The next day was Saturday. Oscar was off most of the day with his comrades, among whom he was quite a lion for the time. During one of the brief intervals that he was in the house, his mother said some thing about his going to school on Monday.
"O dear, I don't want to go to school again this term," said Oscar. "What's the use? Why, it 's only four or five weeks before the term will be through."
"I know that," replied his mother, "but your father is very anxious that you should get into the High School, and he thinks you can do it if you finish up this term."
"I can't do it—I 've got all behindhand with my studies," said Oscar.
"O yes, you can if you try," replied his mother. "You might have got into the High School last year if you had studied a little harder. You were almost qualified then, and I'm sure you ought to be now. If you find you are behind your class in your lessons, you must study so much the harder, and you 'll get up with them by-and-bye."
"But I don't believe it will do me any good to be confined in the school-room," continued Oscar. "I don't think I'm so strong as I was before I was sick."
"Well," said Mrs. Preston, "when you 're sick you need not go to school; but I guess there 's no danger of your staying at home for that reason, at present. You never looked better in your life than you do now."
Oscar tried his pleas again in the evening with his father, but with quite as poor success. He saw that it was fully determined that he should resume his seat at school, and he reluctantly submitted to this decision. When Monday morning came, he proceeded to school, but found that his old desk was in possession of another boy. The head teacher in Oscar's department soon appeared, and seemed quite glad to see him once more. He appointed Oscar a new seat, and told him he hoped he would study so diligently as to make up for lost time.
The hopes of Oscar's teacher and parents were doomed to disappointment. It was soon evident that he cared less about his lessons than ever. He was behind his class, and instead of redoubling his efforts to get up with them, he became discouraged and indifferent. His recitations were seldom perfect, and often they were utter failures. His teachers coaxed, and encouraged, and ridiculed, and frowned, and punished, all in vain. One day, after Oscar had blundered worse than usual, the teacher who was hearing the recitation said to him, in a despairing tone:
"You remind me, Oscar, of what one of the old Roman emperors said to an archer who shot his arrows a whole day, and never once hit the mark. He told him he had a most wonderful talent for missing. So I must say of you—you 've got the greatest talent for missing of any boy I know."