The pattering becomes a rushing in the tree-tops, a wild sibilation as of serpents in the fire, and a steady rattling and whizzing in the swamps.
"Well, well! this won't do, boy! Come with me!"
They run to the shelter of a huge leaning trunk and crouch beneath it.
"You're not so used to these things as I am," says the old man, shielding the boy with his arms.
"Let me bring some boughs to throw over you!" cries Frank.
"No—sit still! You have heaped boughs enough on me for one night!"
"Were you—awake?"
"One eye was a little awake."
"And you saw!"
"I saw all you did, my boy!"