et on her neck.

"Laura, Laura! Oh, I AM glad you've come. What a time you've been!"

"Hullo, Pin.--Oh, I say, let me get out first."

"And pull up your bonnet, honey. D'you want to be after gettin'
sunstruck?"

Glad though Laura was to see her sister again, she did not manage to
infuse a very hearty tone into her greeting; for her first glimpse of
Pin had given her a disagreeable shock. It was astonishing, the change
the past half-year had worked in the child; and as the two climbed the
hill together, to the accompaniment of Pin's bubbly talk, Laura stole
look after look at her little sister, in the hope of growing used to
what she saw. Pin had never been pretty, but now she was "downright
hideous"--as Laura phrased it to herself. Eleven years of age, she had
at last begun to grow in earnest: her legs were as of old mere
spindleshanks, but nearly twice as long; and her fat little body,
perched above them, made one think of a shrivelled-up old man who has
run all to paunch. Her face, too, had increased in shapelessness, the
features being blurred in the fat mass; her blue eyes were more
slit-like than before; and, to cap everything, her fine skin had
absolutely no chance, so bespattered was it with freckles. And none of
your pretty little sun-kisses; but large, black, irregular freckles
that disfigured like moles. Laura felt quite distressed; it outraged
her feelings that anyone belonging to her should be so ugly; and as
Pin, in happy ignorance of her sister's reflections, chattered on,
Laura turned over in her mind what she ought to do. She would have to
tell Pin about herself--that was plain: she must break the news to her,
in case others should do it, and more cruelly. It was one consolation
to know that Pin was not sensitive about her looks; so long as you did
not tease her about her legs, there was no limit to what you might say
to her: the grieving was all for the onlooker. But not today: this was
the first day; and there were pleasanter things to think of. And so,
when they had had tea--with condensed milk in it, for the cow had gone
dry, and no milkman came out so far--when tea was over--and that was
all that could be undertaken in the way of refreshment after the
journey; washing your face and hands, for instance, was out of the
question; every drop of water had to be carried up the hill from the
pump, and old Anne purposely kept the ewers empty by day; if you WOULD
wash, you must wash in the sea--as soon,