“Thank you very much, my boy,” said the doctor, advancing to the bed-side. “Your sister, it seems, is disappointed in me. I am afraid I will have to make a big effort to build up her confidence.”
“Oh, no, no! It isn’t that,” said Ethel, eagerly; but he was plainly not attending to her words, as he bent over the bed and looked scrutinizingly into the boy’s face, and then took one of the small, thin hands into his, and held it in a watchful sort of way as he turned to the girl and said, with earnest interest:
“Is his general health pretty good?”
“Oh, yes, I think so,” began Ethel; but the child interrupted her, roughly:
“Oh, yes, you think so!” he said. “As if you knew how I suffer! You never have an ache or a pain, and you don’t care how I feel!”
Ethel was about to speak, when the doctor, catching Bobby by the chin and looking intently into his eyes, said firmly:
“Now look here, my youngster, I’m going to put a stop to this at once—do you understand? I’m not going to have your sister spoken to in any such a way as that. She’s your best friend, and she seems to be a good enough one for any boy alive, and I’d like to see you treat her with a little respect, if you please.”
The boy flushed deeply as he realized the impression that he had made upon this new doctor, from whom he hoped so much. He was very angry with himself, and said quickly:
“Perhaps you think I don’t love her, or know how good she is to me. If you think so, you are wrong. I love her better than all the world, and I know there never was such a good sister; but she doesn’t mind. She knows how I suffer, and she lets me talk to her like that, when the pain is very bad.”
There were tears of regret and mortification in his eyes as he spoke, seeing which the doctor’s face grew suddenly very gentle.