“Creek—creek; creek—creek,” said the landrail again, as though just over the hedge, and not more than twenty yards from them.
“Here’s a gap,” said Harry, creeping through the hedge; “look sharp; we’ll have him.”
Philip and Fred crept through, and stood with Harry, looking for the bird they were to catch; but all was silent, except the hum of the insects amidst the hedge flowers.
“Now, there’s an artful thing,” said Philip.
“Creek—creek; creek—creek,” came from the bottom of the field again.
“He’s down at the bottom,” said Harry, running along by the hedgerow toward the bottom of the field.
“Creck-creck; creek-creek,” said the bird again, and away started Philip in the opposite direction.
“Creek—creek; creek—creek,” said the bird again, close at hand.
“Why, I shall catch it,” said Fred to himself, for he had stayed behind; and now started off into the middle of the field in quest of the mysterious stranger.
“Creek—creek; creek—creek; creek—creek,” cried the bird, apparently here, there, and everywhere, but always invisible; and up and down, and round and round, ran the boys, until they all stood together at last, wiping the perspiration from their faces, and fanning themselves with their caps; while the provoking “Creek-creek” kept on as bad as ever for a while, and then all at once stopped; and, though they waited and listened attentively for a long while, not another sound could they hear.