The air was particularly bright and clear, even for that pure climate, and I could even see the blue-winged flies darting in and out of the oozy floats.

But half-way up the mountains a white cloud was hanging, a cloud that kept on changing shape.

I only observed it as a thing to put in for my background, because I was fond of trying to tone and touch up my sketches with French chalks.
Presently I heard a harsh metallic sound and creaking of machinery.

The bites, or clamps, or whatever they are called, were being put on, to keep the wheel from revolving with the Sawyer's weight.

Martin, the foreman, was grumbling and growling, according to his habit, and peering through the slot, or channel of stone, in which the axle worked, and the cheery voice of Mr.Gundry was putting down his objections.