"What is it?" asked Clive.
"I'm rare I don't know," said David, gloomily.
"Is it a brigand?" whispered Clive, dismally.
"I don't know, I'm sore," said poor David, who, in spite of his recent declaration of his belief that all brigands were humbugs, felt something like his old trepidation at Clive's suggestion.
They listened a little longer.
The noise subsided for a time, and then began again. This time it was much louder than before. There was the same rustling, rubbing, cracking, snapping sound made by something among the fagots; there was a clatter as of feet on the hard ground; then there was a quick, reiterated rubbing; then another peculiar noise, which sounded exactly like that which a dog makes when shaking himself violently after coming out of the water. After this there was a low, deep sound, midway between a yawn and a growl; then all was still.
David and Clive raised themselves softly, and looked at one another.
"Well?" said Clive.
"Well?" said David.
"I don't know," said Clive.