Sharon bent his thick round leg to raise a foot to a rustic seat, and upon the cushion thus provided made figures in a notebook.

After a time of this, while Wilbur excitingly held the roan horse, made nervous by a hive of bees against the whitewashed fence, he came back to the buggy--which sagged from habit even when disburdened of its owner--and they drove to another farm--a red brick farmhouse, this time, with yellow roses climbing its front.

Here Sharon tarried longer in consultation.

Wilbur staunchly held the roan, listened to the high-keyed drone of a reaper in a neighbouring field, and watched the old man make more figures in his black notebook.

He liked this one of the Whipples pretty well.