"Julia, come to me."
"I won't do it. I spoke first You come here."
Solitude was so terrifying that Beth risked the trip across for companionship. Fortunately, the hoot did not occur during her trip to Julia, or she would probably have landed on the ground.
The space proved rather narrow, and rather perilous for two, but Beth and Julia snuggled together very close.
Soon the hooting began again, and continued at regular intervals.
"I believe it's a hoot-owl."
"So it is."
Although they knew it was only an owl, the melancholy cry was neither conducive to sleep nor to high spirits. The children found it decidedly depressing. They talked awhile in whispers. The sound of one's own voice even is startling in such a situation. Very often they sighed, and sometimes there was a pensive quietness broken only by the hoot-owl.
"What time do you s'pose it is, Julia?"
"I think it must be twelve at least. They're not coming for us to-night. They've forgotten us."