Proud and Lazy Part 2

"So I am, father."

"Then sit down on the sofa, and I will attend to you in a moment.

Do you feel very sick?"

"I'm real bad, father," replied Tommy, quickly, for he was afraid his father would send him to school, after all.

Dr. Woggs opened a drawer in his bookcase, and took out a little jar, filled with a kind of yellow powder. He then asked Mrs. Woggs to get him a little mola.s.ses in a cup, and a teaspoon.

Tommy turned pale then, for he knew all about that powder in the little jar.

"Now, my son, we will make you well by to-morrow, so that you will be able to go to school again," said Dr. Woggs, as he took the cover off the jar.

Tommy began to cry, for he would rather have taken a whipping than a dose of that nasty, yellow powder.

"What's the matter, Tommy? Do you feel worse?" asked his father.

"I don't want to take any of that stuff," whined the poor little invalid.

"I know, Tommy, it isn't pleasant to take; but when we are sick, we must take something to keep us from getting any worse."

"I don't want to take it, father. It always makes me a good deal sicker than I was before--it does indeed, father."

"That's very true, my boy; but, for all that, you must take it. We very often have to make folks worse before they can be any better.

It always hurts to set a broken arm or leg; but no one would think of letting it remain unset because the operation is painful."

His mother soon came with the cup of mola.s.ses, and Dr. Woggs put some of the yellow powder into it, and stirred up the mixture.

"I don't want to take it, father," cried Tommy, who was trembling with dread at the very thought of the nasty stuff.

"I can't help it, my boy. You must take it," said the doctor, in such a tone that the poor boy felt he must obey, or confess that he had told a falsehood.

"I can't take it, father," he groaned.

"Poor boy! I know it is not good; but only think how sick you are!

Why, you are so bad that you cannot go to school."

"I will go to school," whined Tommy.

"What! when you are sick?" asked his father. "O, no; you must not go to school when you are sick; it is a bad place for sick boys.

Take the medicine, stay at home and get well."

"I will go to school," repeated Tommy, earnestly.

"Not when you are sick, my son."

"I'm not sick, father."

"Not sick!"

"No, father."

"Didn't you say only a few moments since that you were sick--real bad?"

"But I am much better now; and I think I am able to go to school."

"You may be sick again, my son."

"I shall not, father; I know I shall not."

"I think you had better take the medicine to prevent another attack."

"No, father; I wasn't sick at all," said the little boy, very sheepishly.

Dr. Woggs scolded him in a most severe manner for the falsehood he had uttered, and then sent him to school. He ought to have remembered this lesson. It was the last time that Tommy ever pretended he was sick, as that disgusting yellow powder frequently showed itself to his imagination.

I don't think it would answer for many parents to do as Tommy's father did; but he was a doctor, and understood the case.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Tommy had been in New York.]

III.

It was a beautiful morning in June when Tommy Woggs left his home to go to school, after the events which I have related in the last chapter.

He did not want to go to school--of course he did not, or he would not have pretended to be sick, that he might stay at home. The gra.s.s looked so green, and the birds sang so sweetly, that he wished to have a good time with them in the fields.

If he had been a good boy, and had always done his duty in school, he would not have felt so; and he was just as much to blame for feeling wrong as he was for doing wrong.

I have always noticed that children who behave well, and get their lessons, like to be in school. It is a pleasant place to them. And doing right always makes us happy, wherever we are.

But those who are naughty, and neglect their duties, are always in trouble; and for this reason they hate school. It is their own fault, however, that they dislike it, for if they did right, they would be happy not only there, but everywhere else.

Tommy dragged along the street like a snail, or like a sheep led to the slaughter. When he got about half way to the school house, he met Joe Birch and Ben Tinker.

My readers already know Joe Birch, and know that he was a bad boy; and I suppose, after being told that Ben Tinker was his constant companion, they can easily guess what kind of a boy he was. They were very much alike, and were the leaders in all the mischief done in Riverdale.

"Where are you going, Tommy?" asked Ben.

"I am going to school," he replied, stopping to talk with the two boys, who were seated on a rock at the side of the road.

"Have you got any money, Tom?" said Joe.

"No, I haven't."

"'Cause, if you've got three cents about you, I will tell you something."