"But this isn't a view like they take you to in carriages when you're at the seaside, all sea and sand and bare hills. It's like the 'coloured counties' in one of Mother's poetry books."
"It's not so dusty," said Peter; "look at the Aqueduct straddling slap across the valley like a giant centipede, and then the towns sticking their church spires up out of the trees like pens out of an inkstand. I think it's more like
"I love it," said Bobbie; "it's worth the climb."
"The paper chase is worth the climb," said Phyllis, "if we don't lose it. Let's get on. It's all down hill now."
"I said that ten minutes ago," said Peter.
"Well, I've said it now," said Phyllis; "come on."
"Loads of time," said Peter. And there was. For when they had got down to a level with the top of the tunnel's mouth,—they were a couple of hundred yards out of their reckoning and had to creep along the face of the hill,—there was no sign of the hare or the hounds.
"They've gone long ago, of course," said Phyllis, as they leaned on the brick parapet above the tunnel.
