Once it was to her father she was speaking, and the instant she had done so, she looked up at him with eyes brimful of tears, expecting a stern rebuke, or, at the very least, a look of great displeasure.
But he did not seem to have heard her, and only busied himself in trying to make her more comfortable; and when she seemed to feel easier again, he kissed her tenderly, saying softly: "My poor little one! papa knows she suffers a great deal, and feels very sorry for her.

Are you better now, dearest ?" "Yes, papa, thank you," she answered, the tears coming into her eyes again.

"I don't know what makes me so cross; you are very good not to scold me." "I think my little girl is very patient," he said, caressing her again; "and if she were not, I couldn't have the heart to _scold_ her after all she has suffered.

Shall I sing to you now ?" "Yes, papa; please sing 'I want to be like Jesus.' Oh, I _do_ want to be like him! and then I should never even _feel_ impatient." He did as she requested, singing in a low, soothing tone that soon lulled her to sleep.

He was an indefatigable nurse, never weary, never in the least impatient, and nothing that skill and kindness could do for the comfort and recovery of his little daughter was left undone.