Emlyn skipped along by Steadfast's side, making him magnificent
promises. They paused by the ruins of the farm where Stead still
kept up as much of the orchard and garden as he could with so little
time and so far from home, and Emlyn filled her skirt with rosy-
cheeked apples, saying in a pretty gentle manner, "they were such a
treat to our poor rogues on a dusty march," and Stead aided her by
carrying as many as he could.
However, an occasional bugle note, clouds of dust on the road far
below in the valley, and a low, dull tramp warned them to come
forward, and station themselves in the hedge above the deep lane
where Steadfast had once watched for his brother. Only a few of the
more adventurous village lads were before them now, and when Stead
explained that the little wench wanted to watch for her father, they
were kind in helping him to perch her in the hollow of a broken old
pollard, where she could see, and not be seen. For the poor camp
maiden knew the need of caution. She drew Steadfast close to her,
and bade him not show himself till she told him, for some of the
wilder sort would blaze away their pistols at anything, especially
when they had had any good ale, or were out of sorts.
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