“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.”
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.”