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'Very little,' replied Jessy.

'Did you take the draught?'

'Yes, Sir,'

'Then something happened to prevent your getting to sleep, I suppose?'

Thomas looked at his wife, and then said, 'Noise, Sir, prevented her sleeping; -- no person could have fallen asleep here last night.'

'That will never do,' said the doctor, with displeasure ; 'your child will never recover in such circumstances.'

It was not just the noise that kept me from sleeping,' said Jessy; 'but, tell me, doctor, if you please, will it be necessary, -- is my leg so ill, that it must be taken off ?'

Jessy asked this question with difficulty, and could not keep her voice from changing, and tears filling her eyes.

'There,' said Thomas to his wife, 'I told you that, in the poor lassie's weak state, she would take your saying that to heart.'

'I was only in joke, Jessy,' said her mother; 'as true as death, I did not mean what I said. How could you think of that?'

'Poor thing!' said the doctor, compassionately; 'no wonder she had little sleep after such cruel rashness.'

'But, Sir,' said Jessy, 'you have not said that I will recover without --.' She did not like to finish the painful question.

'Can I say, Jessy, whether or not you will recover?' said the doctor, gently. 'Your life and health are not in my hands; all we can do is to use the means. I am sure you know this, my good girl.'

'Oh! yes,' said Jessy, her heart filling on hearing words so unlike what she was used to; and looking at the doctor with love and reverence, 'you have only to tell me, Sir, what I ought to do, and I shall try to do it; and if the means fail----'

'We must not look forward to evil,' interrupted the doctor; you know we are desired to take no thought for the morrow. Believe me, my good girl, God will give you strength according to your day, -- only trust in him.'

The doctor spoke thus to Jessy as he dressed her wound, and she felt almost sorry when his rapid and easy operation was finished.

When the doctor went away, Thomas followed him to the door. His wife did the same. When they returned, Thomas said to Jessy, 'I am going to tell an Infirmary chair to be brought, Jessy: you will be ready for it, my lassie. The doctor says he will see you in the evening.'

Jessy looked at her mother. Mrs. Grey was silent. She seemed stupefied, and Jessy wondered what the doctor had said to her.

'You will come and see me, mother,' said Jessy, when her father had gone out.

'Oh ay,' replied Mrs. Grey; 'but the doctor said I must only come at this hour, and at that hour. It's a pretty thing to keep a mother from her own child.'

Jessy was glad to find that her mother was going to part with her so easily, and now entreated her to get ready for their going. Mrs. Grey was to accompany Jessy, and see her settled in that ward of the Infirmary set apart for those in her circumstances; and she now began to bustle about and to make her own appearance as respectable as she could, and also to get Jessy made ready to be moved. Before this could be accomplished, a bustle in the street called her attention. As she was going to the door, a neighbour put in her head, saying, 'Its an Infirmary chair.' A crowd of children had followed this well-known vehicle, the very sight of which makes one feel sad, as it recalls so many painful images of sickness, and want of comfortable homes. Poor Jessy's heart sunk when she heard it was come. Her mother went to the door, and came back with her hands clasped together.

'Oh! Jessy,' exclaimed she, 'what for would you be so keen to go away from your own mother? I am sure, when you see that awful chair, you will not go, -- no power would make me set my foot in it.'

The men who had brought the chair now entered to offer their services to carry out the sick person.

'Oh! Jessy, do not go,' whispered her mother.

'I must now, dear mother. Do not stop me, -- the sooner it is over the better.'

The men then carried her carefully and tenderly to the chair. Several people stood around it, who expressed their compassion for the 'poor thing!' She heard one woman say, 'Dear me, she looks dreadful white!' And another, 'She'll never come back!'

Jessy was carried to the Infirmary, and then to the bed in the Ward, with less pain than she had feared. All around her was so clean and comfortable, and, above all, so quiet, that even before her mother left her she felt reconciled to her new situation. When her mother was obliged to bid her farewell, her heart sunk for a little; but the stillness around her made her feel as if she was alone, and then she began to think of God, and to remember that he was present with her. She thought and prayed over what had passed within the last two days. The doctor's words returned to her memory, and she tried to trust God for whatever was before her; and after a little time she fell asleep, and slept tranquilly for several hours. On waking, she heard voices in the room, and drawing aside the curtain, saw her own doctor, and several others, standing or stooping over the bed of a patient not far from her's.