"But perhaps the poison hasn't begun to work yet." "It should have done so, according to the best authorities, some hours ago. I have been keeping watch of the time." Mrs. Deane groaned. "The best authorities? Oh, dear--oh, dear! Are there really any authorities in this awful business? And she has been watching the time for the poison to work--think of it!" A little group of guests collected to hear the impromptu discussion. Frank, half reclining on the veranda steps, ran his eye over the assembly. For the most part they seemed genuine seekers after recreation and rest in this deep forest isolation. There were brain-workers among them--painters and writer folk. Some of the faces Frank thought he recognized. In the foreground was a rather large woman of the New England village type. She stood firmly on her feet, and had a wide, square face, about which the scanty gray locks were tightly curled. She moved closer now, and leaning forward, spoke with judicial deliberation. "Them's tudstools!" she said--a decision evidently intended to be final. She adjusted her glasses a bit more carefully and bent closer to the gay collection. "The' ain't a single one of 'em a mushroom," she proceeded. "We used to have 'em grow in our paster, an' my little nephew, Charlie, that I brought up by hand and is now in the electric works down to Haverford, he used to gather 'em, an' they wa'n't like them at all." A ripple of appreciation ran through the group, and others drew near to inspect the fungi. Constance felt it necessary to present Frank to those nearest, whom she knew. He arose to make acknowledgments. With the old lady, whose name, it appeared, was Miss Carroway, he shook hands. She regarded him searchingly. "You're some taller than my Charlie," she said, and added, "I hope you don't intend to eat them tudstools, do you? Charlie wouldn't a et one o' them kind fer a thousand dollars. He knew the reel kind that grows in the medders an' pasters." Constance took one of Miss Carroway's hands and gave it a friendly squeeze. "You are spoiling my lecture," she laughed, "and aiding Mamma in discrediting me before the world. I will tell you the truth about mushrooms. Not the whole truth, but an important one. All toadstools are mushrooms and all mushrooms are toadstools. A few kinds are poisonous--not many. Most of them are good to eat. The only difficulty lies in telling the poison ones." Miss Carroway appeared interested, but incredulous. Constance continued. "The sort your Charlie used to gather was the _Agaricus Campestris_, or meadow mushroom--one of the commonest and best. It has gills underneath--not pores, like this one. The gills are like little leaves and hold the spores, or seed as we might call it. The pores of this _Boletus_ do the same thing. You see they are bright yellow, while the top is purple-red. The stem is yellow, too. Now, watch!"