Before they had gone twenty yards, moving cautiously down from bowlder to bowlder close beside the ice, the air darkened and a fine rain set in.
SHE CLAMBERED UP OVER THE BOWLDERS.
“That will hurry the rest along,” thought Bessie, “for they’re already in the easy part of the path, and they can run.” But she said nothing to distress her escort, who was already troubled enough by the prospect.
“Be careful!” he called suddenly, as he saw Bessie spring over a mimic chasm, and barely miss losing her balance on the further side. “The rain makes these rocks slippery, and”—
He was interrupted by a cry from Bess. She sank down on a bowlder and lifted a white face to him.
“My ankle,” she said. “I’ve turned it, and it hurts—dreadfully!”
“Let me help you, dear.”
He was used to calling his sister that, you know.