They moved along in a silent procession, pushing their long,
thin necks through the underbrush. John Jay was too terrified to see
that their heads were properly in place, and that they were as harmless
as the flock that fed in Aunt Susan's dooryard.
"They'll get me! They'll get me!" he whimpered, as they came nearer and
nearer, for his feet seemed so heavy that he could not lift them when he
tried to run. Made desperate by his fear, he raised first one pail of
berries and then the other, hurling them at the startled geese with all
the force his wiry little arms could muster.
Instantly their long white wings shot up through the bushes. There was
an angry fluttering and hissing, as half running, half flying, they
waddled faster towards home. John Jay did not look to see what direction
they were taking. He was sure they were after him. He could hear their
long wings flapping just behind him; at least, he thought he could, but
the noise he heard was the snapping of the twigs he trampled in his
headlong flight. No greyhound ever bounded through a wood with lighter
feet than those which carried him.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83