The clouds were rolling away in broken pieces,
like great, overwoolly sheep, whose wool the sun had bleached till
it was almost too white for the eyes to bear. Between them the sky
shone with a deeper and purer blue, because of the rain. The trees
on the roadside were hung all over with drops, which sparkled in
the sun like jewels. The only things that were no brighter for the
rain were the brooks that ran down the mountain; they had changed
from the clearness of crystal to a muddy brown; but what they lost
in colour they gained in sound - or at least in noise, for a brook
when it is swollen is not so musical as before. But Irene was in
raptures with the great brown streams tumbling down everywhere; and
Lootie shared in her delight, for she too had been confined to the
house for three days.
At length she observed that the sun was getting low, and said it
was time to be going back. She made the remark again and again,
but, every time, the princess begged her to go on just a little
farther and a little farther; reminding her that it was much easier
to go downhill, and saying that when they did turn they would be at
home in a moment.
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