Maulevrier had shirked the expedition, had always put off Mary and Mr.
Hammond when they proposed it. The season was not advanced enough--the
rugged pathway by the Tongue Ghyll would be as slippery as glass--no
pony could get up there in such weather.

'We have not had any frost to speak of for the last fortnight,' pleaded
Mary, who was particularly anxious to do the honours of Helvellyn, as
the real lion of the neighbourhood.

'What a simpleton you are, Molly!' cried Maulevrier. 'Do you suppose
because there is no frost in your grandmother's garden--and if you were
to ask Staples about his peaches he would tell you a very different
story--that there's a tropical atmosphere on Dolly Waggon Pike? Why, I'd
wager the ice on Grisdale Tarn is thick enough for skating. Helvellyn
won't run away, child. You and Hammond can dance the Highland
Schottische on Striding Edge in June, if you like.'

'Mr. Hammond won't be here in June,' said Mary.

'Who knows?--the train service is pretty fair between London and
Windermere. Hammond and I would think nothing of putting ourselves in
the mail on a Friday night, and coming down to spend Saturday and Sunday
with you--if you are good.'

There came a sunny morning soon after Easter which seemed mild enough
for June; and when Hammond suggested that this was the very day for
Helvellyn, Maulevrier had not a word to say against the truth of that
proposition. The weather had been exceptionally warm for the last week,
and they had played tennis and sat in the garden just as if it had been
actually summer. Patches of snow might still linger on the crests of the