"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.