“Phyllis,” he said, “Rosie has been very ill, but I think she will get better.”
“Will God make her quite well if we ask Him?” said Phyllis to her father.
“Do ask Him, my child; do,” said the Squire.
Phyllis rushed out of the room. She came back presently and sat down in a contented way to her breakfast. She ate with appetite.
“Are you not anxious, Phyllis?” asked her father.
“Not now,” she said in a cheerful tone.
“I spoke to God, you know, and it is all right.”
“Bless the child,” said the Squire.
Late that day the news came that Rosie was out of danger.
“Then Phyllis was right,” said the Squire. He caught his little daughter to his heart, and kissed her many, many times.