“Oh, away and away and away, through the forests and fens, through the woods and the wilds, on and on and on.”
“I say,” said Leonard, after a pause, “it would be a good thing to give Don quite a deal of his own way, and if he wants particularly to go along any road, just to let him go.”
“O yes, that will be such fun. I’m so happy, hungry. I feel it coming on now.”
“Well, by-and-bye we’ll dine. Agnes made such a splendid pie; it will last us quite two days.”
At noon they found themselves in a dark pine wood, the bare stems of the trees looking like the pillars supporting the roof of some majestic cavern. Here they stopped and unlimbered, because there was a little stream where Don and the deerhound could drink, besides nice, long, green grass for the donkey.
They had a portion of the pie for dinner, and it was more delicious, they thought, than anything they had ever eaten. So thought Ossian. But of course hunger is sweet sauce.
Then they tied Don to the wheel of the cart, and hand in hand went off to cull wild flowers. They gathered quite a garland, and put this round Don’s neck on their return, then turned him loose again to eat for an hour, while Leonard took a volume from a little book-shelf, and read to Effie a few chapters of a beautiful tale.
But the sun began to decline in the west, so they now put Don to, and off they went once more.
They came to cross roads soon, and as Don evinced a desire to turn to the right, they allowed him to do so.