ing and joined the file that was
winding, Indian fashion, up the path through the wood. Over a high,
ladder-like stile they climbed, then dropped down into the gorge to
where a small wooden bridge spanned the stream. They loved to stand here
looking at the brown rushing water that swirled below. The thick trees
made a green parlour, and the continual moisture had carpeted the woods
with beautiful verdant moss which grew in close sheets over the rocks.
Up again, by an even steeper and craggier track, they climbed the
farther bank of the gorge, and came out at last on to the broad
hill-side that overlooked the Craigwen Valley.

Here was scope for a leader; the track was so overgrown as to be almost
indistinguishable, and ran across boggy land, where it was only too easy
to plunge over one's boot-tops in oozy peat. Miss Moseley found the way
like a pioneer; she had often been there before and remembered just what
places were treacherous and just where it was possible to use a swinging
bough for a help. By following in her footsteps the party got safely
over without serious wettings, and sat down to take breath for a few
minutes on some smooth, glacier-ground rocks that topped the ridge they
had been scaling. They were now at some height above the valley, and the
prospect was magnificent. For at least ten miles they could trace the
windings of the river, and taller and more distant mountain peaks had
come into view.

"Some people say that Craigwen Valley's very like the Rhine,"
volunteered Ulyth. "It hasn't any castles, of course, except at
Llangarmon, but the scenery's just as lovely."

"Nice to think it's British then," rejoiced Merle. "Wales can hold its
own in the way of mountains and lakes. People have no need to go abroad
for them. What's New Zealand like, Rona?"

"We've ripping rivers there," replied the Cuckoo, "bigger than this by
lots, and with tree-ferns up in the bush. This isn't bad, though, as far
as it goes. What's that place over across on the opposite hill?"

"Where the light's shining? Oh, that's Llanfairgwyn! There's a village
and a church. We've only been once. It's rather a long way, because you
have to cross the ferry at Glanafon before you can get to the other side
of the river."

"And what's that big white house in the trees, with the flag?"

"That's Plas Cafn. It's _the_ place in the neighbourhood, you know,"
said Stephanie, fondly fingering her necklace.

"I don't know. How should I?"

"