She got her hat and cloak, and they set out together for a walk up the mountain; for the road was so hard and steep that the water could not rest upon it, and it was always dry enough for walking a few minutes after the rain ceased.

The clouds were rolling away in broken pieces, like great, overwoolly sheep, whose wool the sun had bleached till it was almost too white for the eyes to bear.

Between them the sky shone with a deeper and purer blue, because of the rain.

The trees on the roadside were hung all over with drops, which sparkled in the sun like jewels.
The only things that were no brighter for the rain were the brooks that ran down the mountain; they had changed from the clearness of crystal to a muddy brown; but what they lost in colour they gained in sound--or at least in noise, for a brook when it is swollen is not so musical as before.

But Irene was in raptures with the great brown streams tumbling down everywhere; and Lootie shared in her delight, for she too had been confined to the house for three days.
At length she observed that the sun was getting low, and said it was time to be going back.