“Delicate, adorable, useless little feet of theirs,” Pete said softly as if he were reciting from an ode.
“There’s something moving along the trail, boys,” Frank said quietly. “I keep getting glimpses of it through the bushes—white—blue—red and yellow.”
The others stopped, petrified. They scowled, bending an intent gaze through the brilliant noon sunshine.
“Sure I get it!” Billy answered in a low tone. “There’s something there.”
“I don’t.” Honey shaded his eyes.
“Nor I.” Pete squinted.
“Well, I don’t see anything,” Ralph said impatiently. “But providing you fellows aren’t nuts, what the devil can it be?”
“It’s—” Billy began. Then, “My God!” he ended.
Something white glimmered at the end of the trail. It grew larger, bulked definitely, filled the opening.
“Julia!” Billy gasped.