There were great stones in the river about here, round which the waters gathered and eddied and formed deep pools.

Molly sate down on the grassy bank to wash her feet; but Sylvia, more active (or perhaps lighter-hearted with the notion of the cloak in the distance), placed her basket on a gravelly bit of shore, and, giving a long spring, seated herself on a stone almost in the middle of the stream.

Then she began dipping her little rosy toes in the cool rushing water and whisking them out with childish glee.
'Be quiet, wi' the', Sylvia?
Thou'st splashing me all ower, and my feyther'll noane be so keen o' giving me a new cloak as thine is, seemingly.' Sylvia was quiet, not to say penitent, in a moment.

She drew up her feet instantly; and, as if to take herself out of temptation, she turned away from Molly to that side of her stony seat on which the current ran shallow, and broken by pebbles.

But once disturbed in her play, her thoughts reverted to the great subject of the cloak.
She was now as still as a minute before she had been full of frolic and gambolling life.