"Is it nice?" asked Poppy. "Prime," said the man. "Could you let me taste it?" asked curious Poppy. "It will make you sick," said the man, laughing. "It doesn't make _you_ sick. I'd like to try," said Poppy, nothing daunted. He gave her a piece; and Poppy ate it, though it didn't taste good at all. She did it because Cy, her favorite playfellow, told her she'd die if she did, and tried to frighten her. "You darsn't eat any more," he said. "Yes, I dare. See if I don't." And Poppy took another piece, just to show how brave she was. Silly little Poppy! "I ain't sick, and I shan't die, so now." And Poppy pranced about as briskly as ever. But the man shook his head, Nelly watched her anxiously, and Cy kept saying: "Ain't you sick yet, say?" For a little while Poppy felt all right; but presently she grew rather pale, and began to look rather pensive. She stopped running, and walked slower and slower, while her eyes got dizzy, and her hands and feet very cold. "Ain't you sick now, say?" repeated Cy; and Poppy tried to answer, "Oh, dear! no;" but a dreadful feeling came over her, and she could only shake her head, and hold on to Nelly. "Better lay down a spell," said the man, looking a little troubled. "I don't wish to dirty my clean frock," said Poppy faintly, as she glanced over the wide-ploughed field, and longed for a bit of grass to drop on. She kept on bravely for another turn; but suddenly stopped, and, quite regardless of the clean pink gown, dropped down in a furrow, looking so white and queer that Nelly began to cry. Poppy lay a minute, then turned to Cy, and said very solemnly: "Cy, run home, and tell my mother I'm dying." Away rushed Cy in a great fright, and burst upon Poppy's mamma, exclaiming breathlessly: "O ma'am! Poppy's been and ate a lot of tobacco; and she's sick, layin' in the field; and she says 'Come quick, 'cause she's dyin.'" "Mercy on us! what will happen to that child next?" cried poor mamma, who was used to Poppy's mishaps. Papa was away, and there was no carriage to bring Poppy home in; so mamma took the little wheelbarrow, and trundled away to get the suffering Poppy. She couldn't speak when they got to her; and, only stopping to give the man a lecture, mamma picked up her silly little girl, and the procession moved off. First came Cy, as grave as a sexton; then the wheelbarrow with Poppy, white and limp and speechless, all in a bunch; then mamma, looking amused, anxious and angry; then Nelly, weeping as if her tender heart was entirely broken; while the man watched them, with a grin, saying to himself: "Twarn't my fault. The child was a reg'lar fool to swaller it."