On Saturday evening, divers little girls went about the streets of Snyvyville with pails of wild strawberries, and the mothers or fathers of every one of the members of the Do-Nothing Club, happened to buy some of them for the Sunday dinner. But in each family there was great amazement because the boy or boys thereof would eat no berries, and because each boy had the headache and stomachache all day. "I don't believe it was good for you to be out in the sun so long," said Mrs. Post to Will, as she put a fresh cloth dipped in ice-water, on his head. He made no reply, for he knew that it was not the exposure to the sun that gave him the headache, but--quarts of wild strawberries! Too much of a good thing is worse than none at all. "James dear," said Mrs. Clay to her husband on Saturday evening, after James, Jr., had gone to bed, "I don't believe it will be wise for Jamie to pick all those berries out in the meadow. Couldn't you get somebody to pick them, at two cents a quart? That would leave him quite a good deal of money. The sun is so hot, I am afraid he would get sunstruck." "I think that will be all right," said Mr. Clay, looking earnestly at his newspaper; "I don't suppose you would mind at all if the person we hired did get sunstruck?" His wife laughed, but turned again to her mending, and said no more. On Monday afternoon Mr. Clay went out to continue the work of banishing the aforesaid offensive grass from the face of the earth, but lay down again as he saw, through a crack in the fence, the Do-Nothing Club wending its way toward the apple-trees where it was to meet to talk over the success of the strawberry plan. "Twenty quarts!" ejaculated George Shaw, "that was pretty good. I hardly thought there would be so many. Wasn't my plan splendid, though, Will--oh! I beg your pardon, Mr. President?" "Fine!" said the president; "all that you planned for was, anyhow, for I don't suppose you calculated for ten headaches and ten stomachaches, as well as ten pails of berries, did you? As nearly as I can find out, the other members of the club have suffered in these ways, like myself." There was a good deal more talk; they decided what should be their password, and a great many other private matters. They would have been very much disgusted, I am certain, if they had guessed that Mr. Clay was intently listening to everything that was said. Their motto was to be "Fragi Agrestes," because, as John Clower, the only Latin student of the club, announced, that meant "wild strawberries." Of course that was to be used as the password, too. The seal was to be a leaf of that plant, while the color of the club was to be red.