He had not supposed that James, Charles, Isabella, Dolores, and he himself were particularly funny before, but he was delighted to discover their hidden gift. Claire wanted to hear everything about them, their ponies, their dogs, their sharp disgraces, and their more wonderful escapes and revenges; but she didn't want them to be punished, and Winn had to hasten over those frequent and usually protracted disasters.
They had the woods to themselves; there was no sound at all except the occasional soft drop of melting snow. Once they stood quite still holding their breath to watch the squirrels skim from tree to tree as if they were weaving the measures of a mystic dance. If it hadn't been for the squirrels they might have been the only creatures alive in all the silent, sparkling earth.
The mountains spread out around them with the reticent hush of interrupted consciousness. They seemed to be on the verge of further revelations, and were withheld from a last definite whisper only by the intrusion of humanity.
"I know they could speak if they liked," Claire murmured. "What do you suppose they'd say?"
"Let's have an avalanche and knock the silly blighters out of our valley for good and all," Winn suggested.
Claire disposed of Davos with a wave of her hand.
"But they don't mind us, do they?" she urged. "Because we're so happy and we like them so. Doesn't the air make you feel awfully funny and happy?"
"Yes," Winn admitted; "but it's not all the air, you know."
Claire wanted to know what else it was; but as Winn didn't offer to explain, she felt that perhaps she had better not ask.
They were near the top when Winn paused suddenly and said in a most peculiar reluctant voice; "Look here, I think I ought to tell you."