Sitting down on the mossy bank, they picked handfuls of the flowers and wondered what they were.
“Hollo! Hollo!” called Michael’s voice from the road, where he sat holding his horses.
“All right, Michael! In a minute,” shrilled back the childish voices.
And they really meant to go in a minute, but the fascination of the place held them, and they kept on picking flowers, and grubbing among the roots and stones at the edge of the water.
“We really ought to go,” said Dolly. “Come on, Dick. Oh, look at the birds!”
A large flock of birds flew low through the sky, and as they circled and wheeled, the children watched them eagerly.
“They’re birds coming North for the summer,” said Dick. “See those falling behind! They don’t like the way the flock is going, and they’re going to turn back.”
“So they are! We must watch them. There, now they’ve decided to go on, after all! Aren’t they queer?”
“Hollo! Hollo! Come back, yez bad childher! Come back, I say!”
“Yes, Michael, in a minute,” rang out Dolly’s sweet, bird-like voice.