"
Considerably squashed, Ingred had for once to acknowledge her botany to
be at fault, and, though Bess did not triumph, Francie gave Kitty a poke
and the pair giggled.
"Well, of course, one can't be always right," said Ingred airily.
"So it seems; though some people set themselves up for wiseacres!"
sniggered Kitty.
Ingred fell behind with Verity and let the others walk on. It was only a
trifling incident, but she was annoyed to notice how openly and
instantly the girls had sided with Bess. She felt too glum for speech,
and as Verity was tired and disinclined to talk, they tramped along in
silence.
They had been winding steadily uphill for some miles and were now on the
heath from which Ryton took its name. The ground fell steeply to the
west, showing glimpses of a great river in the valley below, where the
still-leafless woods had burst here and there into faint tokens of
spring. Beyond the river rose the characteristic grey hills of the
neighborhood, with their stone walls and sheepfolds and stretches of
moorland, looking a little hazy in the afternoon light, but with patches
of yellow gorse catching the sunshine. Ryton was a delightful little
village. Its cottages, built long ago by local craftsmen, seemed
absolutely in harmony with the landscape: walls, dormers, and mullions
and long undulating roofs were all of limestone and conveyed an
impression of sturdy self-respect.
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