"Oh, no, I couldn't draw the people in the car; they wouldn't like it. Choose something else, Pip."
"There isn't anything else," said Pip, in a disconsolate voice. "Everything outside is running so fast."
"I tell you, I'll draw something from memory," said Ben, quickly. "I'll show you the little brown house where I used to live—that'll be nice. You'd like that, Pip."
"Yes," said Pip, "I should."
If Ben said so, that was quite enough, so he crowded as closely to the scene of operations as he could get.
"See here," said Ben, twisting off, "you don't leave me room enough. You mustn't crowd so, Pip."
"I can't see, then," said Pip, dreadfully disappointed.
"Well, I tell you, get on my other side, then,—there, that's fine," as Pip hopped over. "Now my right hand is free. Well, here goes!" And in two minutes the little brown house began to stare right up at them from the paper, and Ben was drawing furiously away, until it seemed as if every revolution of the car wheels was whirling them to Badgertown.
"Oh, do teach me to draw houses, Ben," cried Pip, as the little lane down to Grandma Bascom's began to come in sight. "Do, Ben, please," he begged.
"So I will," promised Ben, kindly. "Now you can take the pencil when I've finished this, Pip, and I'll give you your first lesson."