Wonderful discoveries were made, pretty places were named, plans were drawn, and all sorts of merry adventures befell the pilgrims.
Each day they camped in a new spot, and while Lita nibbled the fresh grass at her ease, Miss Celia sketched under the big umbrella, Thorny read or lounged or slept on his rubber blanket, and Ben made himself generally useful.

Unloading, filling the artist's water-bottle, piling the invalid's cushions, setting out the lunch, running to and fro for a Bower or a butterfly, climbing a tree to report the view, reading, chatting, or frolicking with Sancho,--any sort of duty was in Ben's line, and he did them all well, for an out-of-door life was natural to him and he liked it.
"Ben, I want an amanuensis," said Thorny, dropping book and pencil one day after a brief interval of silence, broken only by the whisper of the young leaves overhead and the soft babble of the brook close by.
"A what ?" asked Ben, pushing back his hat with such an air of amazement that Thorny rather loftily inquired: "Don't you know what an amanuensis is ?" "Well, no; not unless it's some relation to an anaconda.

Shouldn't think you'd want one of them, anyway." Thorny rolled over with a hoot of derision, and his sister, who sat close by, sketching an old gate, looked up to see what was going on.
"Well, you needn't laugh at a feller.

You didn't know what a wombat was when I asked you, and I didn't roar," said Ben, giving his hat a slap, as nothing else was handy.
"The idea of wanting an anaconda tickled me so, I couldn't help it.

I dare say you'd have got me one if I had asked for it, you are such an obliging chap." "Of course I would if I could.