Then they climbed the hill.
And when they got to the top there was a great wind there, and the sky blown clear, with the sea flashing far away beneath, and white seagulls floating and screaming between them and it.
And Baby was rosy with wind, and her hair splendid in the sun, and little tresses wild about her face, and she bowed and gleamed and yelled,
"I say, Tiny! Isn't it simplee tip-up-top?"
But Tiny only bent, and held her up against the wind into the sun, and looked, and looked.
Then they came down the hill, and home across the moor by the edge of the lake.
And it began to be night. And the wind went down, and the moon rose up. And the moor was black as ink, and the moon white as silver, and the sky shining like a diamond.
And a large great ghost-owl swooped about them on wavy wings, as they tipped along on their toes.
And Baby held Tiny's little finger and whispered,
"Oh, Tiny."