In this little affair of the thimble
there had been disinterested love, self-sacrifice, anticipated joy,
disappointment and despair, though all expended on a cheap thimble.
Yet, Willie was but seven years old, and "thought as a child, felt as
a child, understood as a child." I am a grown-up child now, and have
had many troubles, but the most acute sorrow I ever felt was the death
of my pet pigeon, when I was seven years old.
It was long before the storm in his little bosom subsided, but when
at last it did, he turned to go home; he would not go before, lest he
might grieve his mother with the sight of his tears. At last, weary
and half-frozen, he opened the cottage gate and met his mother coming
to look for him, and she, who always spoke most gently to him, and for
whose dear sake she was suffering, now by a sad chance, and out of her
fright and vexation, sharply rebuked him and hurried him off to bed.
"If dear mamma had known, she would not have scolded me so, though,"
was his last thought as he sank into a feverish sleep. The next
morning when Mrs. Dulan arose, the heavy breathing, and bright flush
upon the cheek of her boy, caught her attention, and roused her fears
for his health.
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