She thought it strange that Barbara, who feared nothing, let her go in front.
They came to a pool.

All round, the black tops of the pines cut the sky; the water was dark and sullen in the gloom.

The trail followed its edge and when a loon's wild cry rang across the woods Grace stopped.

She knew the cry of the lonely bird that haunts the Canadian wilds, but it had a strange note, like mocking laughter.

Grace disliked the loon when its voice first disturbed her sleep at the fishing camp; she hated it afterwards.
"Go on!" said Barbara sharply.
For a moment or two Grace stood still.