“Oh, I don’t know. Somehow it reminded me of a story I’d once read.”
“What was the story?”
“About a beach over in the Pacific where wizards used to go and pick up shells.”
“What’s them?”
“Chaps that work magic and sell themselves to the devil. They can make themselves invisible so’s you can’t see them, and they used to come to the beach and pick up shells, and then turn the shells into silver dollars. You couldn’t see them, but you could hear them rustling about, like that sand, and talking to one another, and now and then you’d see a little fire blaze up.”
Jude, interested, rolled over, rested her chin in her palms, and kicked a bare heel to the sun.
“I reckon you’re not far wrong,” said Jude.
“How?”
“Well, I’ve felt the same way here myself, as if there was hants about and if you’d turn your head sharp you’d see someone behind you. Now you’ve talked of it. I’ll be always thinking it if I come here again. Wish you’d kept your head shut.”
She sat up and looked about her.