"Oh, how steep these roads are. At last, at last. Now let's try and find a place where we can sit down. The grass is full of that horrid prickly gorse."
"Here's a nice soft place; there is no gorse here. Now tell me the legend."
"Well, I never!" said Kitty, sitting herself on the spot that had been chosen for her, "you do astonish me. You never heard of the legend of St Cuthman."
"No, do tell it to me."
"Well, I scarcely know how to tell it in ordinary words, for I learnt it in poetry."
"In poetry! In whose poetry?"
"Evy Austen put it into poetry, the eldest of the girls, and they made me recite it at the harvest supper."
"Oh, that's awfully jolly—I never should have thought she was so clever. Evy is the dark-haired one."
"Yes, Evy is awfully clever; but she doesn't talk much about it."
"Do recite it."