In the third minute he realized that there was a hard
little stick in the moss that he was sitting on. In the fourth minute
it became a big stick, and terribly sharp, so that he began to wonder
if it would pierce right through him and make him a cripple for life.
He feared that perhaps Uncle Andy had never thought of a danger like
this, and he felt that he ought to call attention to it. But before he
had quite made up his mind to such a desperate measure the fifth minute
came--and with it the yellow-and-black wasp, which made the Child
forget all about the stick in the moss. The wasp alighted on the red,
mosquito-bitten, naked skin above the top of the Child's sock, and
then, sure enough, started to go exploring up under the leg of his
knickers. The Child felt nervous for a moment--and then triumphant.
He just saved himself from laughing out loud at the thought of how he
had fooled the inquisitive insect.
And so passed the fifth and sixth minutes. The seventh and eighth were
absorbed in bitter doubts of Uncle Andy. The Child felt quite sure
that he had been quite still for at least an hour. If nothing
interesting had happened in all that time, then nothing interesting was
going to happen, nothing interesting could happen.
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