The patience of young children in illness is a commonplace of some little books, but none the less a fresh fact.In spite of the sentimental, children in illness remain the full sources of perpetual surprises.Their self-control in real suffering is a wonder.A little turbulent girl, brilliant and wild, and unaccustomed, it might be thought, to deal in any way with her own impulses--a child whose way was to cry out, laugh, complain, and triumph without bating anything of her own temperament, and without the hesitation of a moment, struck her face, on a run, against a wall and was cut and in a moment overwhelmed with pain and covered with blood."Tell mother it's nothing! Tell mother, quick, it's nothing!" cried the magnanimous child as soon as she could speak.
The same child fell over the rail of a staircase and was obliged to lie for some ten days on her back, so that the strained but not broken little body might recover itself.Every movement was, in a measure, painful; and there was a long captivity, a helplessness enforced and guarded by twinges, a constant impossibility to yield to the one thing that had carried her through all her years--impulse.A condition of acute consciousness was imposed upon a creature whose first condition of life had been unconsciousness; and this during the long period of ten of a child's days and nights at eight years old.
Yet during every hour of the time the child was not only gay but patient, not fitfully, but steadily, resigned, sparing of requests, reluctant to be served, inventive of tender and pious little words that she had never used before."You are exquisite to me, mother,"she said, at receiving some common service.
Even in the altering and harassing conditions of fever, a generous child assumes the almost incredible attitude of deliberate patience.
Not that illness is to be trusted to work so.There is another child who in his brief indispositions becomes invincible, armed against medicine finally.The last appeal to force, as his distracted elders find, is all but an impossibility; but in any case it would be a failure.You can bring the spoon to the child, but three nurses cannot make him drink.This, then, is the occasion of the ultimate resistance.He raises the standard of revolution, and casts every tradition and every precept to the wind on which it flies.He has his elders at a disadvantage; for if they pursue him with a grotesque spoon their maxims and commands are, at the moment, still more grotesque.He is committed to the wild novelty of absolute refusal.He not only refuses, moreover, he disbelieves; he throws everything over.Told that the medicine is not so bad, this nihilist laughs.
Medicine apart, a minor ailment is an interest and a joy."Am Iunwell to-day, mother?" asks a child with all his faith and confidence at the highest point.
