Gwen Moffat

Gwen Moffat

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SYNOPSIS They conversed and fell silent, glancing sideways or ahead, not remarking much on what surrounded them, but aware of it. On each bank of the beck, which behind them would, in the thaw, fall over Frothpot Force, there was level marsh for over half a mile, and the water here was wide and shallow. They called it the weel. On this freezing day it was a dream for skaters but, being too remote for small boys to be allowed to come and play, the ice was unmarked. Beyond the level country the path curved to the left, making for the crest of the range. Straight ahead their pass was marked by a gleam of light where the mist skimmed the lowest point.