"Agreed!" shouted the boys. "What shall we call ourselves?"

"The Do-Nothing Club," some one suggested; "we aren't going to do anything, only have all the fun we can."

"We can have that for our motto," said one of the boys.

"Well, we only have a few minutes before the bell will ring: let's elect officers."

So Will tore a few pages out of his note-book, and after some officers had been nominated, each one wrote the names of those he wanted, on his slip. The results were just being announced when the school-bell rang.

"The first meeting of the Do-Nothing Club will be held in our yard to-morrow afternoon," called Will Post, who had been elected president of the new organization.

So the next afternoon, immediately after school, ten boys wended their way through the back gate of Mr. Post's yard, and seated themselves on the woodpile.

"I know where we will go," said Will, "right out in the orchard in the boughs of those two gnarly old apple-trees that just touch." Everyone thought this a splendid plan, so soon the ten boys were in different places in the two great apple-trees in the orchard.

"Has any one a suggestion to make as to the first adventure of the Do-Nothing Club?" said the president, by way of opening the meeting.

"I have," said George Shaw, the treasurer of the club. "You know Mr. Clay's pasture?"

"Yes!" they all said.

"Well, it's just chock-full of daisies and wild strawberries, and I move that next Saturday we ask him if we can get some daisies, and each take a big basket and get it most full of strawberries with a few daisies on top, to make it look all right, you know;" and George chuckled.

"I think it is a splendid plan, worthy of our honorable treasurer," said President Post. A vote was taken, which was almost unanimous in favor of George's proposition, although there were a few demurs made at first on the ground of it's not being "quite honest."

"Honest!" sneered Will, "as if it wasn't all right to refresh ourselves in a big meadow, with what's there, free as grass!" So the objections were silenced, and the meeting adjourned.

Now it so happened that Mr. Post's orchard and Mr. Clay's farm were only separated by a high board fence. Close by this fence grew quite a little coarse grass, and as Mr. Clay thought it took too much room, on this very afternoon on which the Do-Nothing Club held their first meeting, he had taken his scythe and spade, and had gone to cut and dig up the offending material. The day was very hot, and he grew so tired and warm that he determined to lie down in the shade by the fence for a few minutes. But while lying there, he fell into a little doze, and was only awakened by the laughter of the boys as they climbed up the trees, getting seated for the meeting. He lay awake for a few moments, trying to make up his mind to arise, and consequently heard the conversation in the apple-tree, in which he became not a little interested.

Just here I must stop and explain that Mr. Clay knew his meadow was very productive of wild strawberries, and had said to his son, a few days before the time at which my story begins:

"James, there will probably be a quantity of strawberries in the meadow this summer, and if you pick them, you can sell them at a good price, which will bring you considerable spending money. Do you want to try it?"

"Yes, indeed!" had been the reply, and so it was planned that in about a week James should pick his strawberries, and have the money for his "very own."

To go back now to the new club, I may say that the next Friday afternoon (after the apple-tree meeting) the ten boys appeared at Mr. Clay's door.

"Mr. Clay," said the president, "we've formed a new club lately—the Do-Nothing Club, of which I'm the president, and George is treasurer. We decided that the first thing we'd do would be to pick some daisies out of your meadow, that is, if you would let us. You don't use them for anything, do you?"

"Not at all," said the gentleman, heartily; "you are perfectly welcome to pick just as many as you want. But don't step on any more wild strawberries than you can help."

"We'll be careful," said Will, so he nodded good-morning, and the club marched away. "Indeed we won't step on them," he added, when they were out of hearing, "we want the use of them, and it won't do to destroy them."

So bright and early the next morning the club marched to Mr. Clay's meadow, each member armed with a basket, with a good-sized pail inside. They were to fill the pails with berries, and completely cover them with daisies. They worked hard all the morning. About ten o'clock James Clay said to his father, "I guess I'll go out and help. They must be having great fun."

"No, my boy," said Mr. Clay, with a twinkle in his eye, "I would rather not."

When the town clock struck one, the boys had searched the meadow so thoroughly that there was hardly a berry in it, and their pails were nearly all full! Then they went into the woods back of the meadow to rest and take their fill of the fresh fruit. Now you who have no idea of the capacity of boys' stomachs, especially for berries, would hardly believe me if I should state the exact amount that those boys devoured! So I will not give it. Suffice it to say that there were some which they had to throw away, having no place to put them for safe-keeping, and not daring to share them with anyone, for in that case, as Will said, "the cat would be out of the bag." So it came to pass that the rapid river which flowed through Snyvylville could have told, if it had chosen, how one part of it was dyed as red as blood that afternoon, and how it looked as if some awful deed had been done there, until the strawberries were all washed down stream.

On Saturday evening, divers little girls went about the streets of Snyvyville with pails of wild strawberries, and the mothers or fathers of every one of the members of the Do-Nothing Club, happened to buy some of them for the Sunday dinner. But in each family there was great amazement because the boy or boys thereof would eat no berries, and because each boy had the headache and stomachache all day. "I don't believe it was good for you to be out in the sun so long," said Mrs. Post to Will, as she put a fresh cloth dipped in ice-water, on his head. He made no reply, for he knew that it was not the exposure to the sun that gave him the headache, but—quarts of wild strawberries! Too much of a good thing is worse than none at all.

