“It was a rough trip through the passage, boy. I’m a little shaken.”
“That’s past. Shake the other way.” He was pirouetting round a tree.
“But how are we going back, lad?”
“This way,” he carelessly answered, making wing-motions with his arms.
“There was an earthquake, Beelo.”
He stopped short, and his eyes lighted deep.
“Yes!” he softly but impressively exclaimed.
The old caution settled in his face; he peered and listened warily, and then came a look of assured repose.
“That is good,” he said,—“if—” a cloud drifted over his face—“if they felt it on the surface.”
“They did,” interposed Christopher.