"Um—yes! That might be awkward. This toadstool shall stay on its native heath, in case it tells tales."
It was rather a fascinating walk, all amongst the gorse-bushes. None of the three had been there before, and instinctively the younger ones left Rona to lead the way. Her bump of locality had been well developed in New Zealand, so she strode on with confidence. But the ground shelved down suddenly, revealing a natural feature upon which they had not counted, a fairly wide brook, running between sandy banks. Here indeed was an obstacle. Winnie and Hattie stared at it with blank faces and groaned.
"We'd forgotten the wretched Llanelwyn stream. What atrocious luck! Don't believe there's the ghost of a bridge anywhere. Shall we have to go back?"
"I'm not going back," declared Rona sturdily. "There must be some way of getting over it some where. Come along and we'll prospect."
"Oh, for the wings of a dove!" sighed Hattie. "Even those of the raggedest sparrow would be welcome."
"Better wish yourself a fish, for you may have to try swimming," grunted Winnie.
"I can't swim—not a stroke! You'll suggest I shall jump it next, I suppose. Look here, we shall have to go back. There's nothing else for it. Rona! Corona Mitchell! Corona Margarita! Cuckoo! Where've you gone to?"
"Coo—ee!" came in reply from the distance, and presently Rona appeared beckoning vigorously.
"We're—going—back," shouted Hattie.
"No, no! Come along here."