only for a little rash on my face at times; it has annoyed me very much
lately. This day I had urged him all I could, and he left me, saying he
had too much on his mind today. I followed him to the door, saying, "I
don't want to think so ill of you, Doctor, as that you will not grant me
so small a favor--a twenty-five cent favor--and I will pay for it
myself."


Saturday Morning.--I am so impatient! I hardly dare to hope. Will I be
free to breathe the air of heaven again, to walk out in the warmth of
His sunshine? Perhaps I am punished for questioning the exact truth of
that story, so long ago, that I could not quite explain to myself or
believe how it could be handed down over so many years. I have stood
almost where He has stood, once before in my life. "The foxes have
holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man hath not
where to lay his head." I have been "led by the spirit into the
wilderness." Pontius Pilate is not here to say, "I find no sin in this
man," but there are those here who would lock me in, and never let me
set my foot outside of these walls, if they knew I was writing this with
the hope of laying it before the Province.

Yesterday was bathing-day--a cold, damp April day. No steam on; I tried
the radiators, but there was no hot air to come. The young teacher--in
whom I was so much interested, and whose name I will not give here, as
she always begged me not to mention her name--she stood with me at the
radiator trying to find some heat. The Doctor came in and I say,
"Doctor, can't you send up some coal, there is only a few red coals in
the grate, no steam on, and we are nearly frozen?" He said, "The hard
coal is all gone." "Well, send us some soft coal, wood, anything to keep
us warm." He left us; no coal came till after dinner. I met one of the