As she reached the top a little flushed and panting, she became conscious that the upland valley was not without inhabitants.

For, not six paces off, stood a man's figure, his back turned towards her, and his mind apparently set on mending a piece of tackle.
She stood for a moment hesitating.

How could she pass without being seen?
The man was blissfully unconscious of her presence, and as he worked he whistled Schubert's "Wohin," and whistled it very badly.

Then he fell to apostrophizing his tackle, and then he grew irritable.
"Somebody come and keep this thing taut," he cried.

"Tam, Jock! where on earth are you ?" The thing in question was lying at Alice's feet in wavy coils.
"Jock, you fool, where are you ?" cried the man, but he never looked round and went on biting and tying.