Chris seemed only too glad to rest by the roadside, and was soon munching tufts of grass in a ditch.
"Where do you think we are?" questioned Nan a little anxiously, "I've never been as far as this before."
"In Yorkshire, p'r'aps," said Harebell cheerfully. "We've had a jolly ride, haven't we?"
Nan assented heartily. They were on the high-road, but there were no houses in sight; the trees on either side of them were already bursting into leaf, and in the hedges were sweet-scented clumps of primroses.
"What fun if we were to lose ourselves!" said Harebell.
"I don't see how we could," said Nan in an old-fashioned way. "You see, we must be in a parish, and if we go to the clergyman, he's sure to know father, and would send us home."
"But we've got away from parishes."
"You can't. Dad told us all England is divided up into parishes, and every one belongs to some clergyman."
"How funny!" said Harebell. "And if you have forests and jungles, do they belong to clergymen?"
"We haven't got those kind of wild places."