"Oh, my dear young lady," expostulated Granny Wood (as she was generally called), "I don't like to let you do it. I really don't."
"Oh, we don't mind, do we, Elsa?" said Amethyst, a little grandiloquently. "Just look after our baskets and books till we come back, you girls." This she called out to Monica and Olive, who had retreated to a little distance and were watching the proceedings with amusement and contempt.
"You won't find us here when you get back, you needn't fear," retorted Olive. "It's likely to be a lengthy affair! If you're both determined to go, you'd better take your things with you and meet us at the white gate in West Lane. What is the time now, Monica?"
"Two o'clock," replied the only owner of a watch among the quartette.
"Well, we'll meet you about three o'clock, and mind you are not late."
"All right," called back Amethyst, as the queer little party set off, the old woman supported by Elsa's strong, young arm on one side and her stick in her right hand, while Amethyst carried the handkerchief bundle.
"We shan't wait after half-past three, whatever happens," shouted Monica, "so if you're later than that, go straight to Carson Rise."
"Oh, we shall be there in time," returned Amethyst, and the trio disappeared round a turn in the pathway.
"What a fuss about nothing," said Olive, as the girls returned to their seat by the river, and Monica fastened Hero to the trunk of a tree.
"Yes, perfect twaddle I call it," returned her friend; "but there, if they like to do it, it doesn't matter to us." And she took up the book she had flung down in her hurry, and hunted about for her place. "Babyish sort of story this," she added, as she turned over the pages, "nothing at all exciting in it. How do you like yours, Olive?"