Away and away, across the fields, up the steep hill-side, our backs to the sun, our faces—ah, me! that pretty bird led us far astray; and now we were in the copse, on the sloping hill-side. Thus our bird had wiled us on; we heard it sing to us, as in merry laughter, as we wandered here and there seeking it in the shady tangle, but we never found it, nor caught a glimpse of it; we saw it wing its way thither, and that was all. When we emerged upon the open downs again, the sun had set, the cornfields below looked dim and gloomy, as if something were lost, dead, and over the wild waste of downs, shadows were creeping and crawling. And oh, how our little legs ached! We were fain to sit down and rest awhile. What was worse, we had turned and twisted, and gone hither and thither, till we did not know in what direction lay our home. We rose and turned to right and left, east, west, north, and south, but those dark, deepening shadows seemed to be creeping after us, and monsters came crawling and stealing up the hill-side, and went we knew not whither. Then a mist gathered over, not deep and blinding, but just enough to make everything look unreal and terrible to us small, lonely creatures.
"Oh, Jemmy, what is that?" cried I, as a great, dark something loomed near us.
"Oh, I don't know," said he, in a frightened whisper; but he threw his arm about me, his boy-nature strong within him.
Then the wind swept cold and bleak, bringing with it a low growl—at least so it sounded to our poor frightened senses, and we fairly clung to each other.
"That's wolves!" moaned Jemmy, while that great threatening something at our side seemed to fade away, others stealing up and taking its place.
IN THE HARVEST FIELD. "JEMMY'S AND MY ADVENTURE" (p. [102]).
"Wolves don't live in England," said I.
"They did when little William was a boy," returned Jemmy, and I, as I remembered the tragic story of the little woodman and his dog Cæsar, felt that we too, for aught we knew, were to pass through a time of terror, as did he.