“I should hear what the wind was saying, ’way up there,” Ben went on; “we can’t hear such things down on the ground, ’cause people make so much noise talking. You have to keep still to learn things,” added Ben with a wise air and a serious face. Then he led the way along the path again, singing to himself softly, in a musical voice:
“There was an old man of Dumbree,
Who taught little owls to drink tea;
For he said, ‘To eat mice is not proper or nice,’
That amiable man of Dumbree.”
Soon the very tall trees grew fewer in number and the woods more open; and the path now ran between old stumps, tufts of blueberry bushes, clumps of alders, and wisps of coarse yellow-brown grass, left unweakened by the frost. A few moments later, they came out upon Berkeley Avenue, at a point where Ben and Alice would have to turn back toward their home.
“Thank you, very much, Ben, for bringing us through such an interesting, pleasant way,” said Miss Ruth; “and we shall all remember the hut.”
“And the convalescent children,” cried Elsa.
“And the Easter Club we are going to have,” put in Betty. “Don’t you tell the name of our Club, Ben!”
“No, no, no!” Ben called back,—as if a boy ever did tell secrets.