“People like that,” decreed Dorothy, “just don’t know how to live. You can have lots of fun in summer, of course. I don’t know which I love the best. But this sort of thing makes you feel just grand. It certainly put the pep into—.” She stopped short and sprang to her feet. From somewhere close by and seemingly below her, had come a low, moaning sound.
Gretchen jumped up. Her doll-like face with its round, blue eyes took on a look of startled wonder. “What was that?” she cried. “It sounded as if I—as if I was sitting on it!”
Again came the low cry in a weird, minor key.
“You were. It’s coming from the inside of this log. An animal of some kind.”
“Why, I guess you’re right. Whatever it is, the thing gave me the heebie-jeebies for a minute.”
The snow had drifted over the butt of the half-rotted tree. Dorothy took her broom and swept it clear.
“The log’s hollow!” she exclaimed and bent down. “Yes, there’s something in there—I can see its eyes—come here, Gretchen! You can see for yourself.”
“Not me!” declared that young woman. “I don’t want to get bit—I mean, bitten, miss.”
“Oh, never mind the grammar.” Dorothy was almost standing on her head, trying to get a better view. “But do cut out the polite trimmings when we’re alone. You’re Gretchen and I’m Dorothy—savez?”
“All right—Dorothy. But please be careful. That thing may jump out at you.”