We got on pretty well however. My elder sisters drove about a great deal in a jolly little two-wheeled pony cart, and as I was small and light, I was often favoured with an invitation to accompany them, sitting in the back seat, which was not luxurious.
"It does very well for Thecla," my sisters used to say, "she is so thin. And she's as handy as a boy about jumping out to open the gates."
I didn't mind—I was only too pleased to go, in any way, and rather proud to be called handy.
So I got to know the country pretty well, and I would not have been afraid, by daylight at least, to go a good distance alone.
One day some friends who lived about three miles off, came to luncheon with us. There were two or three grown-up ladies, and a girl just about my age, named Molly. She was my principal friend while we were living there, as she was very nice and we suited each other very well. The older people, both of her family and of mine, drove away in the afternoon to a large garden party some way off, to which we were thought too young to go, or very likely there was not room for us in the carriages. But we were very happy to stay behind. We were to have tea together, and then it was arranged that I was to take Molly half-way home.
"Be sure you are not later in starting than half-past five," said my mother, "so that you can be back before it begins to get dark," for it was already September.
And Molly's mother repeated the warning, only adding, "I am not the least anxious about Molly—she knows the way so well. But it might be puzzling for Thecla, as our lanes are really a labyrinth after dark."
"Oh I am sure I couldn't get lost between here and Three Corners," I said, laughing. "Three Corner Court" was the quaint name of Molly's home.
Well—we found the afternoon only too short—we enjoyed our nice tea very much, and felt rather reluctant to set off as soon as it was over.