He began to speak, low and earnestly, and as if continuing something already half said: 

“Pardon my bluntness, but it’s a bad thing when there’s too much money spent on forcing the brain before the body is given a chance—­or the soul.  Does a child get food that is simple and nourishing, and enough of it?  Is all exercise taken in the open?  Too often, I find, where there’s a motor at the beck and call of a nurse, the child in her charge is utterly cut off—­and in the period of quickest growth—­from a normal supply of plain walking.  Every boy and girl has a right” (his voice deepened with feeling) “to the great world out of doors.  Let the warm sun, and the fresh air, and God’s good earth—­”

Gwendolyn moved.  “Is—­is he praying?” she whispered.

There was a moment of silence.  Then, “No, daughter,” answered her father, while her mother leaned to lay a gentle hand on her forehead.  The Doctor went aside to the larger table and busied himself with some bottles.  When he came back, her father lifted her head a trifle by lifting the pillow—­her mother rising quickly to assist—­and the Doctor put a glass to Gwendolyn’s lips.  She drank dutifully, and was lowered.

At once she felt stronger.  “Is the sun up?” she asked.  Her voice was weak, and somewhat hoarse.

“Would you like to see the sky?” asked her father.  And without waiting for her eager nod, crossed to the front window and drew aside the heavy silk hangings.

Serenely blue was the long rectangle framed by curtains and casing.  Across it not a single fat sheep was straying.

“Moth-er!”

“Yes, darling?”

“Is—­is always the same piece of Heaven right there through the window?”

“No.  The earth is turning all the time—­just as your globe in the school-room turns.  And so each moment you see a new square of sky.”

The Doctor nodded with satisfaction.  “Um!  Better, aren’t we?” he inquired, smiling down.

She returned the smile.  “Well, I am,” she declared.  “But—­I didn’t know you felt bad.”

He laughed.  “Tell me something,” he went on.  “I sent a bottle of medicine here yesterday.”

“Yes.  It was a little bottle.”

“How much of it did Jane give you?  Can you remember?”

“Well, first she poured out one teaspoonful—­”

The Doctor had been leaning again on the foot of the white-and-gold bed.  Now he fell back of a sudden.  “A teaspoonful!” he gasped.  And to Gwendolyn’s father, “Why, that wretched girl didn’t read the directions on the bottle!”

There was another silence.  The two men stared at each other.  But Gwendolyn’s mother, her face paler than before, bent above the yellow head on the pillow.

“After I drank that teaspoonful,” went on Gwendolyn, “Jane wouldn’t believe me.  And so she made me take the other.”

“Another!”—­it was the Doctor once more.  He pressed a trembling hand to his forehead.