"You are not going to heaven so soon, and leaving us all desolate, are you?"
"No, Daddy Dan. But Mr. Ormsby, who thinks that I have made him a Catholic, says he will bring down a great, great doctor from Dublin to cure me. And I don't want to be cured at all."
"If it were God's Holy Will, dear, we should be all glad. But I fear that God alone can cure the hurt He has made."
"Oh, thank you! thank you! Daddy Dan. You have always the kind word. And sure you know more than all the doctors. And sure, if God wished me to be cured, you'd have done it long ago."
"I'm not so sure of that, my child," I said; "but who is the great doctor?"
"He's a doctor that was in the navy—like my poor father—and he has seen a lot of queer diseases in India, and got a lot of cures."
"Well, we're bound to try every natural specific, my child. But if all fails, we must leave you in the hands of the great Physician."
"That's what I should like best, Daddy Dan!"
"You must pray now for Father Letheby. He is going to preach a great sermon."
"On what?"