"Oh, I'll follow; I have arranged with a donkey boy to take me."
"Is it possible that he's going to ride?" asked Aunt Caroline.
"I'm sure I don't know. There are times when it's best not to question Marion. Haven't you found that out, Irma?" said Uncle Jim.
"I do not know Marion very well," replied Irma.
"But you ought to be great friends, you are so near of an age, and almost cousins."
The country through which they drove for a quarter of an hour was very pretty, with many trees and shrubs that looked particularly green and fresh after the recent rain, and the hilly roads were far less muddy than they had expected. From one high point they had a delightful view of the village they had just left, circled by hills. On one was a ruined castle, on another the remains of an old monastery where a hermit monk was said to live. Irma felt that now she was indeed in the old world. On two or three hills she noted slender, gray stone towers, and through Aunt Caroline the driver explained that they were used for snaring pigeons.
"From those little openings, like portholes, small white stones are thrown out, which the pigeons mistake for food, and as they swoop down upon it they are snared in nets cleverly contrived for their capture."
"That seems cruel," cried Irma.
"But it would be still more cruel to deprive a lot of hungry people of their pigeon pie," said Uncle Jim.