"And here
may we kill and eat what we choose, while Fleetfoot may hunt for
himself. We stir not till the moon rise, and then we seek a place to
sleep," he concluded, patting the wet coat of the horse he rode.
Hugo said nothing. He did not know it, but he was nervous. All day he
had been on the alert, and now to stay perfectly still in this strange,
silent place, not daring to stir in the darkness lest he splash into
some pool, or mire in a bog; with his eyes attempting to see, when it
was too dark to see anything but the glow-worms in the grass and the
will-o'-the-wisp, was an added strain.
Two hours went by, and the curtain of darkness began to lift. The
moonlight made visible a fringe of small trees and the shine of the
water on whose bank they grew. The breeze rose and sighed and whistled
through rush and reed. An owl hooted, and then Humphrey, who had been
nodding on his horse's back, suddenly became very wide awake.
"Hast been here before, Hugo?" he cried cheerily.
"Nay," answered the boy, listlessly.
"No more have I," returned Humphrey. "But what of that? A man who hath
proper dreams may be at home in all places.
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