“The best part of it is the air, though,” she said.
The air was, in fact, wind; but of a dry, soft, exhilarating kind. It seemed to get into our heads, and we joined hands and ran wildly down the steep hill together.
“What fun!” Eleanor cried, as we paused to gain breath at the bottom. “Now you’ve come there’ll be four of us to run downhill. We shall nearly stretch across the road.”
At last we came to a stone bridge which spanned the river. It was not a very wide stream, and it was so broken with grey boulders, and clumps of rushes and overhanging ferns, that one only caught sight of the water here and there, in tiny torrents and lakes among the weeds.
My delight was boundless. I can neither forget nor describe those first experiences of real country life, when Eleanor and I rambled about together. I think she was at least as happy as I, and from time to time we both wished with all our hearts that “the other girls” could be there too. The least wisely managed of respectable schools has this good point, that it enlarges one’s sympathies and friendships!
We wandered some little way up the Ewden, as Eleanor called the river, and then, coming to a clear, running bit of stream, with a big grey boulder on the bank hard by to leave our shoes and stockings on, we took these off, and also our hats, and, kilting up our petticoats, plunged bravely into the stream.
“Wet your head!” shouted Eleanor; and following her example, as well as I could for laughing, and for the needful efforts to keep my feet, I dabbled my head liberally with water scooped up in the palms of my hands.
“Oh!” I cried, “how strong the water is, and how deliciously cold it is! And oh, look at the little fishes! They’re all round my feet. And oh, Eleanor, call the dogs, they’re knocking me down! How hard the stones are, and oh, how slippery!”
I fell against a convenient boulder, and Eleanor turned back, the dogs raging and splashing around her.
“I hope you’re not treading on the Batrachosperma?” she said, anxiously.