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CHAPTER VIII.
THE THREE FRIENDS.

His companions had passed on whilst he was at his orisons; but
his young blood and the fresh morning air both invited him to a
scamper. His staff in one hand and his scrip in the other, with
springy step and floating locks, he raced along the forest path,
as active and as graceful as a young deer. He had not far to go,
however; for, on turning a corner, he came on a roadside cottage
with a wooden fence-work around it, where stood big John and
Aylward the bowman, staring at something within. As he came up
with them, he saw that two little lads, the one about nine years
of age and the other somewhat older, were standing on the plot in
front of the cottage, each holding out a round stick in their
left hands, with their arms stiff and straight from the shoulder,
as silent and still as two small statues. They were pretty,
blue-eyed, yellow-haired lads, well made and sturdy, with bronzed
skins, which spoke of a woodland life.
"Here are young chips from an old bow stave!" cried the soldier
in great delight.


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