“In various ways.  Sometimes I read to him; sometimes I set him to doing things by way of assisting me.  I take him out when I can, and let him go with the girls when I send them on errands.  I provide him with playthings that are suited to his age.  In a word, I try to keep him in my mind; and, therefore, find it not very difficult to meet his varying states.  I never thrust him aside, and say I am too busy to attend to him, when he comes with a request.  If I cannot grant it, I try not to say ‘no,’ for that word comes too coldly upon the eager desire of an ardent-minded boy.”

“But how can you help saying ‘no,’ if the request is one you cannot grant?”

“Sometimes I ask if something else will not do as well; and sometimes I endeavour to create a new interest in his mind.  There are various ways in which it may be done, that readily suggest themselves to those desirous for the good of their children.  It is affection that inspires thought.  The love of children always brings a quick intelligence touching their good.”

Much more was said, not needful here to repeat.  When the friend went away, Tommy’s mother, whose heart convicted her of wrong to her little boy, went up to the room where she had sent him to spend four or five lonely hours as a punishment for what was, in reality, her own fault, and not his.  Three hours of the weary time had already passed.  She did not remember to have heard a sound from him, since she drove him away with angry words.  In fact, she had been too deeply interested in the new book she was reading, to have heard any noise that was not of an extraordinary character.

At the door of the chamber she stood and listened for a moment.  All was silent within.  The mother’s heart beat with a heavy motion.  On entering, she found the order of the room undisturbed; not even a chair was out of place.  Tommy was asleep on the bed.  As his mother bent over him, she saw that tears were upon his cheeks and eyelids, and that the pillow was wet.  A choking sigh struggled up from her bosom; she felt a rebuking consciousness of having wronged her child.  She laid her hand upon his red cheek, but drew it back instantly; it was hot with fever.  She caught up his hand; it was also in a burning glow.  Alarm took the place of grief for having wronged her boy.  She tried to awaken him, but he only moaned and muttered.  The excitement had brought on a fever.

When the father came home and laid his hand upon the hot cheek of his sleeping boy, he uttered an exclamation of alarm, and started off instantly for a physician.  All night the wretched mother watched by her sick child, unable, from fear and self-reproaches, to sleep.  When the morning broke, and Thomas looked up into her face with a gleam of trusting affection, his fever was gone and his pulse was calm.  The mother laid her cheek thankfully against that of her boy, and prayed to Heaven for strength to bear with him, and wisdom to guide her feet aright; and as she did so, in the silence of her overflowing heart, the lad drew his arms around her neck, and, kissing her, said—­“Mother, I do love you!”