Sally came reluctantly, with her hands full of treasures—"Mayn't we go round the other way," she said; "Mother said so."
Again Harriet looked up. The mist was closer now, pursuing them; out of it patches of grey stone shone like gold, telling that the sun was still behind the mist, but round their feet everything was white and shapeless. They started running, but in a few minutes they had to go more slowly, stumbling over crags and stones—leaving the path and creeping back to it again by devious ways. Denser and denser grew the mist, and very dark, but still they hurried on breathlessly.
"We must be nearly home now," said Harriet.
"Nearly home," echoed Sally, "I'se very tired."
Harriet paused abruptly, and knelt down.
"Get on my back, Sally," she said, "your poor little legs are not as long as mine. We'll be home in no time."
She struggled to her feet again and crept slowly on, with the heavy child clinging to her neck. Once or twice, a sort of wild fear took possession of her, and she stopped and called, but her shrill little voice did not carry far, and the thick fog isolated them. On and on she struggled wearily, with the white mist on her hair and eyelashes, panting and distressed, until at last she could go no further. She knew that it was evening, because the mist was no longer white but heavy grey, and when Sally rolled on to the ground, she lay where she had fallen, half asleep, with her cold little legs tucked under her.
"It's no use," said Harriet, "I've lost the way. It's hours and hours since we began to walk, and there isn't a sound. We'll just have to wait a bit till the fog lifts."
She took off her scanty petticoat and slipped it over Sally's legs, and wrapped her tightly up—then she sat down on the path, with her back against a stone, and took the whimpering child on to her knee, holding her close, so that the damp wind should not strike her. By and bye she sang a sort of crooning song, rocking the child in her tired frozen arms, until she fell asleep, and lay quite still. Perhaps she slept too—she was never quite certain, but suddenly it seemed quite light, and there was a red harvest moon lighting up the heavens, and myriads of stars sparkling on the mountain top like a crown. She was sitting right on the path, just where they had been when the mist came down—here was the blackberry bush—there the jutting rock—they must have wandered all round the mountain and come back again to the starting-point.