of tiny bell-notes. Kirk was cuddled close beside Ken, and woke abruptly as Ken drew him nearer.
"You didn't take your overcoat," he whispered.
"We'll both have it, now," his brother said. "Curl up tight, old man; it'll wrap round the two of us."
"Is it night still?" Kirk asked.
"Black night," Ken whispered; "stars at the window, and a tree swaying across it. And in here a sort of dusky lightness—dark in the corners, and shadows on the walls, and the fire glowing away. Phil's asleep on the other side of the hearth, and she looks very nice. And listen—hear the toads?"
"Is that what they are? I thought it was a fairy something. They make nice noises! Where do they live?"
"In some marsh. They sit there and fiddle away on bramble roots and sing about various things they like."
"What nice toads!" murmured Kirk.
"Sh-sh!" whispered Ken; "we're waking Phil. Good night—good morning, I mean. Warm enough now?"
