I ran into the room, and flung
myself on the bed beside my mother, and said:
"Mother dear, the tutor has come, and I have such a bad headache;
couldn't I have no lessons today?"
I hope no child of immature age will be allowed to read this story, and
I sincerely trust it will not be used in text-books or primers for
schools. For what I did was dreadfully bad, and I received no
punishment whatever. On the contrary, my wickedness was crowned with
success.
My mother said to me: "All right," and turning to the servant added:
"Tell the tutor that he can go back home."
It was perfectly plain that she didn't think my illness very serious, as
she went on with her game as before, and took no further notice. And I
also, burying my head in the pillow, laughed to my heart's content. We
perfectly understood one another, my mother and I.
But every one must know how hard it is for a boy of seven years old to
keep up the illusion of illness for a long time. After about a minute I
got hold of Grandmother, and said: "Grannie, do tell me a story.
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