But here came a whoop from behind.

‘Off, Biddy; look sharp—­one, two, three.’

Poor Biddy—­off she set as fast as she could go, which is not saying much.  She puffed and panted, for she was not without a spirit of her own and did not want to be overtaken too soon.  And for a time Rough’s cries of encouragement, ‘Gee-up, old woman,’ ‘Famous, Biddy,’ ’You’ll win yet,’ and so on, spurred her to fresh exertions.  But not for long; she felt her powers flagging, and as first Alie and then Rough, both apparently as fresh as ever, passed her at full speed, she gave in.

‘It’s no use.  I can’t run races.  I wish you wouldn’t make me,’ she said, as in a minute or two the two others came flying back again to where she stood, a convenient goal for their return race.

‘But you ran splendidly for a bit,’ said Randolph; ’and I’ll tell you what, Biddy, it would be a very good thing for you to run a good deal more than you do.  It’ll make you grow and stop you getting too fat.’

’I’m not fatter than you were when you were as little as me, Roughie.  Nurse says so—­you were a regular roundabout till you had the measles; mamma says so too,’ replied Bridget philosophically.

‘I’m quite hot,’ said Rosalys; ’fancy being hot in January!  But we’d better not stand still or we’ll get a chill.  Isn’t it nice to come out alone?  I’d like to walk to Seacove—­I want to see what it’s like, but of course we mustn’t go so far.  Mamma said we must stay on the shore.’

‘If it was summer we might dig and make sand-castles,’ said Biddy regretfully.  Digging in the sand was an amusement much more to her taste than running races.

‘I think that’s stupid—­it’s such baby play,’ Rosalys replied.  ’But come on, do.  I’m going to climb up to the top of that bank—­that’s the sand-hills papa was speaking about.’

It was more tiring work than she had expected.  Before they got to the top of the bank Alie had decided that they would have done better to remain where they were, on the smooth firm sand down below, but once at the top she changed again.  What fun can be more delightful than playing in sand-hills, jumping from a miniature summit to the valley beneath with no fear of hurting one’s self even if one comes to grief and rolls ignominiously as far as one can go!  How helplessly one wades in the shifting, unstable footing—­tumbling over with a touch, like a house built of cards!  The children’s laughter sounded merrily in the clear cold air; Bridget plunged about like a little porpoise in the water, and Rosalys quite forgot that she had attained the dignity of her teens.

But a bell ringing suddenly some little way off caught their ears.

‘That’s papa ringing,’ said Randolph.  ’He said he’d have the big dinner-bell rung when it was time for me to go in.  I’m going to walk to the town or the village, or whatever it is, with him.  Good-bye, girls.  It’s only three o’clock—­you can stay another half-hour,’ and off he ran.