A Pixy in Petticoats

An hour later two storm-tossed beings were fighting their way step by step beside the Taw river, which was there little more than a meandering crack in the peat. They were completely enveloped in whirling mist, which looked and felt like masses of damp wool. The wind was in their teeth and was steadily increasing. It threatened to become a gale. There was not much rain, but it could hardly be distinguished from the wet mists.

"Now I know what a fly feels like when it's strolling along a ceiling," shouted irrepressible Beatrice, as she balanced her shapely body between bog and river.