For some time Nellie wandered about alone till finally her steps turned in the direction of the iron spring. She had a strong desire to sit in the natural armchair she had discovered. It was just like what a girl in a story-book would do, she thought.
For some moments she stood watching the clear, sparkling water falling over the stones; then, stepping across the little stream she climbed up on the other side and seated herself on the broad rock, her feet resting on the turfy grass beneath. It was very pleasant to sit in that shady nook, to watch the sunlight filter through the green leaves of the sycamore, and listen to the singing of the tiny waterfall.
Nellie was tired; she had been up since dawn. Pulling off her sun-bonnet, she leaned her head against the flat, cool stone that formed the back of the comfortable seat.
"Whiz—whiz—whiz!" went something close behind her. Leaning back, she tried to locate the sound. "It is like a corn-crake," she thought. "But I never heard anything just like it. Can it be a bird?"
"Whiz—whiz!" she heard again, but now the sound receded and presently ceased.
"I wonder if it could have been a big grasshopper," thought the child, once more resuming her restful position. In a moment she was fast asleep.
"Nellie! Nellie!" called her father; but she did not hear him.
"Nellie! Nellie!" repeated Walter a few moments later.
The child slept on, while the golden light still trickled through the leaves, and the silvery water sang its one, unchanging song. Something that had crawled away, something Nellie had mercifully not seen!—long, lithe, slender, sinuous, horrible, with slimy skin and loathsome head and glittering eyes—began slowly to return, creeping toward the child in the sylvan chair.
She did not awake, for the crawling thing made no perceptible sound. The bushes parted. Francisco was there, hearing, seeing, and in an instant, leaping the stream, springing to her side.