The tin box and its contents rattled under David's arm as he leapt and straddled across the bogs, choosing always the widest jump and the stiffest bit of climb, out of sheer wantonness of life and energy.

Louie's thin figure, in its skimp cotton dress and red crossover, her long legs in their blue worsted stockings, seemed to fly over the moor, winged, as it were, by an ecstasy of freedom.

If one could but be in two places at once--on the Scout--and peeping from some safe corner at Aunt Hannah's wrath! Presently they came to the shoulder whereon--gleaming under the level light--lay the Mermaid's Pool.

David had sufficiently verified the fact that the tarn did indeed bear this name in the modern guide-book parlance of the district.

Young men and women, out on a holiday from the big towns near, and carrying little red or green 'guides,' spoke of the 'Mermaid's Pool' with the accent of romantic interest.