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.”