It was very still.

The birds were in their nests, their singing done.

From far away in some distant swamp came the monotonous, mournful chant of the frogs--a dreary sound enough, heard in a safe and warm and lighted home; unspeakably ugly if one is lost in a desolate forest.
Now and then a startled squirrel dropped from bough to bough; or there was the stealthy, sickening rustle of an unseen snake among the fallen leaves.

From somewhere, too, where precipices that they could not find dashed downwards into damp gullies, cold, clinging mists were rising.
"To stay here all night!" sobbed Joy, "Oh Gypsy, Gypsy!" Gypsy was a brave, sensible girl, and after that first moment of horror when she stood looking up at the trees, her courage and her wits came back to her.
"I don't believe we shall have to stay here all night," speaking in a decided, womanly way, a little of the way her mother had in a difficulty.
"They are all over the mountain hunting for us now.

They'll find us before long, I know.