But I was not prepared for the fact that it felt like a bit of jelly, and it slipped through my fingers before I had time to examine the beauty of the jointed branches pointed out by Eleanor, and in a moment more it was hopelessly lost.

We put what we had got into some dock-leaves for safety, and having waded back to our stockings, we put on our hats and walked barefoot for a few yards through the heather, to dry our feet, after which we resumed our boots and stockings and set off homewards.
"We'll go by the lower road," said Eleanor, "and look at the church." For some time after Eleanor had passed in through the rickety gates of the south porch, I lingered amongst the gravestones, reading their quaint inscriptions.

Quaint both in matter and in the manner of rhyme and spelling.

As I also drew towards the porch, I looked up to see if I could tell the time by the dial above it.

I could not, nor (in spite of my brief learning in Dr.Russell's grammar) could I interpret the Latin motto, "_Fugit Hora.