"Much braver, I expect," agreed her father, good-humouredly. "But I wonder why you think so!"
"Oh, Sally has told me lots of things. How he killed a mad dog, and nursed a man with smallpox, and knocked down a costermonger for kicking his pony. That was brave, wasn't it?" said Kitty, who clearly regarded the last item as the crowning act of bravery.
"Well, it was speedy punishment, certainly," answered her father, laughing. "But since you admire bravery so much, you'll have to learn a little more about it yourself; and not lie awake every time I'm kept out late at night. A clergyman's work is like a doctor's—never done, you know."
The word doctor gave Kitty an opportunity of rapidly changing the subject.
"What's a stroke, father? What's good for it?"
"A 'stroke' generally means paralysis, in some form or other, which affects people's limbs—often making them useless."
"Like my legs?" asked Kitty, quickly.
Her father winced palpably. "Not just like that, darling; I wonder what you are thinking of?"
"Mr. Allison's mother. She's very old and very deaf; and now she's had a stroke. I heard some one tell Nurse so; and, of course, I must go and ask about her when I go out; but I can't tell what to take her."
"I should think beef-tea will be the kind of thing she needs. Nurse can say we will make her some if you like," said the rector, who always humoured Kitty's fancy for taking sick people especially under her wing.