'Three days ago he was struck down with fever. Last night we had to sleep under a hedge, they would not take us in at the place we stopped at, and to-day he——'
The boy stopped and turned round. Another voice—I scarcely knew it for my mother's, it was so changed and hoarse—repeated his words, 'Struck down with fever.'
She drew me hastily away from the sick man, whose hand still rested on my shoulder.
'Oh, Willie! what have you done—what have you done?'
'Mother, the poor man wanted some water,' I began, but she called to me to go away, and when I wanted to stay and tell her about it, she pushed me towards the door with a sort of cry—
'Go, go, I will come to you.'
I went out frightened and puzzled, and waited for her at the well.
When she came to me, I sprang into her arms and sobbed out, 'Mother, what have I done? You said a cup of water—'
I could not go on, but pointed to the stone. It was strange to see how the troubled look passed away from her face and the peacefulness I knew so well came back.
'My boy, you have done nothing—nothing wrong. I hope you will always try to follow God's commands, though it may lead you into troubles.'