r, at which each in turn of the little party of friends
read or repeated or acted some story or piece of poetry for the
amusement of the others. And once again, but this was the last time
she could do so, Ted's mother felt able to throw off the slight vague
anxiety which had kept coming and going for the last few days about her
little boy, and to go to sleep with an easy mind.

But the next morning, to his own and her disappointment, he woke "tired"
again. Only tired--he complained of nothing else, but he said he wished
he need not go to school. And that was _so_ unlike Ted.

"Need I go, mother?" he asked gently.

She looked at him doubtfully.

"It seems such a pity, dear--so near the examinations too. And
sometimes, you know, when you haven't felt quite well in the morning you
have come back quite right again."

"Very well," said Ted, and he went off cheerfully enough.

But when he came back he was not all right as his mother had hoped; the
"tiredness" was greater, and he seemed to have caught cold, and the
next morning, after a restless night, there was no longer any doubt
that Ted was ill. Our dear little Ted--how quickly illness does its
work--above all with children! Almost before one has realised its
presence the rosy cheeks are pale and the bright eyes dimmed; the sturdy
legs grow weak and trembling, and the merry chatter ceases. Ah dear!
what a sad, strange hush comes over a house where "one of the children"
is ill.

The hush and the sadness came but gradually. Still, for a day or two,
they hoped it was nothing very serious. On this first afternoon of Ted's
really owning himself ill, two girl friends of Mabel's came, as had been
arranged, to see the famous museum, usually such a pleasure to its owner
to exhibit. But already how different all seemed!

"Mother, dear," he said, as if half reproaching himself for selfishness,
"it sometimes almost seems a bother to have to show my museum;" but as
it was considered better not to let him yield to the depression coming
over him, he bravely roused himself and went through the little exhibition
with his usual gentle courtesy. But this was the last effort of the kind
possible for him.

Sunday and Monday found him weaker, and the doctor's kind face grew
graver. Still he was not _very_ ill; only it began to seem as if he had
not strength to resist what had not, at first, threatened seriously. And
one day he made his mother's heart seem, for an instant, to stop beat