A new sound there certainly was--footsteps, as though some one
came dancing--voices, as though some one sang. Figures were seen in
the distance among the waving world of green; they moved behind the
cataract of falling willow branches; and their distance was as the
distance of a half-remembered dream.
"They're coming," gasped Judy below her breath.
"They're coming back," Tim whispered, the tone muffled, underground.
"Eh?" ejaculated Stumper. "Coming back?" His voice, too, had distance
in it.
Whether they saw it in the reflections on the running water, or
whether the maze of shadow and sunshine in the wooded banks produced
it, no one knew exactly. The figures, at any rate, were plainly
visible, moving along with singing and dancing through the summery
noontide of the brilliant day. No one spoke while they went by, no one
except Maria who at intervals murmured "Yes." There was no other
audible comment or remark. They afterwards agreed that Weeden was seen
clearest, but Thompson and Mrs. Horton were fairly distinct as well,
and bringing up the rear was a figure in blue that could only have
been the Policeman who lived usually upon the high road to London.
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