Somewhere the moon was rising.

And slowly that vague blurred patch grew a little clearer.
Through the tips of the spruce, now seen to be rather close at hand, shone a slender, silver crescent moon, darkening, hiding, shining again, climbing until its exquisite sickle-point topped the trees, and then, magically, it cleared them, radiant and cold.

While the eastern black wall shaded still blacker, the park blanched and the border-line opposite began to stand out as trees.
"Look! Look!" cried Bo, very low and fearfully, as she pointed.
"Not so loud," whispered Dale.
"But I see something!" "Keep quiet," he admonished.
Helen, in the direction Bo pointed, could not see anything but moon-blanched bare ground, rising close at hand to a little ridge.
"Lie still," whispered Dale.

"I'm goin' to crawl around to get a look from another angle.

I'll be right back." He moved noiselessly backward and disappeared.