It was hot and humid, but we were grateful for a slight, cooling breeze as we began to descend the first long slope into the ravine. On the way down we heard a long shout and assumed there were some boys down below playing war games, but soon an out-of-shape older man chugged up the hill, asking if we'd seen a young boy. We'd never seen him before, and said we'd just entered and had as yet seen no one. His grandson, he explained, had run ahead of him and he had no idea where he was. We said we'd be on the lookout for him.

I was taking photographs of maturing wildflowers in season at the side of the trail, and we'd at that point gone somewhat beyond the halfway mark of our usual circuit, when suddenly we heard Riley bark, and turned to look behind us. Surprisingly, quite a way behind us, beyond a curve in the trail. Riley has developed a habit of ambling along behind us. We usually are alert to his presence there, urging him to come forward, but he rarely agrees with us that we'd prefer him to be where we can see him constantly, arguing that his preference is to view us in front of him.

My husband turned back to see what was going on, and what was going on was that a very slight, little girl with long blond hair damp from the humidity, wearing a light summer frock, was frozen to the side of the path, fear of our small barking dog evident on the fine features of her face. My husband reassured her, picked Riley up and the little girl smiled and began immediately walking alongside my husband. And continued walking with us as we asked her where her parents were, and where she had entered the ravine. It was, in fact, clear where she had entered; when Riley became aware of her she wasn't too far from a ravine entrance point.

She and her parents were visiting her grandparents. And evidently she had become upset at some disagreement that had turned disturbingly loud between the adults. She had, she said, told her grandmother to advise her mother that she was slipping into the ravine for a walk. And then off she went, which was when and where we discovered her presence. She was eight years old, preparing to enter grade 3 and excited about the prospect. She had an older brother, an older sister and they were interested in sports. She was sometimes bullied at school and that wasn't pleasant. And other details.

She chattered brightly away, fully confident and at ease in the presence of two absolute strangers, her voice lifting regularly in a high-pitched lilt with every sentence. What were we thinking? How odd it is and how potentially dangerous to see such a young child unaccompanied in such a place where large dogs often ran about unhindered from the attention of their owners, far from the scene. Where a misstep could hurtle her down a slope onto large pieces of gravel or sharp stumps; anything could happen. Let alone coming across a stranger whose purpose might be far less benign that our own.

We walked along as usual, fully expecting the little girl to turn back, to return to the opening to the ravine through which she had come, but no, nothing seemed to deter her from our company, even though my husband repeatedly pointed out to her other trails leading to exits close to where she had entered. Until finally, we were quite far from her entry point, prepared to mount a few steep ascents that would take us far indeed from her grandparents' home.

My husband asked by chance whether her grandfather walked a large white German shepherd named Lily, and the child perked up, yes he did. We thought about taking her home with us and telephoning her grandfather's house; surely she knew the number? It would take too long to reach home with her. Then we thought: turn around, return, walk her over to the place where she had entered, and that is just what we did, aborting our usual route and retracing our steps until finally we achieved that goal.

And that's when the child heard something our ears did not; a piercing whistle, and she responded immediately, explaining, her voice growing fainter as she ran ahead: "My mother's whistling for me!"