IT was a soft Autumn day—and the dying grass looked yellow on the fells. Beyond, and above them, the mountains rose in great wide sweeps, with misty caps hiding the summits. Down in the village street a woman was standing in the doorway of a small house with a little girl.
"Just take her a bit of a run, Harriet," she said to an elder child, who was standing patiently in the roadway, "but don't tire her, like a good little lass—nor yourself neither—you know your way over the low fell, and you'll be back by tea-time. The washing'll be done by then, and I won't say but what you'll find a cake in the oven."
Harriet took the child's hands, with an air of serious responsibility—she might have been seventy instead of seven—her odd little face, with the wide eyes and puckered forehead, belonged to another race from her mother's round freckled comeliness—her large mouth was always serious, but was sweet and calm.
"It's all right, Mother," she said; "you go right in and do the washing, and Sally and me, we'll have a fine time on the fells."
They were half way down the street, when the mother called them back.
"You won't be late, loves—you know I'm a bit of a fidget!"
Harriet nodded vigorously—she was afraid her voice would not carry so far. And so they turned the corner and were out of sight.
Sally skipped along up the gradual slope, shouting with glee, and Harriet sauntered after her, bathed in the Autumn sunlight, pausing every now and then to eat some blackberries, or to gather a spray of crimson and yellow leaves, which looked like gold against the other faded tints. On and on they went, until they were round the hill on the narrow sheep-walk, with rough stones sticking up out of the grass on either side—the sun had gone behind a cloud, and Harriet looked up suddenly and saw that the soft white mist was creeping down the mountain side, and blotting out every jutting peak and shining slope as it came. It grew so dense about them presently that it felt like a fine, soft rain, and a little wind blew it in the children's faces. Harriet looked up and round her, and shivered. "Come, Sally," she said, "it's very thick up the mountain—we'll run down the way we've come—Mother's got a cake in the oven at home."