"Two feet, not four. It's _not_ a badger
or a rabbit." He went on with sudden conviction--"and it's coming
nearer." There was disappointment and alarm in him. "Though it might
be a badger, p'r'aps," he added hopefully.
"But I hear singing," cried Judy breathlessly, "nothing but singing.
It's a bird." Her face was radiant. "It _is_ a long way off, though,"
she mentioned.
They put their shells down then, and listened without them. They
glanced from one another to the sky, all four heads cocked sideways.
And they heard the sound distinctly, somewhere in the air about them.
It had changed a little. It was louder. It _was_ coming nearer.
"Metallic," repeated Uncle Felix, with an ominous inflection.
"Machinery," growled Stumper, a fury rising in his throat.
"Clicking," agreed Tim. He looked uneasy.
"I only hear a bird," Judy whispered. "But it comes and goes--rather."
And then the Tramp, still lying beside his little fire of burning
sticks, put in a word.
"It's _we_ who are going," he said in his singing voice. "We're moving
on again."
They heard him well enough, but they did not understand quite what he
meant, and his voice died into the distance oddly, far away already,
almost on the other side of the fence.
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