walk to the top of those hills? I wonder what lies on the other side—is it the sea?"
"No, Miss Cathy," I would answer, "it is hills again just like these."
"And what are those golden rocks like, when you stand under them?" she once asked.
The abrupt descent of Penistone Craggs particularly attracted her notice, especially when the setting sun shone on it, and the top-most Heights; and the whole extent of landscape besides lay in shadow.
I explained that they were bare masses of stone, with hardly enough earth in their clefts to nourish a stunted tree.
"And why are they bright so long after it is evening here?" she pursued.
"Because they are a great deal higher up than we are," replied I; "you could not climb them, they are too high and steep. In winter the frost is always there before it comes to us; and, deep into summer, I have found snow under that black hollow on the north-east side!"
