"Yes, it is farther out," and Cora laughed at the description.
"Bess, I guess I was mistaken. The boys do not seem to be here."
"Then do let's go back," pleaded Bess. "I am actually afraid."
"Of what? Not those 'jug-er-umms.' Just hear them. You would think the frogs were trying to drive us away from their territory."
"I always did hate the noise they make," declared Bess. "It sounds like a dead, dark night. Why do they croak in the daytime?"
"Night is coming," Cora explained, "and besides, it is so quiet here they do not have to wait for nightfall. But listen! Didn't you hear those dry leaves rustle?"
"Oh Cora, come!" and Bess pulled at her friend's skirt. "It may be a great—snake."
Cora stood and listened. "No," she said, "that was no snake. It sounded like something running."
"Come on, Cora dear," begged Bess, so that Cora was obliged to agree. "See, all the boats have gone the other way. And if anything happened we might just as well be on this desert island as on that desert water."
They had not ventured far into the wood, so that it was but a few steps back to the boat. Cora loosened the bow line and presently the engine was chugging away.
"Oh," sighed Bess, "I felt as if something dreadful was going to happen. Ever since those gypsies took you, Cora, I am actually afraid of everything in the country. It did seem safe on the water, but in those woods—"