The woods were lonely, and they were nearing the most lonely part.
"It's only a man," said Ruth, rather sharply.

"I expect it is one of the keepers." (Oh, Ruth!) "Come, Molly, we shall never get home at this rate.

Whip up Balaam, and let us trot down the hill." Much relieved about Balaam's immediate future, Molly incited him to a really noble trot, and did not allow him to relapse even on the flat which followed.

Through the rattling and the jolting, however, Ruth could still hear a stealthy rustle in the fern and under-wood.

The man was following them.
"He's coming after us," whispered Molly, with round frightened eyes, "and Balaam will stop in a minute, I know.