Nixon took the Journal and the rest of the Publishing Society’s liabilities, and demonstrated over them during three years, then brought in his report: 

“On assuming my duties as publisher, there was not a dollar in the treasury; but on the contrary the Society owed unpaid printing and paper bills to the amount of several hundred dollars, not to mention a contingent liability of many more hundreds”—­represented by advance —­subscriptions paid for the Journal and the “Series,” the which goods Mrs. Eddy had not delivered.  And couldn’t, very well, perhaps, on a Metaphysical College income of but a few thousand dollars a day, or a week, or whatever it was in those magnificently flourishing times.  The struggling Journal had swallowed up those advance-payments, but its “claim” was a severe one and they had failed to cure it.  But Nixon cured it in his diligent three years, and joyously reported the news that he had cleared off all the debts and now had a fat six thousand dollars in the bank.

It made Mrs. Eddy’s mouth water.

At the time that Mrs. Eddy had unloaded that dismal gift on to her National Association, she had followed her inveterate custom:  she had tied a string to its hind leg, and kept one end of it hitched to her belt.  We have seen her do that in the case of the Boston Mosque.  When she deeds property, she puts in that string-clause.  It provides that under certain conditions she can pull the string and land the property in the cherished home of its happy youth.  In the present case she believed that she had made provision that if at any time the National Christian Science Association should dissolve itself by a formal vote, she could pull.

A year after Nixon’s handsome report, she writes the Association that she has a “unique request to lay before it.”  It has dissolved, and she is not quite sure that the Christian Science Journal has “already fallen into her hands” by that act, though it “seems” to her to have met with that accident; so she would like to have the matter decided by a formal vote.  But whether there is a doubt or not, “I see the wisdom,” she says, “of again owning this Christian Science waif.”

I think that that is unassailable evidence that the waif was making money, hands down.

She pulled her gift in.  A few years later she donated the Publishing Society, along with its real estate, its buildings, its plant, its publications, and its money—­the whole worth twenty—­two thousand dollars, and free of debt—­to—­Well, to the Mother-Church!

That is to say, to herself.  There is an act count of it in the Christian Science Journal, and of how she had already made some other handsome gifts—­to her Church—­and others to—­to her Cause besides “an almost countless number of private charities” of cloudy amount and otherwise indefinite.  This landslide of generosities overwhelmed one of her literary domestics.  While he was in that condition he tried to express what he felt: