The doctor drew her closer to him. "Don't say that, my darling. Little girls do not know how much good they may do in the world."
"What good," asked Milly, curiously, "if they can't help people when they are ill?"
"What makes you so anxious about this?" asked the doctor.
"I want to help Bob and Jack, and then—then, you know, that would be like Jesus—who went about helping everybody He could."
"Like Jesus?" repeated the doctor, musingly. "I dare not hope ever to be like Him; but if I could help these poor people a bit, would it not please Him? And if I could do that, it would be worth something—worth living for."
This was said more to himself than to Milly; and as he spoke he put her off his knee, and turned to a medicine-chest that stood in the room, and began looking over its contents.
"I think I will go down and see these children myself," he said, as he placed two or three bottles in his pocket. "Perhaps I may be able to save the boys from having the fever at all," he added as he left the room.
Milly ran after him before he reached the street-door. "Let me go with you," she said. "Do let me go and see Bob. I haven't seen him for a long time."
But the doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid you would catch this fever, and be ill too," he said.
But Milly pleaded so hard to be allowed to accompany him part of the way, that the doctor yielded the point at last. And it was well he did, or otherwise he might not have gained so ready an admission into the cottage.