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 into tears, as did poor Dr. Maybug and the grieving mother. Outside the fireflies heard their wails, and together they all rocked and moaned in chorus.

»Alas, he still lies in his thistle-down bed, all a-shake and a-shiver! All in a fever, and all a-shake and a-shiver!«

A queer song went running and rhyming through Flicker’s aching head. He began to listen to it. He turned his head a bit to catch its music. He opened his eyes to see who was singing so sadly. There in the corner stood his weeping friends and by his head wept Dr. Maybug. Beyond the casement window wailed the fireflies. Sitting at the foot of his bed was his crying mother, her tears splashing on the counterpane. They were moaning and rocking together, and the song was coming from them.

»Why do you sing that song?« he asked weakly.

»Because you lie in bed all a-shake and a-shiver, and won’t take these medicines and be cured,« cried his mother.

»I can’t stand it!« cried Flicker. »Give me those medicines, quick.« Dr. Maybug propped him up in bed, and Flicker began. First he took the pills the doctor had left. Then he drank of the poppy-seed and fern-seed brew his mother and sisters had made. He reached out to the golden tray and seized the balsam salve, rubbing it on his neck, his chest, his shoulders and his ears. Before they could stop him, he had swallowed half a jar of clover honey, and washed it down with the bitter camomile and peppermint teas. And then he lay back again on the pillow.

Not a soul spoke. Not a soul stirred. Flicker began to breathe evenly, and his heart began to warm steadily and surely. He stopped shivering and he stopped shaking. He smiled a tiny smiledsmile [sic] and went to sleep.

»He is cured,« cried Dr. Maybug. »It was my pills.« Then he went home.

»Oh, I know it was my camomile and peppermint teas,« said Cockchafer.

»More than likely my clover honey,« laughed Bee.

»I’d venture to state it was my salve on the golden tray,« stated Yellow Wasp briskly. »Nothing like outside applications.«

»Mother dear, don’t you think it was the fern and poppy seed brew?« whispered the gentle little sisters.

»I’m sure it was everything,« answered the wise mother. »The kindness of so many friends just had to cure poor Flicker.«

The following night Flicker led his hundred torch-bearers through the forest again, as though nothing had happened, but he took great care to shed his clearest rays upon Yellow Wasp and Bee, Cockchafer and the Dwarf, and stationed a special guard about the home of Dr. Maybug.

»Such kindness must be well remembered,« he told them, »and, too, I hope to never again hear that song, »He lies all a-shake and a-shiver.«