“And tarantulas and scorpions,” said Elinor, following the others.
As they ran along, they noticed the trail gradually narrowed into a path as if a wagon were in the habit of coming to a sudden stop and the driver got out and walked the rest of the way.
The outskirts of the forest had been as still as the entrance to a tomb. The interior was filled with noises. The songs of the wild birds, the humming of insects, all kinds of inexplicable cracklings and creakings, as if unseen things were creeping about.
“Ugh,” exclaimed Nancy. “I’m frightened. Please let’s go back.”
“Oh, oh, oh!” shrieked Elinor, wringing her hands.
A long green snake had wriggled across the path almost over the toe of her shoe in its haste to hide itself in the undergrowth.
“Oh, Elinor,” said Billie, filled with remorse. “I’m so sorry. I remember now how you loathe snakes. Do let’s go back.”
“Haloo-o-o,” called Edward, who had run on ahead, “you were right, Mary. Roads must lead to something.”
Filled with curiosity, in spite of their horror of the creeping, crawling things they felt sure the forest was alive with, they hastened down the path which turned abruptly to the right, where a clearing had been made, in the middle of which stood a little wooden shack of the most primitive character, but still with a certain individual look as if the one who had erected it must have put into it some of his own personality.
And why was it that this crude little hut in the forest should have reminded Edward of an English cottage?