“I know you think I’m an awful baby.” Betty tried her best to make her voice sound cheerful, but her attempt was not a brilliant success. “But I’m just not brave, that’s all,” she went on, “and I do feel perfectly terrible.”
“I know. You’re not used to this kind of an outing, and I am, more or less. But I can see how it would upset you. Here’s a stone fence. Give me your hand, I’ll help you over. Fine! Now save your breath for the hill. We’ve got a stiff climb ahead of us.”
For the next fifteen or twenty minutes they fought their way up the steep slope through a veritable jungle of thickets and rock. In spite of frequent rests on the boulders that dotted the hillside, both girls were exhausted by the time they came to another delapidated stone wall that acted as a low barrier between the brush and an over-grown apple orchard. Through the gnarled trunks, they could dimly see the shape of the house whence came the light.
Dorothy sat down on top of the wall, and pulled Betty to a place beside her. Then she switched off her flash.
“Some drag, that!” Her breath came in labored gasps.
Betty was too weary to make any reply. For a time they sat, silently. Then Dorothy slid painfully off the wall into the orchard.
“You stay here, Betty. I’m going over to the house and reconnoiter.”
“Say! You don’t go without me!” Betty sprang down with sudden determination.
“Then walk carefully and don’t make any noise.”
A tone of startled surprise came into Betty’s voice.