York to California by auto. He figured that after all his years of toil he needed a rest. Cynthia was happy when she heard the news, but she knew all the time that the main reason for the car had been the expressed wish of little Edith. The Professor, as yet, had never reached the point where he could refuse her anything. Two months later found them driving slowly through the sand just west of Palm Springs, California, forty-five miles and they would be at Banning, near the top of the divide, and a couple hundred miles from the coast. Their trip was nearing its completion, and so far, everything had been happiness. It was a few miles out of Palm Springs when Edith first complained of sickness. An hour later the Professor stopped the car and examined the child.

THE TODDLER 739 "What seems to be the matter, dear?" he asked. "My side hurts awful, Daddy," moaned Edith, cold sweat breaking out over her thin little face. The Professor and his wife held a brief consultation. "Sounds like appendicitis, Cynthia. What do you think?" "God forbid!" she exclaimed, "what in the wold will we do? The nearest place is Banning. We can't make over ten miles an hour in this heavy sand. I hope it isn't as serious as all that." The trip was resumed, but the child continued to moan and grow worse. Soon she was writhing and sobbing in acute agony. The Professor watched his precious daughter with grief- stricken eyes as he guided the heavy car through the deep sand ruts, running as fast as he could. Try in every way he knew how to he was unable to make the car travel any faster. The sand was too deep and hea\y. Lines began to show upon his face as he realized how his darling was suffering. "Cynthia, this is awful," he said, trying to coax a little more speed out of the over-taxed motor, "at the rate we are traveling we'll never reach Baning in time." Cynthia did not reply. She was holding the child in her arms, trying to sooth her, and praying that they would avoid all accidents. Another hour passed and they were twenty miles from Banning. They were passing through brush and cactus, so thick and so close to the ruts in which they ran, that their beat- ing on footboard and fenders made a horrid din. Edith was steadily growing worse. At two especially severe jolts as the car dropped into holes covered with sand the poor child had fainted. A look at Professor Larkin's face told plainly the tale of his suffering. His lips were pressed together until they were bloodless. The front wheels of the car dropped into a hole and were followed by the rear. A faint scream came from the child. "Oh, mercy! If Rutherford were only here," he prayed, "what a load it would take off my mind." "Cynthia, busy trying to cushion Edith as much as possible, thought of the great Doctor Rutherford. He was, without a doubt, one of the best surgeons, but getting him now was out of the question. The best they could hope for was to reach the little town ahead and take a chance on the skill of the doctor they would find there. Doctor Rutherford was taking his vacation somewhere, just as the Larkins were doing. Once more the car hit a deep hole and the sufferer fainted. It was getting serious now. There was not one minute to be lost if they ever hoped to save her. Oh, how the car seemed to drag.

740 IMPROVEMENT ERA Cynthia closed her eyes and prayed for help ; prayed as she had never prayed before, while the Professor, silent, glancing at his child with pitying eyes, prayed that the gas would hold out, and that they would soon get out of the sand. They drove around a bend in the road two or three miles further along and struck the newly asphalted boulevard which the county was at that time building. With all the sand behind them now and a perfect road ahead, the Professor gave a sigh of relief and stepped on the gas. With a roar, as if a relief the car jumped forward. With good luck, barring accidents, there might still be a chance to reach the doctor in time. Then, far down the road they saw a little toddling child, barely two years old, and all alone. The professor throttled down and carefully passed the child, and then went roaring onward. Cynthia clutched his sleeve. "Cyril! What in the world are you leaving that child for?" Larkin shut off and coming to a stop backed up to the youngster. His face was a study as Cynthia jumped out and took the little boy into her arms. "What are you going to do?" he asked. "I'm going to find out where he came from, Cyril." "We have no time for that, Cynthia. Pile him into the car and let's get away from here. Time enough to look up his mother after we get Edith 'tended to." The youngster started crying and rubbed his eyes with chubby fists. "I'm losted," he wailed. "Poor little fellow," soothed Cynthia, "where is your mama?" The youngster gave way to a fresh series of sobs and tears and pointed in a rather vague way over the bank alongside the road. "I's hurted," he sobbed. "Where?" "Fall-ed down." "Where did you fall from?" asked Cynthia. "Dere," he replied, pointing to the high bank on the right side of the road. "Come on!" ordered Larkin, throwing in the clutch and rac ing the engine, "we'll take him with us, and then come back later. You can stay with Edith, while I bring him back." "Listen, Cyril," said Cynthia, "Edith is the most precious thing you and I have in the world. If we leave this boy here, on the desert all alone, we are not doing our duty. If we take him to Banning, we are still shirking our plain duty for human-

