“I have been thinking, Dr. Sandford, about what Jesus did for me.”

“What was that?” said the doctor in considerable surprise.

“Because it was so hard for me to keep still to-day, I thought—­you know—­how it must have been—­”

The flush deepened on the cheeks, and Daisy’s eyes were swimming full of tears.  Dr. Sandford looked, in much surprise; perhaps he was at some pains to comprehend what all this meant.

“How it must have been when?” said he, bending over Daisy’s couch.

“You know, Dr. Sandford,” she said tenderly.  “When he was on the cross—­and couldn’t move——­”

Daisy gave way.  She put her hands over her face.  The doctor stood erect, looking at her; glanced his grave eyes at Mrs. Benoit and at her again; then made a step towards Juanita.

“No excitement is permitted,” he said.  “You must keep her from it.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Juanita said.  But her face was all alight.

“Have you been reading some of those stories to her?”

“I have not been reading to her at all to-day, if his honour pleases.”

“Daisy,” said Dr. Sandford, coming back to the couch, “what put such thoughts into your head?”

“I felt so badly to-day.”  She spoke with her usual collectedness again.

“Well, try and not mind it.  You will feel better in a day or two.  Do you know when that happened that you were talking about?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When was it?”

“More than eighteen hundred years ago.”

“Do you think it is worth your while to be troubled for what happened eighteen hundred years ago?”

“I think it is just the same as if it happened now,” said Daisy, without moving her eyes.

“Do you?  By what power of reasoning?”

“I don’t think I know how to reason,” said Daisy.  “It is feeling.”

“How does feeling manage it?”

Daisy discerned the tone of the question, looked at her questioner, and answered with tender seriousness: 

“I know the Lord Jesus did that for me; and I know he is in heaven now.”

The doctor kept silence a minute.  “Daisy,” said he, “you are under my orders at present.  You must mind me.  You are to take a cup of tea, and a piece of toast, if you like; then you are to go to sleep and keep quiet, and not think of anything that happened more than an hour ago.  Will you?”

“I will try to be quiet,” said Daisy.

She and the doctor looked at each other in a dissatisfied manner, she wistfully, he disapprovingly, and then the doctor went out.  Daisy’s eyes followed, straining after him as long as they could; and when she could see him no longer they filled with tears again.  She was looking as intent and wistful as if she might have been thirty years old instead of nine or ten, when Juanita came to her side with the tea she had been making.

The tea and toast did Daisy good; and she was ready to enjoy a visit from, her father, who spent the evening with her.  But he would not let her talk.  The next day was hot again; however Daisy felt better.  The heat was more bearable.  It was a very quiet day.