"And you mean to tell me that she hatches the egg laid by the mean, bad black bird, Billy?",
Five minutes later the trio were out on the forest path, passing in Indian file towards the haunted grove. The wind had risen and now swept through the great trees with ghostly sound. A black cloud, creeping up out of the west, was wiping out the stars. Throughout the forest the notes of the night-prowlers were strangely hushed. No word was spoken between the treasure-seekers until the elm-bridged creek was reached. Then old Harry paused, with labored breath, his head bent as though listening.,
Erie was standing against the gate, her arms stretched along its top, hands clenching its rough pickets..
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