"Hurry up, and throw yours in, Beryl—the clouds are coming over," said Pamela, as she and Caroline and Isobel wandered a few paces away toward the chalk quarry. They were talking casually together when a slight scream from Beryl made them turn hastily round.
Beryl was running swiftly away from the well and toward the gate, which she pushed open, and ran into the lane.
The three other girls quickly followed and soon overtook her.
"Beryl! Wait a minute! Wait for us! What's the matter?" they called as they ran.
Beryl stopped running directly she heard their voices, and came to a standstill. She was looking very pale and scared as they came up to her.
"Whatever is the matter, old girl?" asked Pamela, taking hold of Beryl's arm.
"Oh, Pamela," she said, "I had just thrown my wish in the well, when the bush—the big overhanging bush close above—gave a rustle, and I heard some one laugh—such a horrid laugh—as if some one was hiding there, watching us. I—it gave me such a turn—I just ran—I didn't notice where you were—I just ran for the gate, to get away quickly."
Beryl seemed quite unnerved, and it was in vain that the others tried to persuade her that it was only her imagination.
"Shall we all go back together and make sure," suggested Pamela, not very enthusiastically it must be owned; but the others were certain it would not be wise to do this.
"It might be some horrible old tramp asleep in the hedge," said Isobel. "No. Let's get home—it's getting chilly—and we couldn't do any good really by going back, could we?"