mourning, with the short belted doublet, puffed hose, small ruffs
and little round caps of early Tudor times. They had dark eyes and
hair, and honest open faces, the younger ruddy and sunburnt, the
elder thinner and more intellectual--and they were so much the same
size that the advantage of age was always supposed to be on the side
of Stephen, though he was really the junior by nearly a year. Both
were sad and grave, and the eyes and cheeks of Stephen showed traces
of recent floods of tears, though there was more settled dejection
on the countenance of his brother.

"Ay, Spring," said the lad, "'tis winter with thee now. A poor old
rogue! Did the new housewife talk of a halter because he showed his
teeth when her ill-nurtured brat wanted to ride on him? Nay, old
Spring, thou shalt share thy master's fortunes, changed though they
be. Oh, father! father! didst thou guess how it would be with thy
boys!" And throwing himself on the grass, he hid his face against
the dog and sobbed.

"Come, Stephen, Stephen; 'tis time to play the man! What are we to
do out in the world if you weep and wail?"

"She might have let us stay for the month's mind," was heard from
Stephen.

"Ay, and though we might be more glad to go, we might carry bitterer
thoughts along with us. Better be done with it at once, say I."

"There would still be the Forest! And I saw the moorhen sitting
yester eve! And the wild ducklings are out on the pool, and the
woods are full of song. Oh! Ambrose! I never knew how hard it is