"I'm scratched
all over with that beastly old cactus."
"Do you suppose there are many miles more?" Judy said, in such a
quick way that all the words seemed to run into each other. "I've
walked hundreds and hundreds, and haven't got home yet. I suppose
it's because the world's round, and I'll be walling in at the school
gate again presently."
"Don't be an idjut!" Bunty said gruffly.
"You'll be sure and certain, Marian, never to breathe a word of it;
I've trusted you, and if you keep faith I can go home and come back
and no one will know. And lend me two shillings, can you? I've not
got much left. Bunty, you selfish little pig, you might get me some
milk! I've been begging and begging of you for hours, and my head is
going to Catherine wheels for want of it."
"Have some corned beef, Judy, dear--oh, Judy, don't be so silly and
horrid after I nearly got killed for you," Bunty said, trying with
trembling fingers to stuff a piece into her mouth.
The little girl rolled over and began muttering again.
"Seventy-seven miles," she said, "and I walked eleven yesterday,
that makes eleven hundred and seventy-seven--and six the day before
because my foot had a blister--that's eleven hundred and eighty-three.
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