They all were silent.
"We ought to do a ritual dance! We ought to worship the tree," sang Julia, in her high voice.
"Hold on a minute.

We'll have a little more illumination," said Robert.
"Why yes.

We want more than one candle," said Josephine.
But Julia had dropped the cloak in which she was huddled, and with arms slung asunder was sliding, waving, crouching in a _pas seul_ before the tree, looking like an animated bough herself.
Jim, who was hugging his pipe in the background, broke into a short, harsh, cackling laugh.
"Aren't we fools!" he cried.

"What?
Oh, God's love, aren't we fools!" "No--why ?" cried Josephine, amused but resentful.
But Jim vouchsafed nothing further, only stood like a Red Indian gripping his pipe.
The beam of the bicycle-lamp moved and fell upon the hands and faces of the young people, and penetrated the recesses of the secret trees.
Several little tongues of flame clipped sensitive and ruddy on the naked air, sending a faint glow over the needle foliage.

They gave a strange, perpendicular aspiration in the night.