bathed shingles of the driving-shed, and there, lying luxuriously out in the warm sunshine, with their legs crossed and expressions of ineffable content on their young faces, were Lonely O'Malley and her son Lionel Clarence. The good woman leaned on the handle of her carpet-sweeper and gasped. For in the hand of each of the boys before her was a stout piece of dried grapevine, and from time to time, as each lay there, he drew in long inhalations of pungent smoke, and emitted it from between his pursed-up lips with slow and placid breaths.
OUT IN THE WARM SUNSHINE
