had appeared he would have made short work of Bumper. His groans soon
attracted the birds, and they flew to where he was lying and asked him the
trouble.

"I'm dying, I think," moaned Bumper. "I must have eaten some poisonous
plant, and I know I'm dying."

The birds were startled by this information, and they held an immediate
consultation.

"It's perhaps true what he says," remarked Mrs. Phoebe Bird. "He's eaten
some poisonous plant."

"If we only knew what it was," added the Pine Grosbeak, "we might help
him. There's an antidote for every poison."

"Yes," assented the Purple Finch, "but not knowing the kind of poison, we
can't prescribe the antidote."

"Why not," suggested the Crested Flycatcher, "give him all the antidotes,
and then we're sure to give him the right one."

Rusty the Blackbird laughed out loud at this suggestion. "Why," he said,
"we'd stuff him so full of antidotes that he'd die anyhow. No, I think
we'd better see Mr. Crane."

"What could he do? He's no kind of a doctor," indignantly remarked Mrs.
Phoebe Bird. "The idea of calling him in!"

Rusty, who was a jolly, rollicking bird, winked, and added: "No, he isn't
much of a doctor, it's true, but he's got one medicine that nearly always
works. I'll go fetch him."

During the dispute that followed, Rusty slipped away, and before the
argument had reached a climax, he returned, accompanied by Mr. Crane.

"Now, Dr. Crane," said Rusty, smiling and winking, "see what you can do
with the White Rabbit. I told you what ailed him. He's eaten too much of
something that disagrees with him."

"Then I can cure him," gravely replied Dr. Crane, approaching Bumper's
side. The other birds crowded around to see what he would do. The
appearance of Mr. Crane in the role of a doctor was a new one to them, and
they were curious to see how well he would acquit himself.

"Let me see your tongue," Mr. Crane said solemnly.

Bumper stuck out his tongue obediently, for he felt so sick that he didn't
care what happened to him.

"That's good! Now I must look down your throat. Open it wide."

Bumper readily complied, and Mr. Crane looked down it.

"Now hold it open," Mr. Crane continued. "Don't close it until I tell you.
I won't hurt you."

Then to the surprise of Bumper and all the birds, he inserted his long,
slender bill down the throat as if he intended to pull something out of
it. But he had no such intention. He simply twisted the bill around
gently.