She ran, and returned and ran again, many times before my sober footsteps reached the gate, and then she seated herself on the grassy bank beside the path, and tried to wait patiently; but that was impossible: she couldn’t be still a minute.

“How long they are!” she exclaimed. “Ah, I see, some dust on the road⁠—they are coming! No! When will they be here? May we not go a little way⁠—half a mile, Ellen, only just half a mile? Do say Yes: to that clump of birches at the turn!”