did the door of the run very softly, after which she became extremely active, resumed her package, got over the hedge at the bottom of the garden, crossed the rank meadows (in order to avoid the wasps' nest) and toiled up the winding path towards Cheasing Eyebright.
She panted up the hill; and as she went she paused ever and again to rest her bundle and get her breath and stare back at the little cottage beside the pine wood below. And when at last as she was nearing the crest of the hill she saw afar off three several wasps dropping heavily westward, it helped her greatly on her way.
She soon got out of the open and into the high banked lane beyond (which seemed a safer place to her) and so up by Hickleybrow Coombe to the downs. There at the foot of the downs where a big tree gave an air of shelter she rested for a space on a stile.
Then on again very resolutely. . . .
You figure her, I hope, with her white bundle, a sort of erect black ant, hurrying along the little white path-thread athwart the downland slopes under the hot sun of the summer afternoon. On she struggled after her resolute indefatigable nose, and the poppies in her bonnet quivered perpetually and her spring side boots grew whiter and whiter with the downland dust. Flip, flap, flip, flap went her footfalls through the still heat of the day, and persistently, incurably, her umbrella sought to slip from under the elbow that retained it. The mouth wrinkle under her nose was pursed to an extreme resolution, and ever and again she told her umbrella to come up or gave her
43
