'I'll get more wood.'
The words seemed underground. A mountain wind rose up and brought the
solid world about him. He felt chilly, shivered, and opened his eyes.
There stood the solemn pine trees, thick and close; moonlight flooded
the spaces between them and lit their crests with silver.
'This is the Wind Wood,' he remarked aloud to reassure himself.
Jimbo was bending over the fire, heaping on wood. Flame leaped up with
a shower of sparks. He saw Monkey rubbing her eyes beside him.
'I've had a dream of falling,' she was saying, as she snuggled down
closer into his side.
'_I_ didn't,' Jimbo said. 'I dreamed of a railway accident, and
everybody was killed except one passenger, who was Daddy. It fell off
a high bridge. We found Daddy in the _fourgon_ with the baggages,
writing a story and laughing--making an awful row.'
'What did _you_ dream, Cousinenry?' asked Monkey, peering into his
eyes in the firelight.
'That my feet were cold, because the fire had gone out,' he answered,
trying in vain to remember whether he had dreamed anything at all.
'And--that it's time to go home. I hear the curfew ringing.'
Some one whistled softly. They ought to have been in bed an hour ago.
It was ten o'clock, and Gygi was sounding the _couvre feu_ from the
old church tower.
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