CHAPTER XII.
SICKNESS.
"You have got a bad cold, Oscar," said Mrs.Preston one evening towards the close of winter, as Oscar came in from his play, and was seized with a coughing spell.

"And no wonder," she added, on glancing at his feet; "why, do you see how wet the bottoms of your pantaloons are?
I should like to know where you have been, to get so wet--it is strange that you will not keep out of the water." "I should like to know how anybody could help getting wet feet this weather, with the slosh up to your knees," said Oscar.
"I could walk about the streets all day without going over my shoes," replied his mother, "and so could you, if you tried to.

I believe you go through all the mud-puddles you can find, just to see how wet you can get.

But it won't do for you to sit down in this condition.

Take off your wet boots, and run up stairs and put on a pair of dry pantaloons and some dry stockings, and then you may sit down to the fire and warm yourself." "I don't want to change my pantaloons and stockings," said Oscar; "I 'll take off my boots and dry myself--that will do just as well." "No it won't," replied his mother; "you had better change your clothes, for you've got a real bad cold now, and I don't want you to get any more.