Dorothy easily obtained Mrs. Longton's consent, so she and the three young Helms took packets of lunch and started to walk over the fells to Lingham, a distance of about four miles. The weather was still cold, and the crests of some of the highest hills were tipped with snow. The keen, bracing air felt like a tonic. The four strode along briskly over the short moorland grass, admiring the rugged gorge whence the river flowed first between two sheer walls of limestone, and then through a chasm that seemed to have been made by the rending asunder of a mountain of rock.
"It's a primeval kind of place," said Gabrielle. "One can understand what a terrible upheaval there must have been to split the cliffs and twist all the strata out of shape. What enormous force it must have needed! One wonders if any human beings were there when it happened."
"If there were, they wouldn't be there long," said Percy. "The smallest of those rocks would be enough to crush an army."
"It's a pity Alison isn't here," remarked Dorothy. "She's rather keen on geology, and one gets a much better general view of the gorge from here than from the Hydro."
"Yes, I'm sorry she wasn't allowed to come," replied Gabrielle. "I think Mrs. Clarke is fearfully nervous. I'm glad Mother doesn't fuss over me to such an extent. Still, it has another side to it—it must be rather nice to be a treasured only child!"
"Then you should have been born in a different family; you made a bad choice in ours," said Eric.
"How many of you are there altogether?" asked Dorothy.
"Seven; we've left the little ones behind."
"Only Norma goes to the Coll."
"Yes; the other three are nursery children. You don't know what it is to be eldest daughter. Be thankful you haven't three small nuisances at home."