e brightened and ceased to
croak. His mother had already given him a small leather pocketbook with
a nickel in it, as a souvenir of her journey. Evidently she had brought
another gift as well, delaying its presentation until now. "I've got
something for you!" These were auspicious words.

"What is it, Mamma?" he asked, and, as she smiled tenderly upon him,
his gayety increased. "Yay!" he shouted. "Mamma, is it that reg'lar
carpenter's tool chest I told you about?"

"No," she said. "But I'll show you, Penrod. Come on, dear."

He followed her with alacrity to the dining-room, and the bright
anticipation in his eyes grew more brilliant--until she opened the
door of the china-closet, simultaneously with that action announcing
cheerily:

"It's something that's going to do you lots of good, Penrod."

He was instantly chilled, for experience had taught him that when
predictions of this character were made, nothing pleasant need be
expected. Two seconds later his last hope departed as she turned from
the closet and he beheld in her hands a quart bottle containing what
appeared to be a section of grassy swamp immersed in a cloudy brown
liquor. He stepped back, grave suspicion in his glance.

"What IS that?" he asked, in a hard voice.

Mrs. Schofield smiled upon him. "It's nothing," she said. "That is, it's
nothing you'll mind at all. It's just so you won't be so nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"You don't think so, of course, dear," she returned, and, as she spoke,
she poured some of the brown liquor into a tablespoon. "People often
can't tell when they're nervous themselves; but your Papa and I have
been getting a little anxious about you, dear, and so I got this
medicine for you."

"WHERE'D you get it?" he demanded.

Mrs. Schofield set the bottle down and moved toward him, insinuatingly
extending the full tablespoon.

"Here, dear," she said; "just take this little spoonful, like a goo--"

"I want to know where it came from," he insisted darkly, again stepping
backward.

"Where?" she echoed absently, watching to see that nothing was spilled
from the spoon as she continued to move toward him. "Why, I was talking
to old Mrs. Wottaw at market this morning, and she said her son Clark
used to have nervous trouble, and she told me about this medicine and
how to have it made at the drug store. She told me it cured Clark,
and--"

"I don't want to be cured," Penrod said, adding inconsistently, "I
haven't got anything t