“Here,” said Anthea, “this is for you. That is to show we will not hurt you. And if you take it I shall know that you won’t hurt us.”
The girl held out her hand. Anthea slid the bangle over it, and the girl’s face lighted up with the joy of possession.
“Come,” she said, looking lovingly at the bangle; “it is peace between your house and mine.”
She picked up her fish and pitcher and led the way up the narrow path by which she had come and the others followed.
“This is something like!” said Cyril, trying to be brave.
“Yes!” said Robert, also assuming a boldness he was far from feeling, “this really and truly is an adventure! Its being in the Past makes it quite different from the Phœnix and Carpet happenings.”
The belt of thick-growing acacia trees and shrubs—mostly prickly and unpleasant-looking—seemed about half a mile across. The path was narrow and the wood dark. At last, ahead, daylight shone through the boughs and leaves.
The whole party suddenly came out of the wood’s shadow into the glare of the sunlight that shone on a great stretch of yellow sand, dotted with heaps of grey rocks where spiky cactus plants showed gaudy crimson and pink flowers among their shabby, sand-peppered leaves. Away to the right was something that looked like a grey-brown hedge, and from beyond it blue smoke went up to the bluer sky. And over all the sun shone till you could hardly bear your clothes.
“That is where I live,” said the girl pointing.
“I won’t go,” whispered Jane into the basket, “unless you say it’s all right.”