"Exactly forty-five minutes."
"And I must write every word?"
"Every word!"
"How many pages will that make?"
"Twenty pages—ordinary copy-book. The first fifteen will be expository; the last five will be the peroration, into which you must throw all the pathos, love, fire, and enthusiasm of which you are capable."
"All right. Many thanks, Father Dan. But I shall be very nervous."
"Never mind. That will wear off."
I said to myself, you have heavier troubles in store; but why should I anticipate? The worst troubles are those that never arise. And where's the use of preaching to a man with the toothache about the perils of typhoid fever?
I went down to see my little saint.
She was "happy, happy, oh! so happy! But, Daddy Dan, I fear't won't last long!"