When she tried to light a fire, however, her matches would not strike.
They as well as the wood had gotten wet when she slipped,
and not one would light. She might as well have been at her home
in the district. When every match had been tried and tried again
on a dry stone, only to leave a white streak of smoking sulphur on it,
she sat down and cried. For the first time she felt cold and weary.
The rays of the sun fell on her and warmed her a little,
and she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked up. The sun had just come up
over the hill. It gave her courage. She turned and looked the other way
from which she had come -- nothing but a waste of water and woods. Suddenly,
from a point up over the nearer woods a little sparkle caught her eye;
there must be a house there, she thought; they might have matches,
and she would go back and get some. But there it was again -- it moved.
There was another -- another -- and something black moving.
She sprang to her feet and strained her eyes. Good God! they were coming!
In a second she had turned the other way, rushed across the bridge,
and was dashing through the water to her waist. The water was not wide
that way. The hill rose almost abruptly on that side, and up it she dashed,
and along the road.
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