But when he saw him, with serious face, fish two bits of string from the miscellaneous museum of his pocket and proceed to frustrate the problematical yellow-jacket he grinned appreciatively.
The place for the watching had been well chosen by Uncle Andy--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.