There was a little commotion just then at the doorway of the Lodge, and a group of guests--some with letters, others with looks of resignation or disappointment--appeared on the veranda. From among them, Mrs. Deane, a rather frail, nervous woman, hurried toward Mr. Weatherby with evident pleasure. She had been expecting him, she declared, though Constance had insisted that he would think twice before he started once for that forest isolation. They would be in their own quarters in a few days, and it would be just a pleasant walk over there. There were no hard hills to climb. Mr. Deane walked over twice a day. He was there now, overseeing repairs. The workmen were very difficult. "But there are _some_ hills, Mamma," interposed Constance--"little ones. Perhaps Mr. Weatherby won't care to climb at all. He has already declared against my mushrooms. He said something just now about their fatal beauty--I believe that was it. He's like all the rest of you--opposed to the cause of science." Mrs. Deane regarded the young man appealingly. "Try to reason with her," she said nervously. "Perhaps she'll listen to you. She never will to me. I tell her every day that she will poison herself. She's always tasting of new kinds. She's persuaded me to eat some of those she had cooked, and I've sent to New York for every known antidote for mushroom poisoning. It's all right, perhaps, to study them and collect them, but when it comes to eating them to prove that the book is right about their being harmless, it seems like flying in the face of Providence. Besides, Constance is careless." "I remember her telling me, as reason for not wanting to be a doctor, something about giving you the wrong medicine last winter." "She did--some old liniment--I can taste the stuff yet. Constance, I do really think it's sinful for you to meddle with such uncertain subjects. Just think of eating any of those gaudy things. Constance! How can you?" Constance patted the nervous little lady on the cheek. "Be comforted," she said. "I am not going to eat these. I brought them for study. Most of them are harmless enough, I believe, but they are of a kind that even experts are not always sure of. They are called _Boleti_--almost the first we have found. I have laid them out here for display, just as the lecturer did last week at Lake Placid." Miss Deane selected one of the brightly colored specimens. "This," she began, with mock gravity and a professional air, "is a _Boletus_--known as _Boletus speciosus_--that is, I think it is." She opened the book and ran hastily over the leaves. "Yes, _speciosus_--either that or the _bicolor_--I can't be certain just which." "There, Constance," interrupted Mrs. Deane, "you confess, yourself, you can't tell the difference. Now, how are we going to know when we are being poisoned? We ate some last night. Perhaps they were deadly poison--how can we know?" "Be comforted, Mamma; we are still here."