"There's nothing else for it, Di—we shall have to walk," said Wendy blankly.
"Whew! It's a pretty good step."
"Six miles."
"Je-hoshaphat!"
"Well, it's no use waiting for the 'bus. We should never get places."
"Let's take that short cut that Stuart was talking about. She said it saves two miles."
"What a brain wave! It's only a quarter past four. We'd be home long before dark. You can walk four miles an hour, can't you?"
"Ra-ther!"
So they turned across the park, and up the hill to the white farm, and through the fold-yard, and over the field, and along the lane on to the open moor. They felt decidedly pleased with themselves, for it was far nicer here than plodding along the high road. The ground was not so wet as Stuart had prognosticated; indeed the path was quite firm and well trodden, and in parts was even paved with stones. Spot, released from his leash, careered about like a mad creature. Diana could not help dancing a few steps, and Wendy, though she was growing hungry, stopped grousing to admire the view. The sun, a red ball among grey masses of mist, was sinking behind the fells, and a golden glow tipped the brown, withered heather. The whole atmosphere seemed to reflect peace. Overhead, little radiant clouds stretched themselves into the semblance of angels' wings moving lightly across the evening sky. To watch them was like gazing at the portals of a heavenly world.