“I will race you there—quick—is anybody looking?”
The imp hesitated, glowed a little, then put himself in position.
“One, two, three—off!”
They ran across the grove, out of it by a green opening, and so on to the slope of sward bending to the backwater visible from the ford. Isabella, flushed and dishevelled, was first by a yard or two.
“O!” she cried; “the love! Bissy, I must have it; Bissy, I must.”
Gravity shook its head judicial.
“There’s no way but to wade; and through the mud.”
“Wade, then.”
“I am too little; and I have no love for the water, Madonna.”
“Then I shall go myself; and you shall look on.”