When You Were a Boy

by Edwin L. Sabin

“Then why don’t you eat it?”

“Come, eat your breakfast, Johnny,” supplements father.

“I don’t want to,” you plead.

“Don’t you feel well?” asks mother anxiously.

“Not very.”

“Where do you feel sick?”

“Oh, my head aches.”

“Give me your hand.”

You lay it in hers, and she thoughtfully holds it and scrutinizes you.

“I do believe that the boy has a little fever, Henry,” she says to father.