Susan waited till the noise of the spinning was over, and then quietly observed, "I am afraid, Master Tom, that a long time must pass before it will be right for you and your sister to shop in the town."
"Why, mamma often takes us there," said the boy.
"Remember that for weeks, if not months, there will be a risk of your giving the fever to any one whom you meet. You carry infection with you."
"Oh, hang the infection!" exclaimed Tom, angrily. "I don't mean to be shut up like a wild beast in a cage." And the boy looked so fierce as he said this that he seemed to have enough of the wild beast about him to render the cage a somewhat desirable thing.
"No one will guess that we have had any fever at all," observed Jessy, who, while better tempered than her brother, was less straightforward and open. "See—there are no marks left; and if you are not so cross as to tell, no one will know that anything has been the matter with Tom or with me."
"Oh, Miss Jessy, your own conscience would know it; your own conscience would whisper, 'Is it right, for my own selfish pleasure, to run the risk of carrying sickness, and perhaps even death, into some happy home? If I should hear of some poor child catching the fever and dying, could I ever feel happy again?'"
Jessy stared at Susan in surprise. The idea of being guided by the secret voice of conscience in her heart was new to the child, who had hitherto cared only to follow self-will.
Tom broke out abruptly with the question, "As you make such a mighty fuss about infection, Susan, are you not afraid of catching the fever yourself? I wonder that you don't run away in a fright, like mamma with the baby."
"It was your mamma's duty to go; it is my duty to stay," replied the young nursery-maid, with a smile. "I am not in the least afraid, for I trust in God who careth for me."
"Do you mean that because you trust in God, He will keep you from catching the fever?" asked Jessy.