e picked the cherry blossoms that we put on the rabbit's grave."

So they went along the fence towards the little swing gate that is at
the top of these steps. And they were almost at the gate when Bobbie
said:--

"Hush. Stop! What's that?"

"That" was a very odd noise indeed--a soft noise, but quite plainly to
be heard through the sound of the wind in tree branches, and the hum
and whir of the telegraph wires. It was a sort of rustling, whispering
sound. As they listened it stopped, and then it began again.

And this time it did not stop, but it grew louder and more rustling and
rumbling.

"Look"--cried Peter, suddenly--"the tree over there!"

The tree he pointed at was one of those that have rough grey leaves and
white flowers. The berries, when they come, are bright scarlet, but if
you pick them, they disappoint you by turning black before you get them
home. And, as Peter pointed, the tree was moving--not just the way trees
ought to move when the wind blows through them, but all in one piece,
as though it were a live creature and were walking down the side of the
cutting.

"It's moving!" cried Bobbie. "Oh, look! and so are the others. It's like
the woods in Macbeth."

"It's magic," said Phyllis, breathlessly. "I always knew this railway
was enchanted."

It really did seem a little like magic. For all the trees for about
twenty yards of the opposite bank seemed to be slowly walking down
towards the railway line, the tree with the grey leaves bringing up the
rear like some old shepherd driving a flock of green sheep.

"What is it? Oh, what is it?" said Phyllis; "it's much too magic for me.
I don't like it. Let's go home."

But Bobbie and Peter clung fast to the rail and watched breathlessly.
And Phyllis made no movement towards going home by herself.

The trees moved on and on. Some stones and loose earth fell down and
rattled on the railway metals far below.

"It's ALL coming down," Peter tried to say, but he found there was
hardly any voice to say it with. And, indeed, just as he spoke, the
great rock, on the top of which the walking trees were, leaned slowly
forward. The trees, ceasing to walk, stood still and shivered. Leaning
with the rock, they seemed to hesitate a moment, and then rock and trees
and grass and bushes, with a rushing sound, slipped right away from the
face of the cutting and fell on the line with a blundering crash that
could have been heard half a mile off. A cloud of dust rose up