“Come, Caleb, come down here, and help us make our mole.”
“No,” said Caleb, shaking his head, and, turning away a little; “I don't want to go.”
“O, do come, Caleb,” said Dwight; “I won't trouble you any more.”
“No,” said Caleb: “I am tired, and I had rather stay here in my little chair.”
“But I will carry your chair down to the brook; and there is a beautiful place there to sit and see us tumble in the stones.”
So Caleb got up, and Dwight took his chair, and they walked together down to the shore of the brook. Dwight found a little spot so smooth and level, that the rocking-chair would stand very even upon it, though it would not rock very well, for the ground was not hard, like a floor. Caleb rested his elbow upon the arm of his chair, and his pale cheek in his little slender hand, and watched the stones, as, one after another, they fell into the brook.
The brook at this place, was very wide and shallow, and the current was not very rapid, so that they got along pretty fast; and thus the mole advanced steadily out into the stream.
“Well, Caleb,” said Dwight, as he stopped, after they had tossed out all the stones from the wheelbarrow, “and how do you like our mole?”
“O, not very well,” said Caleb.
“Why not?” said Dwight, surprised.