There was no doubt Dan was suffering intense pain.  He moaned and writhed, and cried for his mother.

“Oh, isn’t it dreadful!” said Felicity, wringing her hands as she walked the kitchen floor.  “Oh, why doesn’t the doctor come?  I told Dan the bad berries were poison.  But surely they can’t kill people altogether.”

“Pa’s cousin died of eating something forty years ago,” sobbed Sara Ray.

“Hold your tongue,” said Peter in a fierce whisper.  “You oughter have more sense than to say such things to the girls.  They don’t want to be any worse scared than they are.”

“But Pa’s cousin did die,” reiterated Sara.

“My Aunt Jane used to rub whisky on for a pain,” suggested Peter.

“We haven’t any whisky,” said Felicity disapprovingly.  “This is a temperance house.”

“But rubbing whisky on the outside isn’t any harm,” argued Peter.  “It’s only when you take it inside it is bad for you.”

“Well, we haven’t any, anyhow,” said Felicity.  “I suppose blueberry wine wouldn’t do in its place?”

Peter did not think blueberry wine would be any good.

It was ten o’clock before Dan began to get better; but from that time he improved rapidly.  When the doctor, who had been away from home when Uncle Roger reached Markdale, came at half past ten, he found his patient very weak and white, but free from pain.

Dr. Grier patted Cecily on the head, told her she was a little brick, and had done just the right thing, examined some of the fatal berries and gave it as his opinion that they were probably poisonous, administered some powders to Dan and advised him not to tamper with forbidden fruit in future, and went away.

Mrs. Ray now appeared, looking for Sara, and said she would stay all night with us.

“I’ll be much obliged to you if you will,” said Uncle Roger.  “I feel a bit shook.  I urged Janet and Alec to go to Halifax, and took the responsibility of the children while they were away, but I didn’t know what I was letting myself in for.  If anything had happened I could never have forgiven myself—­though I believe it’s beyond the power of mortal man to keep watch over the things children will eat.  Now, you young fry, get straight off to your beds.  Dan is out of danger, and you can’t do any more good.  Not that any of you have done much, except Cecily.  She’s got a head of her shoulders.”

“It’s been a horrid day all through,” said Felicity drearily, as we climbed the stairs.

“I suppose we made it horrid ourselves,” said the Story Girl candidly.  “But it’ll be a good story to tell sometime,” she added.

“I’m awful tired and thankful,” sighed Cecily.

We all felt that way.

CHAPTER XV.  A DISOBEDIENT BROTHER