"No!" agreed the Child confidently. He was accustomed to letting
mosquitoes bite him, just for the fun of seeing their gray, scrawny
bodies swell up and redden till they looked like rubies.

"Well, we'll hope there won't be any mosquitoes!" said Uncle Andy
reassuringly. "And if a yellow-jacket lights on your sock and starts
to crawl up under the leg of your knickers, you won't stir?"

"N-no!" agreed the Child, with somewhat less confidence. He had had
such an experience before, and remembered it with a pang. Then he
remembered that he had enough string in his pockets to tie up both legs
so securely that not the most enterprising of wasps could get under.
His confidence returned. "No, Uncle Andy!" he repeated, with earnest
resolution.

"Umph! We'll see," grunted Uncle Andy doubtfully, not guessing what
the Child had in mind. 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.