"Nay," returned Cola, with considerate kindness, "you have borne toil
all the day, and must be wearied; my labours of the body, at least, have
been light enough. You are delicate, too, and seem fatigued already; the
rest will refresh you. I shall not be long."

The boy acquiesced, though he rather wished to accompany his brother;
but he was of a meek and yielding temper, and seldom resisted the
lightest command of those he loved. He sat him down on a little bank by
the river-side, and the firm step and towering form of his brother were
soon hid from his gaze by the thick and melancholy foliage.

At first he sat very quietly, enjoying the cool air, and thinking over
all the stories of ancient Rome that his brother had told him in their
walk. At length he recollected that his little sister, Irene, had begged
him to bring her home some flowers; and, gathering such as he could find
at hand (and many a flower grew, wild and clustering, over that desolate
spot), he again seated himself, and began weaving them into one of those
garlands for which the southern peasantry still retain their ancient
affection, and something of their classic skill.

While the boy was thus engaged, the tramp of horses and the loud
shouting of men were heard at a distance. They came near, and nearer.

"Some baron's procession, perhaps, returning from a feast," thought the
boy. "It will be a pretty sight--their white plumes and scarlet mantles!
I love to see such sights, but I will just move out of their way."

So, still mechanically platting his garland, but with eyes turned
towards the quarter of the expected procession, the young Roman moved
yet nearer towards the river.