o be cured of."

"Now, dear," Mrs. Schofield began, "you don't want your papa and me to
keep on worrying about--"

"I don't care whether you worry or not," the heartless boy interrupted.
"I don't want to take any horrable ole medicine. What's that grass and
weeds in the bottle for?"

Mrs. Schofield looked grieved. "There isn't any grass and there aren't
any weeds; those are healthful herbs."

"I bet they'll make me sick."

She sighed. "Penrod, we're trying to make you well."

"But I AM well, I tell you!"

"No, dear; your papa's been very much troubled about you. Come, Penrod;
swallow this down and don't make such a fuss about it. It's just for
your own good."

And she advanced upon him again, the spoon extended toward his lips. It
almost touched them, for he had retreated until his back was against
the wall-paper. He could go no farther; but he evinced his unshaken
repugnance by averting his face.

"What's it taste like?" he demanded.

"It's not unpleasant at all," she answered, poking the spoon at his
mouth. "Mrs. Wottaw said Clark used to be very fond of it. It doesn't
taste like ordinary medicine at all,' she said."

"How often I got to take it?" Penrod mumbled, as the persistent spoon
sought to enter his mouth. "Just this once?"

"No, dear; three times a day."

"I won't do it!"

"Penrod!" She spoke sharply. "You swallow this down and stop making such
a fuss. I can't be all day. Hurry."

She inserted the spoon between his lips, so that its rim touched his
clenched teeth; he was still reluctant. Moreover, is reluctance was
natural and characteristic, for a boy's sense of taste is as simple and
as peculiar as a dog's, though, of course, altogether different from a
dog's. A boy, passing through the experimental age, may eat and drink
astonishing things; but they must be of his own choosing. His palate is
tender, and, in one sense, might be called fastidious; nothing is more
sensitive or more easily shocked. A boy tastes things much more than
grown people taste them: what is merely unpleasant to a man is
sheer broth of hell to a boy. Therefore, not knowing what might be
encountered, Penrod continued to be reluctant.

"Penrod," his mother exclaimed, losing patience, "I'll call your papa to
make you take it, if you don't swallow it right down! Open your mouth,
Penrod! It isn't going to taste bad at all. Open your mouth--THERE!"

The reluctant jaw relaxed at last, and Mrs. Schofield dexterously
elevat