"It's perhaps true what he says," remarked Mrs. Phœbe 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.
Phœbe 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."