Wrapping him up warmly in the bed-clothes, his father took him in his arms, and carried him to the room he was to occupy for the present.
In spite of his medicine, Oscar continued to grow worse, through the day.

He longed for night to come, that he might go to sleep; but when it came, it did not bring with it the refreshing slumber of health.
Short naps and troubled dreams alternated with long, weary hours of wakefulness; and the sun, at its next rising, found him sicker than before.

The pains in his head and chest were more severe; his skin was hot and dry; his cheeks were flushed with fever; he breathed with difficulty, and his cough had become quite distressing.

He felt cross and fretful, too, and nothing that was done for him seemed to give him satisfaction.

He was unwilling that any one should attend upon him, except his mother, and refused to receive his food or medicine from any hand but hers.