Five minutes later, with hats and jackets on, they joined the other pupils out of doors. To Dorothy it seemed the beautiful grounds were alive with all sorts and conditions of girls, pacing rapidly up and down, “sprinting” to warm themselves against the chill of the coming evening, playing tennis for the brief half-hour, or racing one another from point to point. There were girls so many and so various, from Seventh Form young ladies to the wee little Minims, that Dolly wondered if she would ever know them all or feel herself a member of the great company.
But Winifred gave her little time to gaze about her.
“Oh! don’t bother with them now. Our way is that lower gate, and it’s a good bit of a distance, I hope you’re a good walker.”
“Pretty good, I reckon,” answered Dolly falling into step with the taller girl and hurrying forward at even a swifter pace.
“But, begging your pardon, that’s no way. We Canadians learn pedestrianism—whew! what a long word!—just as we learn our letters. Begin very slowly at first. Then when your muscles are limbered, walk faster—and faster—and faster! Till it seems as if your legs swing up and down of their own accord, just like machines. It’s wonderful then how little you tire and how far you can go. Slack up a bit and I’ll show you.”
Absorbed in this new lesson Dorothy scarcely noticed when they left Oak Knowe limits and struck out along a country lane, with hedgerows at either side; nor when having climbed a stile they set out across a plowed field, till her feet grew heavy with the soil they gathered.
“Oh! dear! What mud! Why do you walk in it, Winifred?”
“It’s the shortest road. Here’s a stone. Stop a bit and scrape it off—as I do. See?” answered the other, calmly illustrating her advice.
“But I don’t like it. My shoes will be ruined!” wailed Dolly who was always finical about “dirt.”