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订购热线：15811042829 Leo, always on the go, moved quickly.

“Shall we be going?” he said. “Do we WANT to get down to Amberdale for tea? Or shall we try somewher nearer?”

They all voted for Amberdale, for the Marquis of Grantham.

“Well, which way shall we go back? Shall we go by Codnor and over Crossbill, or shall we go by Ashbourne?”

There was the usual dilemma. Then they finally decided on the Codnor top road. Off went the car, gallantly.

They were on the top of the world, now, on the back of the fist. It was naked, too, as the back of your fist, high under heaven, and dull, heavy green. only it was veined with a network of old stone walls, dividing the fields, and broken here and there with ruins of old lead-mines and works. A sparse stone farm bristled with six naked sharp trees. In the distance was a patch of smokey grey stone, a hamlet. In some fields grey, dark sheep fed silently, somberly. But there was not a sound nor a movement. It was the roof of England, stony and arid as any roof. Beyond, below, were the shires.

“‘And see the coloured counties,’” said Yvette to herself. Here anyhow they were not coloured. A stream of rooks trailed out from nowher. They had been walking, pecking, on a naked field that had been manured. The car ran on between the grass and stone walls of the upland lane, and the young people were silent, looking out over the far network of stone fences, under the sky, looking for the curves downward that indicated a dro to one of the underneath, hidden dales.