"I think she will be glad," Mary said.
But when I begged still to go, Mary did not say no. She told me I might if I was up to it; and after a good tea I felt strong. Mary seemed pretty sure mother wouldn't come back while we were away. The same thing had happened before when mother was excited about something; and no doubt the thought of my returning had excited her.
So as soon as we had finished our tea, we started, I keeping close to Mary's side, with a sort of protected feeling which I have always had with her. I think I had it even when she was ill and I was well. For there's no doubt Mary's was the stronger and firmer nature of the two. If I had been brought up by another sort of mother than mine, one who allowed self-indulgence, I should have been turned out a very useless creature.
Mary didn't take me round by Durdham Down, as it was late, but through Redland and Clifton streets, till we got to a part of Clifton Down where it was too dark to see much; only there was grass and trees.
"Tired, Kitty?" says she.
"No," I answered. "Shall we find mother soon?"
"Yes, I hope so," said she. "We're almost close to where Clifton Down joins Durdham Down."
"And Durdham Down is where mother goes most," I said.
"Yes; and always to the loneliest parts," said she. "Your mother is a lover of the country, you know."
We had been going along a level road or path a little way, where an avenue of trees grew; but soon we left the trees, turning into a white road, which rose up, with grass downs and scattered bushes on both sides. Mary said that was Durdham Down. Then she stepped up on the grass to the left, and led away over it, among the bushes, on broken ground. I could not see where I went, and I stumbled and clung to her arm, but she seemed to know every step.