“What is the use of starving a fellow to death, because he has been sick!” he said to himself.  “I might as well die one way as another; and if there ’s anything to eat in the house, I’m bound to have it.  I ’ve lived on slops and toasted bread three weeks, and I can’t stand it any longer.”

He accordingly got up, and taking the lamp, stole very cautiously into the entry, and down stairs, having nothing but his night-clothes upon him.  The snapping of the stairs, under his tread, was the only noise that was heard, and this did not awake any of the household.  He proceeded at once to the kitchen closet, and commenced helping himself with a free hand to its contents.  He began upon a dish of corned beef and vegetables, from which he partook quite liberally.  He then hastily swallowed a piece of mince-pie, and a slice or two of cake, when, the night air beginning to feel chilly, he hurried back to bed.  This last operation was by no means so easy as he had imagined it would be.  His knees were very weak and “shaky,” and it seemed as though they could not support him, when he undertook to go up stairs.  He was alarmed, and would have given up the attempt, and called for help, but for the dread of being caught in such a flagrant act of disobedience.  So he persisted in his efforts, and finally reached his chamber, quite exhausted.

After a heavy and troubled sleep, Oscar awoke in the morning, feeling quite wretchedly.  As soon as his mother entered the room, her quick eye detected the unfavorable change; but he did not seem inclined to complain much of his feelings, and appeared averse to conversing about them.  She ascertained, however, after awhile, that Oscar was more feverish than he had been, that he had a severe pain in his chest, and that his cough was worse.  Many were the surmises thrown out, by his father and mother, as to the probable cause of this change in his symptoms; but as for himself, he seemed entirely at a loss to account for the mystery, and left them to form their own conjectures.

The doctor, who now visited Oscar only two or three times a week, was sent for after breakfast.  When he arrived, he questioned Mrs. Preston very closely as to the manner in which the patient had been treated, and he also addressed many inquiries to Oscar; but he learned nothing from either that could account for the renewed attack of fever.  He sat a few moments, in a thoughtful mood, seemingly at a loss what to say, when Oscar, who had complained much of nausea for the last half hour, began to show symptoms of vomiting.  A basin was brought, and the contents of his stomach were quickly discharged into it.

The mystery was now explained.  Mrs. Preston looked on in silent astonishment, while the doctor could hardly repress his anger at this exhibition of the contents of his patient’s stomach.  There were great pieces of unmasticated meat and potato, mixed up with a porridge of half-dissolved pie and cake, the whole forming a medley of hearty and indigestible substances, that would have taxed the strong stomach of a healthy man.