A sturdy boy in homespun, a lad of nearly fourteen years, whose eyes were clear and gray and whose face was resolute and honest, led his little sister by the hand, for she was small and the road was rough. We'll rest, 'Omi, when we come to the big tree. Are you cold? he asked, for there was the chill of March in the wind, though the sun lay very warm in the sheltered places. No. Who? she asked, pointing a tiny hand at two riders turning the corner, a youth of about seventeen and a young girl. Their horses were spirited and the black groom following urged his horse.

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