This seemed to be a rather unanswerable kind of conundrum. We discussed the problem as we roamed the wood, and Dan and Peter almost quarrelled over it, Dan maintaining that the thing was impossible, and Peter being of the opinion that the mush was somehow “made thicker” in the process of being eaten, and so took up less room. During the discussion we came out to the fence of the hill pasture where grew the “bad berry” bushes. Just what these “bad berries” were I cannot tell. We never knew their real name. They were small, red-clustered berries of a glossy, seductive appearance, and we were forbidden to eat them, because it was thought they might be poisonous. Dan picked a cluster and held it up. “Dan King, don’t you DARE eat those berries,” said Felicity in her “bossiest” tone. “They’re poison. Drop them right away.” Now, Dan had not had the slightest intention of eating the berries. But at Felicity’s prohibition the rebellion which had smouldered in him all day broke into sudden flame. He would show her! “I’ll eat them if I please, Felicity King,” he said in a fury: “I don’t believe they’re poison. Look here!” Dan crammed the whole bunch into his capacious mouth and chewed it up. “They taste great,” he said, smacking; and he ate two more clusters, regardless of our horror-stricken protestations and Felicity’s pleadings. We feared that Dan would drop dead on the spot. But nothing occurred immediately. When an hour had passed we concluded that the bad berries were not poison after all, and we looked upon Dan as quite a hero for daring to eat them. “I knew they wouldn’t hurt me,” he said loftily. “Felicity’s so fond of making a fuss over everything.” Nevertheless, when it grew dark and we returned to the house, I noticed that Dan was rather pale and quiet. He lay down on the kitchen sofa. “Don’t you feel all right, Dan?” I whispered anxiously. “Shut up,” he said. I shut up. Felicity and Cecily were setting out a lunch in the pantry when we were all startled by a loud groan from the sofa. “Oh, I’m sick--I’m awful sick,” said Dan abjectly, all the defiance and bravado gone out of him. We all went to pieces, except Cecily, who alone retained her presence of mind. “Have you got a pain in your stomach?” she demanded. “I’ve got an awful pain here, if that’s where my stomach is,” moaned Dan, putting his hand on a portion of his anatomy considerably below his stomach. “Oh--oh--oh!” “Go for Uncle Roger,” commanded Cecily, pale but composed. “Felicity, put on the kettle. Dan, I’m going to give you mustard and warm water.”