CHAPTER 19ON THE SPIT
He climbed up the bank on his hands and knees, for he felt too spent and shaking to walk upright, and as he struggled, he heard the chorus of the frogs begin again, a song that seemed to come out of the very ground before him, spreading out until it seemed to fill the world to the very horizons.
As he reached the top of the bank, he stood up and stretched himself, with a sigh. As he did so, the chime of the town bell floated with a deep boom to his ear.
“Blue!” said the first huge note to him, distinctly. And as the sound died slowly away, it seemed to dissolve into a murmured “Barry Litton! Barry Litton! Blue Barry Litton!”
What time was it? Midnight perhaps? For ages had certainly passed since, at nine o’clock, he turned and saw by the lightless window in the ol
