As Zita flew along the ice, she laughed for joy of heart. Never had she travelled so fast. Her wonted pace had been that of the snail, for she had made progress in a heavily-laden van, drawn by a depressed and stolid horse. She was whirled past one of the main pumps for throwing the water of the loads into the river, and before she conceived it possible, she had passed a second. And these engines, as Mark told her, were two miles apart. Jewel's fashion of travelling was very different from that of Mark. Along the smoothest and most level road he had been accustomed to crawl, and then, after having made his pulses throb and his sweat break out, to stand still, with head down, to revive himself. Then nothing would induce him to proceed till he considered himself refreshed, when he would stumble on for a couple of miles, and again pause. But Mark flew along as though he would never know exhaustion, and there was no bringing him to a standstill. After several vain attempts to arrest him, Zita succeeded. He stood beside her sleigh with a smile on his pleasant face, and with the steam blowing from his nostrils. 'You must not go too far,' said Zita. 'We have come a long way from Prickwillow.' 'What! are you tired? You have not been dancing on sketches?' 'I do not understand your meaning.' 'Sketches?—does that word puzzle you as did patines? They are what some folk call stilts. I can run on them like a crane. But sketches are cumbrous, and, when the fen is soft, tire one speedily.' 'Let us return now.' 'No indeed. You have nothing to call you back. That fellow Drownlands, old scoundrel,—I beg your pardon,—will not be angry with you and thrash you, I suppose?' 'He is not at home. He has gone abroad for the day.' 'Then come along. We will visit Newport.' 'Please do not take me much farther.' 'Why not? Are you not enjoying the run?' 'I love it.' 'Then away we go. You are not afraid of travelling, with me as your horse?' She looked straight into his bright, honest face, and laughed. 'No—you are too good for any one to fear you.' 'How do you know that?' 'You carry honesty in your eyes, and "good boy" written across your brow.' 'It is time for me to run,' laughed Mark, 'or my head will be turned.' He buckled himself to his task, pranced from side to side, swinging the little sleigh to right and left, in his light-hearted frolic, and then away he went, running the sleigh with Zita in it straight along the canal.