Something whispered to Wilson that to disobey his father would be to do a very wicked thing; but he quickly turned from the warning thought, and in a little while determined that he would run over to Alfred Barlow’s for a short time.
Wrong as this was, Wilson so far forgot his duty to his parents, as actually to go over to Mr. Barlow’s very soon after his father had gone away. Instead, however, of spending the delightful afternoon as he had anticipated, he found all the family in much alarm for Alfred’s little sister, who had been taken very ill since morning. Of course, all thoughts of play were banished from the mind of Alfred, who loved little Anna very much, and could not be persuaded to leave her bed-side a moment.
As soon as Mrs. Barlow found Wilson in the chamber of her sick child, she told him that he had better run home, as the doctor feared that Anna had the scarlet fever, and she did not wish any of her neighbours’ children to be exposed to the danger of taking it.
Slowly did Wilson Green leave the house in which he promised himself so much delight, and turn his steps homeward with no very happy feelings. He had disobeyed his father, deliberately, and got nothing for that disobedience but an exposure to a terrible disease, of which he might die.
When his father came home at night, he felt almost afraid to look at him in the face. It seemed as if he must know all about what he had done.
“Wilson, come here, my son;” he said, in a serious voice.
And Wilson went up to him with a sinking heart.
“When I told you, at dinner time, that I did not wish you to go and see Alfred Barlow,” the father began, “I neglected to say, as a reason for denying your request, that Doctor Ayres had mentioned to me that little Anna was very sick, with all the symptoms of a dangerous attack of scarlet fever. This dreadful disease is thought by many contagious, and it was for this reason that I denied your request.”
Wilson said nothing, but he was very unhappy. A frank confession of his fault arose to his tongue; but, before he could make it, his heart failed him. Not that he dreaded his father’s displeasure so much as the distress his act of disobedience would give him.
For more than an hour that night, did the unhappy boy lie awake, after he had retired to bed, vainly regretting his act of wickedness and folly. It is said, “of wickedness,” for deliberate acts of disobedience to parents are wicked. He was likewise troubled, lest he, too, should be attacked with scarlet fever, and die—and all because he had not obeyed his father.