"Is this a place?" Jenny asked.
"’Tis Tiddlywits," Trewhella answered. "Or belonged to be rather, for there's nothing left of it now but a few mud walls. A wisht old place, 'tis."
On restarting, they splashed through a stream that flowed across the road.
"Oo-er," cried Jenny, "take care, we're in the water."
Trewhella laughed loudly, and a moorhen waking in sudden panic rose with a shrill cry from a belt of rushes.
"Oo-er, I'm getting frightened," said Jenny. "Put me down. Oh, May, I wish we hadn't come."
Trewhella laughed louder than before. The wish appealed in its futility to his humor.
Now came a slow pull up an equally deep lane, followed at the summit by another stretch of open country very wild. Suddenly the mare swerved violently. Jenny screamed. A long shape leaned over them in menace.
"Ah, look! Oh, no! I want to go back," she cried.
"Steady, you devil," growled Trewhella to the horse. "’Tis nothing, my dear, nothing only an old stone cross."