The party had come to an end; nobody was left except old Mr. Crow and his friend Major Monkey.
Mr. Crow himself was fast growing sleepy, for it was almost dark. And he wanted to fly home and go to bed. But he hardly felt that he ought to leave just then.
There was no doubt that the Major was in great pain. He kept one hand pressed against the lowest button of his short red coat. His cap was 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.
