"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 gray 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 Bobby 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 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
