He was not a pretty boy, and was in delicate health, constantly subject
to attacks of bronchitis and asthma, yet his spirit was undaunted, and
as his old nurse often said, "his soul was too strong for his body."
Dudley, his little cousin, who sat facing him, on the contrary, was a
true specimen of a handsome English boy. Chestnut hair and bright blue
eyes, rosy cheeks, and an upright sturdy carriage, did much to commend
him to every one's favor: yet for force of character and intellect he
came far behind Roy.
He sat now pondering Roy's words, and kicking his heels against the
wall, whilst his eyes roved over the road on the outside of the garden
and away to a dark pine wood opposite.
"Here's one coming then," he said, suddenly; "now you'll have to use
it."
"Who? What? Where?"
"It's a man; a tramp, a traveller or a highwayman, and he may be all the
lot together! It's an opportunity, isn't it?"
Roy looked down the narrow lane outside the wall, and saw the figure of
a man approaching. His face lit up with eager resolve.
"He's a stranger, Dudley; he doesn't belong to the village; we'll ask
him who he is."
"Hulloo, you fellow," shouted Dudley in his shrill boyish treble; "where
do you come from? You don't belong to this part.
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