THE TODDLER 741 ity's sake. If we leave hiin here or take him with us I feel that it wouldn't be right. Our plain duty is to find his mother." "What could his mother be thinking of to let a little shaver like that run wild anyway? It's her fault, not ours. Pile in the car!" "Listen, Cyril: I've been praying for the last hour that the Lord would send us help. Someway or other I think that prayer has been answered, and through this little child." "Bosh! You've let the worry about Edith upset you, or you wouldn't believe anything like that." "Well, you might think that I'm sacrificing my own baby for somebody else's, but I am going to make an attempt to find his mother." "That's right. Let our own child die, eh? Well, I guess we won't. Not as long as I know what I'm doing. In the car with that brat. After we do what I say, then, and not before, we bring him back. Pile in! We're wasting too much time as it is, now." Cynthia demurred. "Cyril, I can't do it. I've got to find his mother. Don't you understand, man, how she will suffer if she thinks she has lost him out here in this wilderness? Don't you know that it might kill her?" "Get in!" ordered Larkin, his face flushing angrily. Cynthia's face returned the flare, and then without stopping to look back, she took the crying youngster by the hand and started climbing the steep bank with him. Too angry to call after her, the Professor started bolster- ing Edith up with robes and pillows. He would show his wife to disobey his orders, especially when they were given to save the life of his daughter. He would teach her a lesson. He would go to Banning. Furthermore, he would not leave Banning until he was assured that his dearest possession was out of danger. Then, and not before, he would return for Cynthia. The bolstering arranged to his satisfaction, he climbed into the car, threw in the clutch and started for the distant town with a roar. He had covered perhaps five or six miles. Glancing back he noticed that Edith's eyes were open, and regarding him in wonder through their pain. He stopped the car and climbed over the seat, taking a seat beside her. "Where is mother?" asked the sufferer. The Professor suddenly felt foolish as he stared into his daughter's eyes. "I know where she is, Daddy. You left her with the little —

742 IMPROVEMENT ERA boy. Won't you — go — back and get her, and help the little boy find his mother. God won't let me die — when — you — do good for — others." The Professor's eyes filled with tears. "I was afraid you were going to die, sweetheart. I guess I didn't know what I was doing. Are you sure he won't take you away from me, if I go back?" "He wouldn't take me, Daddy, — when — you — do good." The Professor threw the car around with a roar and started back down the road. It was only a few minutes before he reached the point where Cynthia had climbed the bank with the boy. Springing from the car he clambered up the bank. As soon as he reached the top he turned and half fell back toward the car. Reaching it he gathered Edith tenderly in his arms and once more climbed the bank. On the other side, half hidden by the mesquite was a long, rakish touring car, and coming toward the road was Cynthia and Doctor Rutherford? "It sure was luck, I say," said Doctor Rutherford, an hour later, "that at the last minute I decided to come to the coast. As an after-thought I threw in my instrument case, or perhaps I threw it in from force of habit. At any rate it was more luck when I picked my sister up, and her two-year-old here at Phoe- nix. If he hadn't got 'losted' you would have lost your girl, friend Larkin." For a long time Professor Larkin held Edith's hand and thought the whole thing o^er. Suddenly his past life of selfish- ness rose up and smote him. "It wasn't luck, Rutherford," he said softly, "it was an act of God. The funny part about it is, that Cynthia and Edith knew it all the time." Shaffer, Nevada. The Law of Sacrifice All progress is result of sacrifice! Something must yield that something else may grow, Man pays in service or must pay in price For every thing that he desires to know. The student and the statesman ever find The law immutable in every sphere; There is no gain that wisdom gives the mind But compensation always makes it dear. Whate'er we seek for and whate'er we gain; Blessings of eminence, wealth or culture's dower, Alike must be result of toil and pain, The boon of many a sacrificial hour. Life's goal and purpose we shall not attain Without equivalent of skill and power! Joseph Longking Townsend

Exterior View Oakland, California, New Latter-day Saints' Chapel Cost $50,000. Dedicated by President Heber J. Grant. Sunday, May 13, 1923— Mothers' Day. Work commenced July 24, 1922. The building cost over $41,000 and furnishing over $9,000. It is the most spacious and pretentious building of the Church in California, is of Italian architecture, with a touch of the old California mission in the tile roof, archways and arched windows, will seat in comfortable oak pews, 500; has seating for 55 members in the choir arranged in an alcove behind the stand. The interior is in a subdued and restful mauve or gray, presenting a very pleas- ing effect. Below is the social hall, 50 by 60 feet, with a maple hardwood floor, with stage, modernly equipped, providing ample room and facilities for various Church activities. Off the main hall open four spacious class rooms, and a larger Relief Society room. Dressing rooms and toilets, with best appointments, are convenient on each floor. The building is a credit and a monument to the Latter-day Saints in Oakland, and the Church may well be proud of the new edifice. The building fund was commenced fourteen years ago, and the present chapel is the realization of the dream of the few Saints who have struggled to establish a foothold here. More than a thousand members are now of record in tne Oakland branch, embracing Oakland, Alameda and Berkeley. Over one hundred students from Utah, attending the University at Berkeley, will worship in the new chapel. It was the idea of providing a house of worship for these students that led the First Presidency to give, properly, very gener- ously from the Church funds toward the erection of the Oakland chapel. The chapel is located at the corner of Moss Avenue and Webster Street, convenient to all transportation. The branch is presided over by President W. Aird MacDonald and two counselors, Willard D. Ellis and William F. Everett. President Ellis, as chairman of the building com- mittee, is largely responsible for the new building.