Ours aren't so bright green, and their eyes aren't red, and they can't _talk_.

Oh no, our frogs are quite different from _theirs_, Cheri," she added with profound conviction.
"Just like our trees and everything else, I suppose," said Hugh.
"Certainly this is a funny country.

But hush, Jeanne! I believe the concert's going to begin." They sat perfectly still to listen, but for a minute or two the sound which had caught Hugh's attention was not repeated.

Everything about them was silent, except that now and then a soft faint breeze seemed to flutter across the water, slightly rippling its surface as it passed.
The strange, even light which had shone over all the scene ever since the children had stepped out at the hillside door had now grown paler: it was not now bright enough to distinguish more than can be seen by an autumn twilight.

The air was fresh and clear, though not the least cold; the drooping forms of the low-hanging branches of the island trees gave the children a melancholy feeling when they glanced in that direction.
"I don't like this very much," said Jeanne.