Browns and yellows were not wanting on thorn and wild briar; and dusky reds and flame colour were on maple bush and bramble leaf, with more berries, shading from purple to black.
Green asserted its claims, as the glossy holly leaves shone out, draped with lace which the spiders had flung across them to soften their prickly stiffness. Draperies cunningly contrived to catch drops of rain for the sun to shine upon, and turn into liquid diamonds.
As to the ivy! It was everywhere. Creeping slyly in hedge bottoms, twisting fearlessly round bramble and briar, racing up the tallest tree, and waving its flower chaplets high out of reach, as if daring the boldest climber to rob it of its graceful coronets.
From many a bush and tree came the rich bold song of the robin, the little musician putting himself well to the front, and looking round, as he sang, with fearless eyes that seemed to defy the possibility of his having an enemy, human or otherwise. Sights and sounds were alike exhilarating. The clear blue overhead, and the freshness which had followed the heavy rain, were all the more delightful, because a couple of hours before the aspect of the sky had been so hopeless.
The horses seemed to have caught the infection from their surroundings, and stepped out bravely, tossing their arched necks, as though despising the muddy roads and extra dose of water in ruts and hollows.
Kathleen's face had been animated enough when she left home, but something she saw soon after reaching the cross-roads already mentioned brought a cloud to her brow. This was a Mrs. Stapleton, a neighbour of hers, and only a few years older, who was evidently on her way, not merely to witness the meet, but to share in the day's sport. She nodded merrily to Kathleen as she passed, then made a little grimace suggestive of pity for her girl neighbour, who was shut up in a carriage, instead of sharing what she regarded as the real pleasure of the day.
Kathleen could not suppress a sigh of mingled anger and disappointment as the little cortège passed. Mrs. Stapleton's beautiful figure showed to perfection on horseback, and her habit might have grown upon it, so exact was the fit. The horse was worthy of its graceful rider. Beside her rode her little daughter Blanche, a child of seven, and a miniature of her mother. The little creature's face was full of glee, and she evidently knew no fear, but sat her spirited pony as easily as any older rider.
It was plain that Mr. Stapleton was at the meet breakfast, for the groom in attendance led a fine powerful animal, ready saddled for his master's use.
"Even little Blanche can ride her pony to Hollingsby," said Kathleen. "It is horrid that I should see a child like that enjoying a pleasure that I am forbidden. It would be something to ride Polly instead of being imprisoned here on such a morning."
"Oh, my dear, you looked so bright when we started, that I really thought you were going to enjoy the drive," said Mrs. Ellicott, in a rueful tone.