a big
log to lean their backs against, a cushion of deep, dry moss to sit
upon, and a tiny, leafy sapling of silver poplar twinkling its
light-hung leaves just before their faces, to screen them a little
without interfering with their view. Their legs, to be sure, stuck out
beyond the screen of the poplar sapling, in plain sight of every forest
wayfarer. But legs were of little consequence so long as they were not
allowed to kick.

For just about a minute the Child found it easy to keep still. In the
second minute his nose itched, and he began to wonder how long they had
been there. In the third minute he realized that there was a hard
little stick in the moss that he was sitting on. In the fourth minute
it became a big stick, and terribly sharp, so that he began to wonder
if it would pierce right through him and make him a cripple for life.
He feared that perhaps Uncle Andy had never thought of a danger like
this, and he felt that he ought to call attention to it. But before he
had quite made up his mind to such a desperate measure the fifth minute
came--and with it the yellow-and-black wasp, which made the Child
forget all about the stick in the moss. The wasp alighted on the red,
mosquito-bitten, naked skin above the top of the Child's sock, and
then, sure enough, started to go exploring up under the leg of his
knickers. The Child felt nervous for a moment--and then triumphant.
He just saved himself from laughing out loud at the thought of how he
had fooled the inquisitive insect.

And so passed the fifth and sixth minutes. The seventh and eighth were
absorbed in bitter doubts of Uncle Andy. The Child felt quite sure
that he had been quite still for at least an hour. If nothing
interesting had happened in all that time, then nothing interesting was
going to happen, nothing interesting could happen. An awful distrust
assailed him. Was it possible that Uncle Andy had merely adopted this
base means of teaching him to keep still? Was it possible that even
now Uncle Andy (whose face was turned the other way) was either
laughing deeply in his sleeve or sleeping the undeservedly peaceful
sleep of the successful deceiver?

To do the Child justice, he felt ashamed of such doubts as soon as he
had fairly confronted himself with them. Then, in the ninth minute,
both legs began to fill up with pins and needles. This occupied his
attention. It was an axiom with him that under such painful conditions
one shoul