Their approach was so rapid that it was like some kind of conjuring trick. Nearer and nearer they came, racing along the other side of the valley. Thrilled, amazed, motionless, everything else forgotten, Amy watched them. They were people! They were real!—alive!—two men! They were on skis!
Exactly opposite to her, at the place where the turning she took every day from school dropped down from the high track to cross the stream, they stopped. She thought that to them she must seem like a flag on the skyline in her scarlet trousers and scarlet scarf, and she waved. They were certainly looking towards her. Neither waved back. One of them pointed, but that was at the cottage. Perhaps they were going to come across? She waited hopefully. But instead, after a few more moments of what might have been consultation or argument, they shuffled their skis round, thrust their sticks into the ground, glided on, and were gone.
Amy was curiously disappointed that neither of them had answered her wave. They must have seen her. She had waved and they had not—as though they had disapproved of her waving. Probably they were just too busy talking, that was all. But her pleasure at an apparition, otherwise so marvellous and strange, was a little damaged.
She decided that this was going to be her last load of hay for today. It was hard work and she was tired. By the time she had ridden down to the cottage, though, her tiredness had lessened and her spirits revived. After all, what news it was! Conscious that she did have something quite out of the ordinary to tell, Amy burst into the front-kitchen.
“Granny—did you see those people? They were on skis—that’s what they do in Switzerland. Imagine—in our valley!”
Mrs Bowen had seen nothing, and so Amy described the spectacle for her.
“They must have come from right over the other side, from Pengarth. How far would that be—five miles?”
“More like eight,” said Mrs Bowen, marvelling with her. “So it’s visitors in winter now, is it?—we’ve only had picnickers before, summer folk. That’s what the millionaires do, Amy—winter sports they call it, don’t they? Fancy though— here! ”
“I wish they’d come across the stream for a cup of tea,” said Amy. “I waved at them and they were in two minds about it—I could tell, the way they stood there.”
“I daresay they were wanting to know how much further they had to go before they came on a road. That’s a longish way to have travelled with no sign of human habitation. Still, it won’t take them many minutes to get down to Melin-y-Groes on those contraptions, I don’t suppose. Most likely they’re there by now. Maybe we ought to learn to use those things, Amy. They’d be handy for us in winter time.”
Mrs Bowen was cheerful but Amy felt an unexpected twinge of envy that strangers should be able to reach the village so easily when they themselves were cut off from its lights and faces and voices.
“Oh, I do wish they’d called in,” she said, with a deep sigh. “We could have told them about last night, Granny, and asked them to keep a look-out for that man. We could have sent a message to Mr Pugh and then he’d have caught him, and then I’d have got my blankets back.”
“Why Amy,” said Mrs Bowen, “it was only chance you glimpsed them at all. We’re no worse off than we were before. I think you’d better stop in now, and I’ll make the tea. You’ve been out on that hill for long enough. The sun’s gone—and there’s not a speck of snow melted for all the shining it’s done today. That just shows how cold it is. I’ve fed the chickens, Amy, but I left it for you to shut them in, by and by.”
“I’ll do it now, while I’ve still got my coat on,” said Amy. “That’s six bales I fetched down this afternoon, and tomorrow I mean to fetch down the rest of them. Mick—you stay in with Granny. I shan’t be long gone.”
The chickens were already inside their hut; Amy had
Exactly opposite to her, at the place where the turning she took every day from school dropped down from the high track to cross the stream, they stopped. She thought that to them she must seem like a flag on the skyline in her scarlet trousers and scarlet scarf, and she waved. They were certainly looking towards her. Neither waved back. One of them pointed, but that was at the cottage. Perhaps they were going to come across? She waited hopefully. But instead, after a few more moments of what might have been consultation or argument, they shuffled their skis round, thrust their sticks into the ground, glided on, and were gone.
Amy was curiously disappointed that neither of them had answered her wave. They must have seen her. She had waved and they had not—as though they had disapproved of her waving. Probably they were just too busy talking, that was all. But her pleasure at an apparition, otherwise so marvellous and strange, was a little damaged.
She decided that this was going to be her last load of hay for today. It was hard work and she was tired. By the time she had ridden down to the cottage, though, her tiredness had lessened and her spirits revived. After all, what news it was! Conscious that she did have something quite out of the ordinary to tell, Amy burst into the front-kitchen.
“Granny—did you see those people? They were on skis—that’s what they do in Switzerland. Imagine—in our valley!”
Mrs Bowen had seen nothing, and so Amy described the spectacle for her.
“They must have come from right over the other side, from Pengarth. How far would that be—five miles?”
“More like eight,” said Mrs Bowen, marvelling with her. “So it’s visitors in winter now, is it?—we’ve only had picnickers before, summer folk. That’s what the millionaires do, Amy—winter sports they call it, don’t they? Fancy though— here! ”
“I wish they’d come across the stream for a cup of tea,” said Amy. “I waved at them and they were in two minds about it—I could tell, the way they stood there.”
“I daresay they were wanting to know how much further they had to go before they came on a road. That’s a longish way to have travelled with no sign of human habitation. Still, it won’t take them many minutes to get down to Melin-y-Groes on those contraptions, I don’t suppose. Most likely they’re there by now. Maybe we ought to learn to use those things, Amy. They’d be handy for us in winter time.”
Mrs Bowen was cheerful but Amy felt an unexpected twinge of envy that strangers should be able to reach the village so easily when they themselves were cut off from its lights and faces and voices.
“Oh, I do wish they’d called in,” she said, with a deep sigh. “We could have told them about last night, Granny, and asked them to keep a look-out for that man. We could have sent a message to Mr Pugh and then he’d have caught him, and then I’d have got my blankets back.”
“Why Amy,” said Mrs Bowen, “it was only chance you glimpsed them at all. We’re no worse off than we were before. I think you’d better stop in now, and I’ll make the tea. You’ve been out on that hill for long enough. The sun’s gone—and there’s not a speck of snow melted for all the shining it’s done today. That just shows how cold it is. I’ve fed the chickens, Amy, but I left it for you to shut them in, by and by.”
“I’ll do it now, while I’ve still got my coat on,” said Amy. “That’s six bales I fetched down this afternoon, and tomorrow I mean to fetch down the rest of them. Mick—you stay in with Granny. I shan’t be long gone.”
The chickens were already inside their hut; Amy had
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