up the hill, twisting in and out between vines and overhanging trees
till it lost itself in a flower-garden, which made such a splash of
rosy pink and flaming scarlet that Mollie thought it might have been
spilt out of a sunset.

By the roadside at her feet sat Grizzel, red curls still bobbing
round her head, and apparently the very same blue overall still
clothing her slim little body. She was moulding a lump of wet clay,
shaping it into a bowl, pinching here, smoothing there, patting and
pressing with both little grubby hands. On a strip of grass before
her stood a long row of golden balls, glittering in the sunshine as
if they had newly left a jeweller's shop.

Prudence stood beside Mollie, rolling a clay ball round and round in
her hands; and Mollie discovered presently that she herself was also
rolling a lump of sticky stiff mud into some sort of shape, she was
not sure what, but it seemed very important that it should be
exactly right.

As she watched the other two children, she saw Grizzel rise to her
feet and run a few steps along the road to where, on the upper
slope, a wedge had been sliced out of the hill, leaving a three-
cornered open space which glittered curiously. This apparently was
where the golden balls came from, for Grizzel stooped down, and
lifting a handful of shining sand let it filter evenly through her
fingers over her bowl. She then set the bowl on the ground, and
lightly rubbed the gold sand into its surface. She repeated this
process three times, then straightened herself, rubbed her gritty
hands on her overall, shook the curls out of her eyes, and said: