“I don’t know about being uncommon,” she said; “but assuredly, Betty, nobody could accuse you of being monotonous! Why, you are never in the same mood for three minutes together!”
“But her moods are monotonous,” said Eira. “She’s either up in the skies about nothing at all, or down in the depths about—no, I can’t say that there’s often nothing at all as an excuse for descending in that direction.”
Thus chattering, with the pleasant certainty of mutual understanding, they had walked on for some distance, when a glance at the red autumn sun already nearing the horizon made Frances decide that it was time to turn.
“It’s always extra dull to go back the way we came,” said Betty, “and to-day it’s my fault, for I do want to pick up my beautiful leaves and berries.”
“We must walk quickly, then,” said Frances; “or you’ll scarcely be able to distinguish your nosegay. Dear me! the days are getting depressingly short already.”
“And then they will begin to get long again, and you will be saying how cheering it is,” said Betty. “You are so terribly good, Francie. I quite enjoy when I catch you in the least little ghost of a grumble. It really exhilarates me.” A few minutes’ rapid walking brought them to the steep path again. Then they crossed the road and were soon over a stile and in the copse. None too soon—here under the shade of the trees it was almost dark already, and Betty’s soft plaintive voice was heard in lamentation.
“I don’t believe we shall ever find the bundle,” she said. “Francie, Eira, do help me—can you remember if it was as far on as this, or—”
“Oh, farther, some way farther,” interrupted Eira. “Much nearer the other stile. Don’t you see—”
She started and did not finish her sentence, for at that moment a figure suddenly made its appearance on a side-path joining the rather wider one where the sisters were. And, though it was almost too dark to distinguish the action, a hand was instinctively raised to remove the wearer’s cap, and a voice, recognisable though not familiar, was heard in greeting.