Just what these “bad berries” were I cannot tell.  We never knew their real name.  They were small, red-clustered berries of a glossy, seductive appearance, and we were forbidden to eat them, because it was thought they might be poisonous.  Dan picked a cluster and held it up.

“Dan King, don’t you dare eat those berries,” said Felicity in her “bossiest” tone.  “They’re poison.  Drop them right away.”

Now, Dan had not had the slightest intention of eating the berries.  But at Felicity’s prohibition the rebellion which had smouldered in him all day broke into sudden flame.  He would show her!

“I’ll eat them if I please, Felicity King,” he said in a fury:  “I don’t believe they’re poison.  Look here!”

Dan crammed the whole bunch into his capacious mouth and chewed it up.

“They taste great,” he said, smacking; and he ate two more clusters, regardless of our horror-stricken protestations and Felicity’s pleadings.

We feared that Dan would drop dead on the spot.  But nothing occurred immediately.  When an hour had passed we concluded that the bad berries were not poison after all, and we looked upon Dan as quite a hero for daring to eat them.

“I knew they wouldn’t hurt me,” he said loftily.  “Felicity’s so fond of making a fuss over everything.”

Nevertheless, when it grew dark and we returned to the house, I noticed that Dan was rather pale and quiet.  He lay down on the kitchen sofa.

“Don’t you feel all right, Dan?” I whispered anxiously.

“Shut up,” he said.

I shut up.

Felicity and Cecily were setting out a lunch in the pantry when we were all startled by a loud groan from the sofa.

“Oh, I’m sick—­I’m awful sick,” said Dan abjectly, all the defiance and bravado gone out of him.

We all went to pieces, except Cecily, who alone retained her presence of mind.

“Have you got a pain in your stomach?” she demanded.

“I’ve got an awful pain here, if that’s where my stomach is,” moaned Dan, putting his hand on a portion of his anatomy considerably below his stomach.  “Oh—­oh—­oh!”

“Go for Uncle Roger,” commanded Cecily, pale but composed.  “Felicity, put on the kettle.  Dan, I’m going to give you mustard and warm water.”

The mustard and warm water produced its proper effect promptly, but gave Dan no relief.  He continued to writhe and groan.  Uncle Roger, who had been summoned from his own place, went at once for the doctor, telling Peter to go down the hill for Mrs. Ray.  Peter went, but returned accompanied by Sara only.  Mrs. Ray and Judy Pineau were both away.  Sara might better have stayed home; she was of no use, and could only add to the general confusion, wandering aimlessly about, crying and asking if Dan was going to die.

Cecily took charge of things.  Felicity might charm the palate, and the Story Girl bind captive the soul; but when pain and sickness wrung the brow it was Cecily who was the ministering angel.  She made the writhing Dan go to bed.  She made him swallow every available antidote which was recommended in “the doctor’s book;” and she applied hot cloths to him until her faithful little hands were half scalded off.