o get up a fight between his little companions. He
showed Tommy how to strike; and the two boys went into the matter
like real bruisers.

[Illustration: The fight in the woods.]

Of course, Tommy Woggs got whipped--and it served him just right.
His face was scratched, and one of his eyes was very red. Just then
he thought he should not tell another boy that he did not know as
much as he did.

The quarrel was soon made up; for after Ben Tinker had thrashed the
little boaster he was satisfied, and Tommy did not dare to be
cross. By this time they had to start for home.

Tommy had not got half way to his father's house before he began to
feel dizzy, and to realize a very unpleasant feeling at the
stomach. But he hurried home as fast as he could, which was not
very fast, for he was sick in earnest now.

He staggered into the parlor, where his mother was sewing. He felt
very bad then, and wished, with all his heart, that he had gone to
school, and kept away from the bad boys.

"I feel sick, mother," said Tommy, as he threw himself into a
chair.

"Why, Tommy! You are as pale as a ghost," exclaimed his mother,
looking up from her work. "What ails you?"

"I feel sick at the stomach. I want to go to bed."

Whatever were the doubts Mrs. Woggs had in the morning about her
son's sickness, she had none now. His pale face and blue lips were
evidences of his condition.

Taking him by the hand, she led him upstairs, and put him into bed.
Then she called Dr. Woggs, who was in his library, to come upstairs
and see him.

"Poor boy; he is real sick," said his mother, as the doctor entered
the room. "He is just as pale as death, and could hardly walk
upstairs."

"What ails him?"

"He is sick at the stomach, just as he was this morning. It was too
bad to send him to school when he felt so sick. I knew he was ill
then."

"He wasn't very bad this morning," said the doctor, who did not
know what to make of it.

"He was real sick then, and I knew he was. It was too bad to make
him go to school," added the fond mother.

"But I didn't make him go to school," replied Dr. Woggs. "I was
only going to give him some medicine to make him better."

The cigar had done its work; and it operated upon him just as that
nasty yellow powder would if he had taken it.

"What's this?" said the doctor, after the contents of Tommy's
stomach had been thrown up. "What have you been doing, Tommy?"

"Nothing, father," replied Tommy, faintly.