But Allison shook her head.
“We got no leave to go and see anybody. And if we take the street we’ll hae twa or three idle folk glowerin’ an’ speerin’ this and that at us. I like the bonny quiet lane best.”
Marjorie’s shrill laugh rang out at that.
“Are ye feared at the folk, Allie? They ay mean it for kindness. But I like the lane, too. And maybe my mother will let us come and see Mrs Beaton next time.”
The end of Mrs Beaton’s house skirted the green, and so did the narrow strip of garden which was behind it. The road home was as short the one way as the other. If they crossed the green toward the right it took them to the street, and if they turned the other way they took the path behind the gardens, or rather the kail-yards of the houses on the street. Before they entered this path they turned to take a last look of the long, snowy slope of the hills with the sunshine on them.
“The snow is pleasanter just to look at than to wade about in,” said Allison.
“But, Allison, that is because ye dinna ken. O! I would like weel to wade about in it, as the other bairns do.”
“O! I ken fine what it is like. I have been in far deeper snaw whiles, following the sheep—”
“Have ye, Allie? But ye dinna ken what it would be like never to have put your foot in the snaw all your life. Think of that, Allie. But never mind. Tell me about following the sheep through the drifts.”
But the shadow, which the child had learned to know, had fallen on Allison’s face, and she answered nothing.