"They weren't poison, Grand-daddy, 'cause Ruth Giant was eating 'em
her own self," moaned Buster.

"Eating what?" cried Mammy and Grand-daddy in the same breath.

"Chocolates," confessed Buster.

[Illustration: Grand-daddy Whiskers with a pan of warm biscuits under
his arm]

"How many?" demanded Grand-daddy sternly.

"Only ten," whimpered Buster.

"I will be right back," said Grand-daddy. "There is a bottle of
castor oil on the pantry shelf. That was what the doctor gave Robert
when he ate too much candy. You will get a good dose, young man, and
then you will feel better. Ten chocolates; the greedy little pig!" he
grumbled as he hurried away.

"I won't take castor oil, Mammy!" cried Buster. "It tastes horrid."

"You will take castor oil, Buster," replied Mother Graymouse, "if I
have to hold your nose."

Grand-daddy soon returned with the oil bottle and in spite of
Buster's kicks and squeals, he managed to pour a big dose down his
throat.

In a short time, Granny Whiskers came up to see her sick grandchild.