“I think it’s awful for brothers and sisters to be always quarrelling,” sighed Cecily.  “The Cowans fight all the time; and you and Dan will soon be as bad.”

“Oh, talk sense,” said Felicity.  “Dan’s got so touchy it isn’t safe to speak to him.  I should think he’d be sorry for all the trouble he made last night.  But you just back him up in everything, Cecily.”

“I don’t!”

“You do!  And you’ve no business to, specially when mother’s away.  She left me in charge.”

“You didn’t take much charge last night when Dan got sick,” said Felix maliciously.  Felicity had told him at tea that night he was getting fatter than ever.  This was his tit-for-tat.  “You were pretty glad to leave it all to Cecily then.”

“Who’s talking to you?” said Felicity.

“Now, look here,” said the Story Girl, “the first thing we know we’ll all be quarrelling, and then some of us will sulk all day to-morrow.  It’s dreadful to spoil a whole day.  Just let’s all sit still and count a hundred before we say another word.”

We sat still and counted the hundred.  When Cecily finished she got up and went in search of Dan, resolved to soothe his wounded feelings.  Felicity called after her to tell Dan there was a jam turnover she had put away in the pantry specially for him.  Felix held out to Felicity a remarkably fine apple which he had been saving for his own consumption; and the Story Girl began a tale of an enchanted maiden in a castle by the sea; but we never heard the end of it.  For, just as the evening star was looking whitely through the rosy window of the west, Cecily came flying through the orchard, wringing her hands.

“Oh, come, come quick,” she gasped.  “Dan’s eating the bad berries again—­he’s et a whole bunch of them—­he says he’ll show Felicity.  I can’t stop him.  Come you and try.”

We rose in a body and rushed towards the house.  In the yard we encountered Dan, emerging from the fir wood and champing the fatal berries with unrepentant relish.

“Dan King, do you want to commit suicide?” demanded the Story Girl.

“Look here, Dan,” I expostulated.  “You shouldn’t do this.  Think how sick you were last night and all the trouble you made for everybody.  Don’t eat any more, there’s a good chap.”

“All right,” said Dan.  “I’ve et all I want.  They taste fine.  I don’t believe it was them made me sick.”

But now that his anger was over he looked a little frightened.  Felicity was not there.  We found her in the kitchen, lighting up the fire.

“Bev, fill the kettle with water and put it on to heat,” she said in a resigned tone.  “If Dan’s going to be sick again we’ve got to be ready for it.  I wish mother was home, that’s all.  I hope she’ll never go away again.  Dan King, you just wait till I tell her of the way you’ve acted.”

“Fudge!  I ain’t going to be sick,” said Dan.  “And if you begin telling tales, Felicity King, I’ll tell some too.  I know how many eggs mother said you could use while she was away—­and I know how many you have used.  I counted.  So you’d better mind your own business, Miss.”