Doctor Hugh tossed him an extra sofa cushion and Jack stuffed it behind his back as he sat in one of the comfortable wicker chairs.
"Where's Richard and Warren?" demanded Sarah. "I want to tell them about greasing the chickens. Jack, did you ever grease chickens?"
"Now look here, Sarah," protested Doctor Hugh hastily, "we've listened to the unsavory details of that process once and not even for Jack's sake can we go through it again. Besides, Jack has a recital of his own; you come sit with me and we'll listen to an agricultural lecture."
Sarah and Shirley both rushed to accept the invitation and after some skirmishing managed to squeeze into the one big chair.
"Warren and Richard have gone down to the brook," reported Jack. "Mr. Hildreth thinks someone from town is gigging there nights and they want to keep a watch. I haven't enough ambition to catch a worm, let alone a gigger."
"What's gigging?" cried Sarah, twisting about so that she placed her feet in Rosemary's lap.
"Gigging is fishing at night," said Jack briefly. "I'll show you sometime—when I can bend my knees again."
Doctor Hugh adroitly shifted the wandering feet by turning Sarah back to her original position.
"The first day is always the hardest," he said encouragingly. "You will live through to-morrow, if that's any comfort, Jack."
"Well, of course, I'm not complaining," Jack declared. "I don't expect to pick roses—ouch!—and I won't grunt. But that tomato field must be twenty miles long!"