“This is all very well, but where are we?” asked Lady Dorothy, as soon as that was done.
“In a meadow,” answered Jocelyn. “Lucky it’s not a ploughed field.”
“What a night!” groaned the young girl.
For they had been dry and comfortable under the vast shelter of the inflated balloon, but they were now almost instantly soaked through and through by the lashing rain, and the two girls staggered as they stood up and faced the raging gale. Again Jocelyn’s arm was very useful to Miss Anne.
“We must make for shelter at once,” her brother said. “After all, we are in England, and we can’t be very far from civilisation. No one will steal the balloon on a night like this.”
“The old thing looks comfortable enough,” observed Jocelyn. “Rather done, though!”
He and Anne followed her brother and Dorothy, who led the way, linking arms and bending their heads to the storm, while they waded through what felt like a field of wet bathing sponges. Against the dim grey light they could see the trees over which they had lately passed, writhing and twisting in the gale.
“If this is a meadow, it’s a pretty big one,” said Anne.
At that moment Bob uttered an exclamation: he and his companion had struck a narrow path covered with fine white gravel that gleamed in the uncertain light.
“We’re in a park!” cried Trevelyan. “What luck! That means a good-sized house, at all events.”