"Well then, we must walk," said the deep despairing voice of the Pirate King.
And walk they did.
That walk was, as Mrs.Cole afterwards said, "a pity," because it destroyed the Le Page tempers when the day was scarcely begun.

Mr.Le Page was, it was quickly descried, not intended for walking.

Strong and fierce though he seemed, heat instantly crumpled him up.

The perfect crease of his white trousers vanished, his collar was no longer spotless, little beads of perspiration appeared almost at once on his forehead, and his black beard dripped moisture.

Mrs.Le Page, with her skirts raised, walked as though she were passing through the Valley of Destruction; every step was a risk and a danger, and the difficulty of holding her skirts and her sunshade at the same time, and of seeing that her shoes were not soiled and her hat not caught by an offending bough gave her face an expression of desperate despair.
There was, unfortunately, one spot very deep down in the lane where the ground was never dry even in the height of the hottest summer.
A little stream ran here across the path, and the ground on either side was soft and sodden.