awry. And his wrinkled face showed a careworn and anxious look.

"How many apples have you eaten to-day?" Mr. Crow asked his friend.

"I haven't the slightest idea," the Major answered. "After I had
finished two dozen I lost count."

"My goodness!" Mr. Crow exclaimed. "It's no wonder you're ill....
We'll hurry over to the pasture and see Aunt Polly Woodchuck, the herb
doctor. _She'll_ know what to do for you."

Major Monkey was more than willing. So they set out at once. The Major
travelled through the tree-tops where he could, while Mr. Crow flew
slowly, alighting now and then to wait for his friend to overtake him.

In a little while they came to the pasture. And Major Monkey was glad
to find Aunt Polly at home.

[Illustration: Aunt Polly Woodchuck Offered Him an Apple]

She was a wise old lady. She knew right away, without being told, that
it was Major Monkey--and not Mr. Crow--that was ill.

"You're in pain," she remarked to the Major. "I knew it the moment I
set eyes on you."

Major Monkey moaned faintly.

"I hope you'll give me something to make me feel better," he wailed.