still a long time and listening. That was what I called it--"listening."
I was listening to hear if the life on the moor made any sound I could
understand. I felt as if it might, if I were very still and listened
long enough.

Angus and Jean and I were not afraid of rain and mist and change of
weather. If we had been we could have had little outdoor life. We always
carried plaids enough to keep us warm and dry. So on this day I speak
of we did not turn back when we found ourselves in the midst of a sudden
mist. We sat down in a sheltered place and waited, knowing it would lift
in time. The sun had been shining when we set out.

Angus and Jean were content to sit and guard me while I amused myself.
They knew I would keep near them and run into no danger. I was not an
adventurous child. I was, in fact, in a more than usually quiet mood
that morning. The quiet had come upon me when the mist had begun to
creep about and inclose us. I liked it. I liked the sense of being shut
in by the soft whiteness I had so often watched from my nursery window
in the castle.

"People might be walking about," I said to Angus when he lifted me from
Sheltie's back.

"We couldn't see them. They might be walking."

"Nothing that would hurt ye, bairnie," he answered.

"No, they wouldn't hurt me," I said. I had never been afraid that
anything on the moor would hurt me.