"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.

[Illustration: 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
grass 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