I climbed quieter than a cat, for they break bark and make an awful scratching with their claws sometimes; my bare feet were soundless.

Up and up I went, slowly, for it was dreadfully rough.

They were not on the sofa.

I could see plainly through the needles.

Then I saw the spruce would have been better, for they were standing in front of the parlour door and Peter had one hand on the knob.