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The Pigeon Pie by Charlotte Mary Yonge
page 21 of 104 (20%)
"Delicious!" said the tired soldier, kneeling over the spring,
scooping it up in his hand to drink, opening his collar, and bathing
hands and face in the clear cool fountain, till his long black hair
hung straight, saturated with wet.

"Now, Bayard, it is your turn," and he patted the good steed as it
sucked up the refreshing water, and Walter proceeded to release it
from saddle and bridle. Edmund, meanwhile, stretched himself out on
the mossy bank, asked a few questions about his mother, Rose, and the
other children, but was too tired to say much, and presently fell
sound asleep, while Walter sat by watching him, grieving for the
battle lost, but proud and important in being the guardian of his
brother's safety, and delighting himself with the thought of bringing
him home at night.

More was happening at home than Walter guessed. The time of his
absence seemed very long, more especially when the twilight began to
close in, and Lady Woodley began to fear that he might, with his
rashness, have involved himself in some quarrel with the troopers in
the village. Lady Woodley and her children had closed around the
wood fire which had been lighted on the hearth at the approach of
evening, and Rose was trying by the bad light to continue her darning
of stockings, when a loud hasty knocking was heard at the door, and
all, in a general vague impression of dread, started and drew
together.

"Oh my lady!" cried Deborah, "don't bid me go to the door, I could
not if you offered me fifty gold caroluses! I had rather stand up to
be a mark--"

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