"In the woods. They're awfully pretty now with the dogwood all in bloom." He talked incessantly at supper, teasing Sarah about her jolly time at the meeting. Toward the end of the meal he grew silent. A curious sensation began on his back and shoulders and arms. He paid no attention to it at first, but it rapidly grew worse. The more he tried to shake off the feeling the more distinct and sharp it grew. At last every inch of his body seemed to be on fire. He rose slowly from the table and walked to his stool in the corner wondering--wondering and fearing. He sat in dead silence for half an hour. The perspiration began to stand out on his forehead. It was no use longer to try to fool himself, there was something the matter--something big--something terrible! A fierce and scorching fever was burning him to death. He dared not move. Every muscle quivered with agony when he tried. The mother's keen eye saw the tears he couldn't keep back. "What's the matter, Boy?" she tenderly asked while his father was at the stable putting the wagon under the shed. "I don't know 'm," he choked. "I'm all on fire--I'm burnin' up----" She touched his forehead and slipped her arm around his shoulders. He screamed with pain. The mother looked into his face with a sudden start. "Why, what on earth, child? What have you been doing to-day?" He hesitated and tried to be brave, but it was no use. He felt that he would drop dead the next moment unless relief came. He buried his face in her lap and sobbed his bitter confession. "Do you think I'm going to die?" he asked. She smiled: "No, my Boy, you're only sunburned. How long were you naked in the sun?" "From 'bout ten o'clock till nearly sundown----" He moved again and screamed with agony. The mother tenderly undressed the little, red, swollen body. The rough clothes had stuck to the blistered skin in one place and the pain was so frightful he nearly fainted before they were finally removed. For two days and nights she never left his side, holding his hand to give him courage when he was compelled to move. Almost his entire body, inch by inch, was blistered. She covered it with cream and allowed only two greased linen cloths to touch him. On the second day as he lay panting for breath and holding her hand with feverish grasp he looked into her pensive grey eyes through his own bleared and bloodshot with pain and said softly: "I'm sorry, Ma." She pressed his hand: "It's all right, my Boy; your mother loves you." "I'm not sorry for the pain," he gasped. "What hurts me worse is that you're so sweet to me!" The dark face bent and kissed his trembling lips: