."

"I believe I hear water now," said Rhoda, pausing a moment. "I'm sure I
do: to our left. Listen!"

All stood still, with every sense on the alert, straining their ears
intently for the faintest murmur. In the far distance it seemed to them
that they could certainly catch the unmistakable rush of a stream
flowing swiftly over a rough, stony bed. Guided by the sound, they
stumbled on, till at length, after climbing over a number of rocks,
they reached the welcome brook that was to be their path to home and
safety.

"I'm uncommonly glad to see it!" said Ralph, stooping to take a drink.
"I began to think we should never get back again. If we follow it down,
it will lead us straight into Whitcombe. Of course, that's far enough
out of our way, but we might get a trap there, and drive home."

It was a most terrible scramble down the bed of the stream, over jagged
rocks, among briers and bushes, and through rushes and reeds. The mist
still wrapped them round, and they did not dare to venture away from the
water to find smoother walking. The three visitors, who were not
accustomed to such exploits, were nearly exhausted, while even sturdy
Meta and Rhoda showed signs of giving in.

"We're at the old bridge now," said Ralph, trying to encourage them. "We
can climb up and get on to the road. It's only about three miles farther
to Whitcombe village. We're bound to find a trap of some sort there, and
then you'll be all right."

"I think the mist is lifting a little," said Leonard; "it isn't half as
thick as it was. Look at the sun trying to get through!"

"I believe we're walking straight out of the edge of the clouds. That's
what it is!" declared Ralph. "I begin to see the trees. Hurrah! It's
clearing ever so. We'll scramble up the bank, and we shall get along
much faster on the road than down here on these wretched stones. Cheer
up, girls! You'll soon be in Whitcombe now."

An hour afterwards, very footsore and weary, the party limped into
Whitcombe, a small hamlet consisting of a wayside inn and a handful of
cottages. It was eight o'clock, and the sun, behind long bars of crimson
and grey, had already begun to sink below the horizon. They were nine
miles away from home, as the stream had led them in quite a different
direction from Linforth, and, as Leonard expressed it, they had
"altogether landed themselves in a jolly pickle". Just at present tea
seemed the most pressing necessity, so a council of war was held to se