As Mrs. Seabrook entered Dorrie's room and saw the change in the loved face—still very thin and white, it is true, but with a look of peace on the brow, the eyes bright, the pale lips wreathed with smiles—her composure well-nigh forsook her.
"Mamma, hear the birds!—and it isn't sunrise yet!" she said again, as her mother approached her.
"Yes, dear; but I hear what is far sweeter music to me," the woman replied, making a huge effort at self-control. "So you are hungry, Dorrie!" she added, bending to kiss the lips uplifted to greet her.
"Yes, really and truly hungry, and so happy; for my cold and the pain are all gone. How kind of Mrs. Minturn to stay with me! Did you sleep, mamma?"
"Like a kitten, dear. I think we have a great deal to thank Mrs. Minturn for," said Mrs. Seabrook, bending a grateful look upon her friend.
"That tastes good," Dorrie observed, as she partook, with evident relish, of the delicately prepared egg, "and how nicely you do toast bread! It looks almost like gold."
She was silent a moment, then resumed:
"Mamma, I wish you could have heard how beautifully Mrs. Minturn talked to me, last night, every time I awoke; and repeated such lovely things from the Bible. Of course, I have heard them before, but, somehow, they sound different as she says them."
"And you begin to see that God never made or intended anyone to be sick or suffer; that it is your right to be well and strong. You will try to think of that often to-day, will you not, Dorothy?" said Mrs. Minturn, as she lifted the small hand near her, to find no fever but a gentle moisture in the palm, instead.
"Yes, and I've a better idea now of what Miss Katherine once said about God—that He is Mind and perfect, and if we would let this perfect Mind rule us we would be well. What was that you read me from your little book about it feeding the body?" the girl earnestly inquired.