When their breakfast was over, and their packs all trussed up again, it
was after ten o'clock, and the day was beginning to turn fine and hot. They went down the
slope, and across the stream where it dived under the road, and up the next slope, and up
and down another shoulder of the hills; and by that time their cloaks, blankets, water,
food, and other gear already seemed a heavy burden.
The day's march promised to be warm and tiring work. After some miles, however, the road
ceased to roll up and down; it climbed to the top of a steep bank in a weary zig-zagging
sort of way, and then prepared to go down for the last time. In front of them they saw the
lower lands dotted with small clumps of trees that melted away in the distance to a brown
woodland haze. They were looking across the Woody End towards the Brandywine River. The
road wound away before them like a piece of string.
