These memories, and many like them, were passing and repassing through
Laura's mind as she sat listless and sad on the hillside.

When at last she shook them off, the light was failing over the western
wall of mountains. She had an errand to do for Augustina in the village
that lay half-way to the daffodil wood, and she sprang up, wondering
whether there was still time for it before dark.

As she hurried on towards a stile that lay across the path, she saw a
woman approaching on the further side.

"Polly!"

The figure addressed stood still a moment in astonishment, then ran to
meet the speaker.

"Laura!--well, I'm sure!"

The two girls kissed each other. Laura looked gayly, wistfully, at her
cousin.

"Polly--are you all very cross with me still?"

Polly hesitated and fenced. Laura sighed. But she looked at the stout
red-faced woman with a peculiar flutter of pleasure. The air of the wild
upland--all the primitive, homely facts of the farm, seemed to come
about her again. She had left Bannisdale, choked with feeling, tired with
thought. Polly's broad speech and bouncing ways were welcome as a breeze
in summer.