“And me, I've swallowed one,” answered he of the bracken. “I've swallowed a pollywog. It wriggleth in my tummy. I shall die — Emerson you beast, you've got on my bags.”

“Hush, dears,” said Mrs. Honeychurch, who found it impossible to remain shocked. “And do be sure you dry yourselves thoroughly first. All these colds come of not drying thoroughly.”

“Mother, do come away,” said Lucy. “Oh for goodness' sake, do come.”

“Hullo!” cried George, so that again the ladies stopped.

He regarded himself as dressed. Barefoot, bare-chested, radiant and personable against the shadowy woods, he called:

“Hullo, Miss Honeychurch! Hullo!”