"James dear," said Mrs. Clay to her husband on Saturday evening, after James, Jr., had gone to bed, "I don't believe it will be wise for Jamie to pick all those berries out in the meadow. Couldn't you get somebody to pick them, at two cents a quart? That would leave him quite a good deal of money. The sun is so hot, I am afraid he would get sunstruck."

"I think that will be all right," said Mr. Clay, looking earnestly at his newspaper; "I don't suppose you would mind at all if the person we hired did get sunstruck?"

His wife laughed, but turned again to her mending, and said no more.

On Monday afternoon Mr. Clay went out to continue the work of banishing the aforesaid offensive grass from the face of the earth, but lay down again as he saw, through a crack in the fence, the Do-Nothing Club wending its way toward the apple-trees where it was to meet to talk over the success of the strawberry plan.

"Twenty quarts!" ejaculated George Shaw, "that was pretty good. I hardly thought there would be so many. Wasn't my plan splendid, though, Will—oh! I beg your pardon, Mr. President?"

"Fine!" said the president; "all that you planned for was, anyhow, for I don't suppose you calculated for ten headaches and ten stomachaches, as well as ten pails of berries, did you? As nearly as I can find out, the other members of the club have suffered in these ways, like myself."

There was a good deal more talk; they decided what should be their password, and a great many other private matters. They would have been very much disgusted, I am certain, if they had guessed that Mr. Clay was intently listening to everything that was said. Their motto was to be "Fragi Agrestes," because, as John Clower, the only Latin student of the club, announced, that meant "wild strawberries." Of course that was to be used as the password, too. The seal was to be a leaf of that plant, while the color of the club was to be red.

When they went home, Mr. Clay got up and went to work again, but he didn't work as well as usual, for he had a plan in which he was more interested than he was in demolishing the grass. When he got home he sat down and wrote some sort of a letter which he sealed with a piece of red sealing-wax, and a button which he had found in his wife's button-box.

Thus it happened that on Tuesday morning, when George Shaw went to the post-office to get the mail, he found a big yellow envelope addressed to him. It had a red seal, on which there was stamped the outline of a strawberry leaf. He looked at it in amazement, for the writing was strange. He found the document inside to be sealed with the same seal. I will give you a copy of it:

George stopped on the street in perfect amazement! Then rushed to school, for the last bell was ringing.

At recess, he called a meeting of the club, and showed them the document he had received.

Then there were grave faces and anxious discussions. How could Mr. Clay have found them out?

At last the president said:

"Well, we'll just have to pay him; there is no help for it. Every one of the club must hand over twenty-six cents for his share. Here's another thing we didn't plan for in the strawberry idea. For my part, I wish 'Fragi Agrestes' had never been invented."

The club marched that very afternoon, in a body, to Mr. Clay's house to pay their bill. No willing delegate was found to represent them. Once there, the president had to make the speech.

"We've brought you your money, Mr. Clay. We can't imagine how you found us out; but we hadn't the least notion of stealing! Somehow it never entered our heads that it could be stealing, to help ourselves to wild strawberries. I never thought of such a thing until I saw your bill. There it is. Will you please receipt it? And we'll promise you we won't be likely to get caught in such a scrape again."

"Thank you," said the farmer, putting the money in his pocket, and taking up a pen to receipt the bill. "Boys, I'm not so anxious for money that I had to have my pay for the berries you stole. But I thought it would teach you a lesson; so I sent the bill to the treasurer. And now I want to advise you to take a new name for your club, for you won't prosper under the present one. When you aren't planning to do anything but have fun, you'll get into mischief.

"I'm agreed," said Will; "and I'll resign. I have an idea. Suppose you be our president, Mr. Clay?"

"I!" laughed the farmer.

"Good for you, Will," said the boys. "That's a first-class idea. Will you do it, Mr. Clay?"

"Well," said Mr. Clay, after a moment's consideration, "I don't know but I'll accept. It is quite an honor. President of the Snyvyville Do-Something Club!" and he laughed again.

I wish I had time to tell you the story of the new club! Under Mr. Clay's presidency, they prospered; and became proud of their club. True to their name, they "did" many things which were for their good, not only, but for the good of others.

Some day I may write out their story, or a piece of it.

They grew to be very fond of their president, as well as very proud of his schemes.

The Do-Nothing Club had but one report in the note-book of their secretary:

Resolved, That the Snyvyville Do-Nothing Club change its name to the "Do-Something Club," as it has not prospered under the former title, but has been the cause of ten headaches, ten stomachaches, and the loss of two dollars and sixty cents, to the members thereof.

(Signed) James Powell, Sec'y.

The Club still kept its motto, "Fragi Agrestes," for they thought that "wild strawberries" had taught them a lesson they would not soon forget.