As he distinguished the walls of it a shiver of passion ran through the young body.

Then he struck off straight across the moors towards Glossop.
One moment he stood on the top of Mardale Moor.

On one side of him was the Kinder valley, Needham Farm still showing among its trees; the white cataract of the Downfall cleaving the dark wall of the Scout, and calling to the runaway in that voice of storm he knew so well; the Mermaid's Pool gleaming like an eye in the moorland.

On the other side were hollow after hollow, town beyond town, each with its cap of morning smoke.

There was New Mills, there was Stockport, there in the far distance was Manchester.
The boy stood a moment poised between the two worlds, his ash-stick in his hand, the old coat wound round his arm.