"Come!" cried Dorothy. "Run with me over to the white birches, and we'll shout, and listen!"
Mrs. Dainty had told them the story of Echo, the nymph, who for loving Pan and following him and calling to him had been changed into a huge rock on the mountainside, and forever compelled to mock each voice she heard.
The old legend of the nymph had caught their fancy, and often they paused in their play to shout, and listen to what seemed to them the voice of some fairy of the mountains.
Now they stood beside the birches, Dorothy with one arm around a white trunk, and Nancy near her. At their feet were countless bluebells, overhead the blue sky, while across and beyond the valley rose the mountain capped by white clouds that looked as soft as swan's-down.
"Here! Here!" cried Dorothy, and echo answered, "Here,—ere!"
"Listen!" cried Dorothy, clasping her hands, and laughing with delight. "It answers as if it was a truly voice that heard and replied.
"Nancy, I love you!" she cried, and again they plainly heard:—
"Love you-oo!"
They thought it great fun to shout and call, and hear their cries so cleverly repeated.
And now another child ran out from the great doorway, paused a moment as if looking for some one, then, seeing the two little figures near the clump of birches, stole softly near them.