Dr. Ballard met the heavy eyes with his own kind, clear ones. “I see you have been taught in new ways, Jewel,” he said seriously, “but you are only a little girl, and while you are in your grandfather's house you ought to do as he wishes. He wishes you to let me prescribe for you. No one who is ill can help making trouble. You have no right not to try to get well in the way Mr. Evringham and Mrs. Forbes wish you to.” Jewel felt herself in a desperate position. The corners of her lips twitched down. Dr. Ballard thought he saw his advantage, and leaned his fine head toward her. She impulsively threw her arms around his neck. “You don't want to hurt my feelings, Jewel,” he said. She was crying softly. “No--it would make me--very--sorry, but it would be--worse--to hurt--God's. Please don't make me, please, please don't make me, Dr. Ballard!” She was increasingly excited, and he feared the effect. “Very well then, Jewel,” he returned. “I don't want to do you more harm than good.” “Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed fervently, through her tears. “But Mrs. Forbes must think you have the medicine. You haven't told her that you are--ahem--a Christian Scientist. I suppose that is what you call yourself.” “Yes, sir. A Christian Scientist. Oh, you're the kindest man,” pursued the relieved child. “I realized in my prayer that you didn't know it was wrong to believe in material medica, for you reflect love all the time.” While she was talking and wiping her eyes the doctor took the pitcher and one of the glasses to the window, and stood with his back to her. “Now then,” he said, returning, “we'll put this half glass of water on the table. I put the spoon across it so, and when Mrs. Forbes is next in the room you take a couple of spoonfuls and that will satisfy her. You may tell her that I wanted you only to take it about four times during the day. If you are better when I come back this evening, I will not insist upon your taking any pellets on your tongue. Here is the other glass for you to drink from.” With a few more kind words Dr. Ballard took his departure, and going downstairs met Mrs. Forbes. “The little girl has a heavy feverish cold. She understands how to take her medicine. She will probably sleep a good deal. Let her be quiet.” He went on to the study, where Mr. Evringham was waiting, sitting at the desk, his head on his hand, frowning at the yellow chicken. He looked up expectantly as the doctor entered. “Well?” he asked. Dr. Ballard came forward and seated himself in a neighboring chair. “Do you know what you have upstairs there?” he asked in a low tone. “For heaven's sake, Guy, don't tell me it's something serious--something infectious!” Mr. Evringham turned pale. The doctor's sudden smile was reassuring. “It does seem to be infectious to some degree,” he returned, “but I don't believe you'll catch it.” “What are you grinning at, boy?” asked the broker sharply.