"I shall do my best;"—"but I cannot hope to make it as handsome as the original," she added, after the door closed.
Twilight came and the two cousins were riding in a country lane several miles from the old stone house; they had left the turnpike where they usually rode, and, instead of going at headlong speed, the horses were walking slowly over the grassy path as if the summer evening had influenced their riders with its peaceful quiet.
"I have never been here before," said Bessie; "where does that path lead?"
"To Rocky brook where we used to go a fishing."
"Let us go that way, please. I have not been to Rocky brook for years and years." So the horses were turned, and, after a pleasant ride through the woods, they reached the edge of the ravine; the path, an Indian trail, came to an end, and down below they could hear the rushing sound of the water.
"Oh I must get down, Hugh!" said Bessie eagerly; "I want to go down to the brook."
"It will be hard climbing in that long skirt, Bessie. I will bring you out some other time."
"No, Hugh; I want to go now, this very minute."
"I suppose you must have your way, then," said her cousin, as he lifted her to the ground; "wait until I fasten the horses so that I can help you."
But Bessie had already disappeared, swinging herself from rock to rock by aid of the bushes, as actively as a squirrel; she had reached the bottom of the ravine as Hugh appeared at the top. "Don't go too near the bridge," he shouted; "wait till I come down."