"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.
"I fear that oil will not cure him," she said. "You see, he has been eating a good deal of sweet. What he needs is some sour medicine."
She disappeared down the hole and soon returned with a bottle of vinegar tucked under her plaid shawl.
"Aren't you afraid that vinegar will strangle the poor dear?" protested Mother Graymouse.
"Not a bit of it; not a bit of it! Give me a spoon," directed Granny.
Buster made a wry face as he swallowed the sour dose. Then he began to cough and splutter and choke until Mammy grew frightened.
Uncle Squeaky appeared upon the scene just then.
"Stop that, you young rascal!" he laughed. "That is a very poor imitation of a cough. What you need is neither oil nor vinegar, but a good dose of salt. You are altogether too fresh for a youngster."