FOILED.

Samoa Times and South Sea Gazette, Issue 9, 1 December 1877, Page 4

FOILED.

A serious phase of disease is that which attacks a boy when he particularly objects to going to school. He tells bis mothei, with the confiding frankness peculiar to youth, that ho does not feel well this morning, He don't know what it is, but he is'lame in the joints, and his head aches, and his stomach don't feel a bit good. Ho moves about slowly, openly refuses food, looks dejected, negligent, unhappy. Quite frequently he can be heard to sigh. But in all his pain he never forgets the clock. As time advances to the hwir which marks schooltime, his symptons increase. Ho doe.<n't say a won! about school to his mother. He fools too dreadful, perhaps, to talk of such things. He is certainly in a bad way. His sight increases as the dreadful time approaches, and the physical symptons of decay grow more and more manifest. But the greatest suffering he endures mentally. Fifteen minutes to nino is the time he should start. It lacks but ten of that time, and nothing'

has been said to bin shout getting ready He waute to believe that he is all rigni because that is the prompting of bopt vhich it strong m the youthful breast, but yet be refuses to believe he is, because ' he fears the re-action of disappointment Every time he hears hi* mother's Toice i he is startled, and every time he detects ■ her looking towards him ho rows his I heart sinking within him. It is a hard thing, indeed, to appear outwardly languid and listless ami drooping, when Inwardly one is a roaring furnace of agony. But he does it. and does it admirably. It now lacks five minutes of the quarter. Still ho says nothing. His nervousness is almost maddening. Four minutes, three minutes, two minutes ' One minute ! Still she makes no sign. Will his reason forsake him ? It is the quarter. Now he should start according to custom. One wotdd think he had every encouragement now, but he knows that even at five minutes later he can make school by hurrying. The agony of suspense becomes exqusite. He trembles all over and cannot help it. His hair was moist with perspiration. It seems as if he would give up everything and sink into the grave, if he COUld but know the result. How slowly the clock moves. It stares at him with exasperating stoniness. The ten minutes are reached. He breaths easier. Not a word hits been said to him about school. His mother sees that he is too ill to go, and she sympathises with him. Heaven bless her. Hid ever a boy have such a good noble mother as tins ? Visions of sunny fields and shady woods and running streams unfold before him, stirring the very depths of his soul, and filling his eyes with tears of gladness. " John." Like a great shock the bcautiftd pictures fall away, and he is shot from the pinnacle of hope into the abyss of despair. There is no mistaking the voice. " Mercy sakes ' here you are not ready for school. Come, slant your boots." " I—l don't feel well enough to go to school," he whines, hardly realising the dreadful change that has come upon him with such blighting force and swiftness. " I guess you ain't dying quite," is the heartless reply. " And if you ain't in school, you will be galloping over the neighbourhood. Hurry, I tell you." " But it is almost nine o'elqek, and I'll be late," he protests in desperation. " Late ! " she repeats, looking at the clock. " You've got plenty of time. That clock is nearly a quarter of an hour fast." Merciful heavens ! He goes down before the terrific blow in a Hash. A quarter of an hour fast! Bleeding at every pore of his heart, stunned by a shock which was :is terrible as it was unexpected, he crawls inside of his jacket and umler his hat, arid starts on his way in a dazed manner that it is pitiful to behold.—" Danbury News."