'Oh, Milly darling!' I exclaimed, 'what a beautiful drawing this would
make! I should so like to make a sketch of it.'
'So it would. _Make_ a picture--_do_!--here's a stone that's pure and flat
to sit upon, and you look very tired. Do make it, and I'll sit by you.'
'Yes, Milly, I _am_ tired, a little, and I _will_ sit down; but we must
wait for another day to make the picture, for we have neither pencil
nor paper. But it is much too pretty to be lost; so let us come again
to-morrow.'
'To-morrow be hanged! you'll do it to-day, bury-me-wick, but you _shall_;
I'm wearying to see you make a picture, and I'll fetch your conundrums out
o' your drawer, for do't you shall.'
CHAPTER XXXIV
_ZAMIEL_
It was all vain my remonstrating. She vowed that by crossing the
stepping-stones close by she could, by a short cut, reach the house, and
return with my pencils and block-book in a quarter of an hour. Away then,
with many a jump and fling, scampered Milly's queer white stockings and
navvy boots across the irregular and precarious stepping-stones, over which
I dared not follow her; so I was fain to return to the stone so 'pure
and flat,' on which I sat, enjoying the grand sylvan solitude, the dark
background and the grey bridge mid-way, so tall and slim, across whose
ruins a sunbeam glimmered, and the gigantic forest trees that slumbered
round, opening here and there in dusky vistas, and breaking in front into
detached and solemn groups.
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