Just where the glen which we had been traversing expanded into this broad,
but wooded valley, it was traversed by a high and close paling, which,
although it looked decayed, was still very strong.

In this there was a wooden gate, rudely but strongly constructed, and at
the side we were approaching stood a girl, who was leaning against the
post, with one arm resting on the top of the gate.

This girl was neither tall nor short--taller than she looked at a distance;
she had not a slight waist; sooty black was her hair, with a broad
forehead, perpendicular but low; she had a pair of very fine, dark,
lustrous eyes, and no other good feature--unless I may so call her teeth,
which were very white and even. Her face was rather short, and swarthy as
a gipsy's; observant and sullen too; and she did not move, only eyed us
negligently from under her dark lashes as we drew near. Altogether a not
unpicturesque figure, with a dusky, red petticoat of drugget, and tattered
jacket of bottle-green stuff, with short sleeves, which showed her brown
arms from the elbow.

'That's Pegtop's daughter,' said Milly.

'Who is Pegtop?' I asked.

'He's the miller--see, yonder it is,' and she pointed to a very pretty
feature in the landscape, a windmill, crowning the summit of a hillock
which rose suddenly above the level of the treetops, like an island in the
centre of the valley.

'The mill not going to-day, Beauty?' bawled Milly.