So I was confident that the one crumpled rose-leaf would soon be ironed flat again, and that the one tiny cloud was only a passing summer one. There was another thing, too, which made me very happy at that time, and filled my already brimming cup of joy to overflowing. One morning the wife of one of my labourers stopped me in the village. "Beg pardon, Sir Reginald," said she, "but my boy, Willie, has twisted his back, and the pain be something fearful. Something fearful it be." "I am sorry for that, Mrs. Jackson," I said, "very sorry indeed. How did he do it?" "By doin' what he ought not, Sir Reginald, him bein' a boy and climbin' on to one of the big ricks in the rick-yard and tumblin' off." "Has Dr. Jeffson seen him?" "Yes, Sir Reginald, that he has, but he don't seem to know what to do to do him good. And Willie has taken it into his head that if you'd come and lay your hands on him, like as you did on the young lady at the Rectory, you'd stop the pain and make his back all right again, if it wouldn't be too much trouble." This request naturally caused me some astonishment. It had not occurred to me that my gift of healing was a permanent possession. I had imagined that my earnest prayer to God and my intense love for Fay had made me, for that one occasion, a channel of the Divine Grace. Then I remembered how St. Paul had said that among the diverse gifts of the Spirit of God one is the gift of healing; and how Mr. Henderson--who undoubtedly had himself been endowed with this gift--had said that he believed it had been entrusted to me also. Therefore I acceded to Mrs. Jackson's request, and accompanied her to her cottage. Willie was lying in the parlour on a horse-hair sofa, groaning with pain. "Well, my boy," I said, "I am sorry to hear you have hurt yourself. Is there anything that I can do for you?" "Thank you for comin' to see me, Sir Reginald," replied the child, pulling at his forelock in the absence of a cap; "I feel sartain that if you'll lay your hands on me, like as you did on Miss Wildacre when her was so bad, I'll get rid o' this dreadful pain, and be able to get about again." "I'll do what I can, Willie," I said, sitting down beside the sofa; "but you must remember that I cannot cure you myself. There is only one Person who can cure you, and that is Christ. I have no power--neither has the doctor any power--except what Christ gives us. He may choose to cure you by means of the doctor's medicine or by means of my prayers; but whichever it may be, remember it is Christ's doing, and not ours. We are only the means that He chooses to make use of."