“They always sing,” said Bertrand.
“Yes,” added Ruby, with her old confusion of ideas about syrens; “and they make people go after them by their singing, and then they catch them and kill them, and I’m not sure but what they eat them. I know I’ve read something about bare dry bones being found. Shall we put our fingers in our ears, Bertrand?” She looked quite pale with fear.
“Nonsense,” said the boy. “That’s only sailors at sea. They lure them in among the rocks. We’re quite safe on dry land. Besides, I don’t think it’s mermaids that do that. They’re miserable crying creatures; but I don’t think they kill people.”
The subterraneous music came nearer and nearer. Somehow the children could not help listening.
“Didn’t you say you and Mavis heard singing the day you were here before—at the wizard’s cottage, I mean?” said Bertrand.
“N-no, not exactly singing. It was laughing, and a voice calling out good-bye in a singing way,” answered Ruby.
As if in response to her words, the ringing suddenly stopped, and from below their feet—precisely below it seemed—came the sound of ringing, silvery laughter, clear and unmistakable.
“Oh,” cried Ruby, “come away, Bertrand. I’m sure it’s the mermaids, and they will catch us and kill us, you’ll see.”
Her boasted courage had not come to much. And yet there was nothing very alarming in the pretty sounds they had heard.
“And what if it is the mermaids?” said Bertrand coolly. “We came out to catch them, didn’t we? It’s just what we wanted. Come along, Ruby. How do we get to the cottage? There seems to be a sort of wall in front.”