The poor child was so wholly absorbed in these painful thoughts, as they passed again and again through her mind, that she lost all sense of time, till at last she was aroused, by the clock on the neighboring tower striking so many times that she was frightened.  She raised her head.  It was perfectly dark.  Her little candle had burned out, and not a glimmer of light came from the street.  But the stars; yes, there were the five stars above still shining so joyfully, that it seemed to Dora as if her father were looking down upon her with loving eyes, and saying cheeringly,

    “God holds us in his hand
    God knows the best to send.”

The sparkling starlight sank deep into her heart, and made it lighter.  She grew calmer.  Her father knew, she said to herself, she would trust his knowledge, and not fear what the future might hold in store.  And after she laid her head on her pillow, she kept her eyes fixed upon the beautiful stars until they closed in sleep.

On the following evening the doctor came as he had promised.  He began to suggest various places to Uncle Titus, but Aunt Ninette assured him rather curtly, that she was already on the track of something that promised to be satisfactory.  There were a great many things to be taken into consideration, she said, since Uncle Titus was to make so vast a change in his habits.  The utmost prudence must be exercised in the selection of the situation, and of the house also.  This was her present business, and when everything was settled she would inform the doctor of her arrangements.

“Very well, only don’t be long about it; be off as soon as you can, the quicker the better,” said the physician warningly, and he was making a hasty retreat, when he almost fell over little Dora who had stolen so quietly into the room that he had not seen her.

“There, there, I hope I did not hurt you,” he said, tapping the frightened child upon the shoulder.  “It will do this thin little creature a world of good too, this trip to Switzerland,” he continued.  “She must drink plenty of milk,—­lots of milk.”

“We have decided to leave Dora behind,” remarked Aunt Ninette drily.

“As you please; it is your affair, Mrs. Ehrenreich; but you must let me observe that if you do not look out, you will have another case on your hands, as bad as your husband’s, if not worse.  Good-morning madam,” and he vanished.

“Doctor, doctor! what do you mean?  What did you say?” cried Aunt Ninette in her most plaintive tone, running down the stairs to overtake him.

“I mean that the little person up there has quite too little good blood in her veins, and that she cannot last long, unless she gets more and better nourishment.”

“For heaven’s sake!  What unfortunate people we are!” cried Mrs. Ehrenreich, wringing her hands in distress, as she came back into her husband’s room.  “My dearest Titus, just lay down your pen for one moment.  You did not hear the dreadful things the doctor said would happen to Dora, if she did not have more and better blood?”