“We may be back,” the driver called as they climbed in and drove on toward Roulsville.
Judy gazed after them, her thoughts in a whirl. She was a sensible girl, not easily frightened. Before she and Peter Dobbs were married, she used to spend part of every summer with her grandparents in this very house. She knew every tree in the grove of beeches where the two girls were now standing in puzzled silence.
Judy’s voice trailed off in bewilderment
“Grandma used to tell me those trees could talk,” Judy said at last.
“But how?” asked Honey. “Those men didn’t do it. They were frightened, too.”
“They did seem to be,” agreed Judy, “but maybe it was a trick of some kind. I don’t believe they wanted rooms at all.”
“I don’t either. They acted more as if they were looking for something—”
“And then the—the trees warned them not to! That’s it!” exclaimed Judy.
All of a sudden she remembered an old family legend that when danger threatened, the trees would sound a warning. She had laughed at the superstition when she first heard it from her grandparents. Later, after the old couple died and willed the house to her, she remembered it only in her more fanciful moments, never mentioning it to anyone.