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 beating, when, looking up wistfully, he said to her,
"Mother, I don't think I shall ever get better."