After breakfast we again resumed our journey, and went to inspect Janet’s Cave or Foss—­for our host told us that it was no use coming to see a pretty place like Malham without viewing all the sights we could while we were there.  We walked up a lovely little glen, where it was said a fairy once resided, and which if it had been placed elsewhere would certainly have been described as the Fairy Glen; but whether or not Janet was the name of the fairy we did not ascertain.  In it we came to a pretty little waterfall dropping down from one step to another, the stream running from it being as clear as crystal.  The rocks were lined with mosses, which had become as fleecy-looking as wool, as they were almost petrified by the continual dropping of the spray from the lime-impregnated water that fell down the rocks.  There were quite a variety of mosses and ferns, but the chief of the climbing plants was what Dickens described “as the rare old plant, the ivy green,” which not only clung to the rocks, but had overshadowed them by climbing up the trees above.  To see the small dark cave it was necessary to cross the stream in front of the waterfall, and here stepping-stones had been provided for that purpose, but, owing to the unusual depth of water, these were covered rather deeply, with the result that all the available spaces in our boots were filled with water.  This was, of course, nothing unusual to us, as we had become quite accustomed to wet feet, and we now looked upon it as an ordinary incident of travel.  The cave was said to have been the resort of goblins, and when we wondered where they were now, my brother mildly suggested that we might have seen them if we had possessed a mirror.  We had seen a list of the names of the different mosses to be found in the Malham district, but, as these were all in Latin, instead of committing them to memory, we contented ourselves with counting the names of over forty different varieties besides hepaties, lichens, ferns, and many flowers: 

  Hie away, hie away,
  Over bank and over brae,
  Where the copsewood is the greenest,
  Where the fountains glisten sheenest. 
  Where the lady-fern grows strongest,
  Where the morning dew lies longest,
  Where the blackcock sweetest sips it. 
  Where the fairy latest trips it;

  Hie to haunts right seldom seen,
  Lovely, lonesome, cool and green;
  Over bank and over brae
  Hie away, hie away!

So we now “hied away” to find Gordale Scar, calling at a farmhouse to inquire the way, for we knew we must cross some land belonging to the farm before we could reach the Scar.  We explained to the farmer the object of our journey and that we wished afterwards to cross the moors.  After directing us how to reach the Scar, he said there was no necessity for us to return to Malham if we could climb up the side of the waterfall at the Scar, since we should find the road leading from Malham a short distance