It was growing late, and the branches above him, partially stripped
of their leaves, rustled in the wind. Fletcher was somewhat nervous,
and the weird character of the poem probably increased this feeling,
and made him very uncomfortable. He summoned up courage enough,
however, to go on, though his voice shook a little. He was permitted
to go on without interruption to the end. Those who are familiar
with the poem, know that it becomes more and more wild and weird as
it draws to the conclusion. This, with his gloomy surroundings, had
its effect upon the mind of Fletcher. Scarcely had he uttered the
last words, when a burst of wild and sepulchral laughter was heard
within a few feet of him. A cry of fear proceeded from Fletcher,
and, clutching his book, he ran at wild speed from the enchanted
spot, not daring to look behind him. Indeed, he never stopped
running till he passed out of the shadow of the woods, and was well
on his way homeward.
Tom Carver and Hiram crept out from their place of concealment. They
threw themselves on the ground, and roared with laughter.
"I never had such fun in my life," said Tom.
"Nor I."
"I wonder what Fitz thought."
"That the wood was enchanted, probably; he left in a hurry."
"Yes; he stood not on the order of his going, but went at once."
"I wish I could have seen him. We must have made a fearful noise.
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