On the next day, when he learned that the doctor had declared Anna Barlow’s disease to be really the scarlet fever, and her case a very bad one, Wilson was more troubled than ever. How often did he wish that he had been an obedient boy. But no sorrow could recall the act.
It was several days afterwards, when the boy’s fears had nearly all subsided, that he awoke one morning with a violent headache, a sore throat, and a general uneasiness, with considerable fever. The day afterwards, his skin became dry and burning, and his throat so sore that he could swallow only with great difficulty. On the third day the physician pronounced the case one of decided scarletina, or scarlet fever, accompanied by some very alarming symptoms.
From that time for nearly two weeks the sick boy was conscious of little more than great bodily distress. When the fever at last gave way, he was just upon the brink of the grave. The slightest neglect on the part of those who attended him with more than the care that a new-born infant requires, would have proved fatal. But the skill of his medical attendant, and the unwearying care of his parents, were the means of saving his life.
About a week after the crisis of the disease had passed, when Wilson could sit up in bed, supported by pillows, as his father sat by him, he said, in a penitent voice, while the tears came into his eyes:
“I have been a very wicked boy, father; and that is the reason why I have been so sick.”
“How so, my child?” asked Mr. Green, in surprise.
“You remember having told me that I could not go over to see Alfred Barlow, one day when I asked you. Well, I wanted to go so bad, that I disobeyed you. I found little Anna Barlow very sick—so sick that Alfred could not play with me. As soon as his mother saw me by Anna’s bed, she told me to go right away home at once. And so I did, without having had any of the pleasure, to gain which, I had done what you had told me not to do. It was the scarlet fever that Anna had, and no doubt I took it from her. But I have been severely punished for what I did.”
“Severely, indeed, my dear boy!” Mr. Green said, wiping a tear that came to his eye. “But not too severely, if it prove the means of restraining you from ever doing so wrong an act in future. To disobey your parents, is to do yourself one of the worst of injuries. For if, in early years, you are not obedient to your parents, you will not be truly obedient to just laws when you grow up to be a man; nor, above all, obedient to God. And if not obedient to Him, you never can be happy. It is not from any selfish desire to command your obedience, that I forbid your doing certain things at times. I have only your good at heart. I know, much better than you can possibly know, the evil that you ought to shun—and much better than you can know, the good effects which will be produced in your mind by obedience. But I need not, I trust, say more now. You have had a practical lesson that you can never forget, and which will, I am sure, have upon you a most salutary influence.”
“Indeed, father, I can never forget it,” Wilson replied, with much feeling. “No one knows how much I have suffered, in mind as well as body, for my faults. From the hour I disobeyed you until this moment, I have been unhappy. And I believe, until I had told you all, I should never again have been happy.”