Presently she said, “I feel very uncomfortable, Dr. Ballard. I don't feel a bit like visiting, so if you wouldn't _mind_ going away until I feel better. You interrupted me when you came in. I have lots of work to do yet. When I get well I'd just love to see you. I'd rather see you than almost anybody in Bel-Air.” “Yes, yes, dear. I'll go away very soon. Where does your throat feel sore? Put your finger on the place.” Jewel looked up with all the rebuke she could convey. “You ought not to ask me that,” she returned. Dr. Ballard rose and went to the door. “Get me a glass of water, please, Mrs. Forbes.” “Not a glass. I want a whole pitcher full right side of me,” said Jewel. “Yes, a pitcher full also, if you please, Mrs. Forbes. Just let the maid bring them up.” The doctor returned to the bedside. “Now we'll soon forget that you wet those little feet,” he said. “That didn't do me any harm, that clean sweet brook. Mrs. Forbes didn't know what was the real matter.” “What was it, then?” “My own fault,” said Jewel, speaking with feverish quickness and squeezing the doctor's hand. “When I came here I found that nobody loved one another and everybody was afraid and sorry, and instead of denying it and helping them, I began voicing error and calling them names. I didn't keep remembering that God was here, and I called it Castle Discord and called Mrs. Forbes the giantess, and aunt Madge the error fairy, and cousin Eloise the enchanted maiden, and of course how could I help getting sick?” Dr. Ballard leaned toward her. Was this an impromptu tale, or was it a fact that this child had been coldly treated and unhappy? “You have a sensitive conscience, Jewel,” he returned. Here Sarah entered, set down the tray with pitcher, glasses, and spoon, and departed. The doctor loosed the little hand he had been holding, took up his case, and opened it. Jewel watched him with apprehension. “That's--medicine isn't it?” she asked with bated breath. “Yes.” The doctor carefully selected a bottle of liquid and set it on the table. “I think this one will do us.” Jewel's remark on the train about materia medica recurred to him, and he smiled. “Dr. Ballard, aren't you a Christian?” she asked suddenly. He glanced up. “I hope so.” “Then you'll forgive me if I won't take medicine. I put out my tongue, and I sucked the little glass thing because I didn't want to trouble you; but I have too much faith in God to take medicine.” The child looked at the doctor appealingly. He began to see light, and in his surprise, for a moment he did not reply. “Jesus Christ would have used drugs if they had been right,” she added. “But He isn't here now,” returned the astonished young man. “Why, Dr. Ballard,” in gentle reproach, “Christ is the Truth of God. Isn't He here now, healing us and helping us just the same as ever? Didn't He say He would be? You will see how much better I shall be to-night.”