“Oh, of course. I never thought of that,” said Ned, and he settled down quietly for a few minutes, before saying in a whisper: “I say, isn’t it queer that one seems to hear hundreds of things now that one never noticed at home?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps we should have heard some of these ticks and squeaks and rustlings if we had lain awake. I say, Ned, I believe all the wild things from round about are coming to see what we want here.”
“Very likely. What’s that?”
“What?”
“That flash of light. Is it a storm coming?”
“Pooh! No. Father threw some bits of dry stuff on the fire.”
“To be sure. But I say, Chris, that’s why all these insects and things come creeping up. It’s the light that attracts them.”
“Of course it is. I wish you’d go to sleep.”
“I will as soon as I can, but you needn’t be so disagreeable.”
“Enough to make me. I’m tired, and you keep on talking like an old woman. Not frightened, are you?”