“You are tired, my little heart,” said old Elsie to Agnes, who had drooped during a longer walk than usual.
“No, grandmamma,” said Agnes, sinking on her knees to repeat her evening prayer, which she did, covering her face with her hands.
Old Elsie kneeled too; but, as she was praying,—being a thrifty old body in the use of her time,—she cast an eye up the steep mountain-path and calculated the distance of the little airy village. Just at that moment she saw two or three horsemen, who appeared to be stealthily observing them from behind the shadow of some large rocks.
When their devotions were finished, she hurried on her grandchild, saying,—
“Come, dearie! it must be we shall find a shelter soon.”
The horsemen now rode up behind them.
“Good evening, mother!” said one of them, speaking from under the shadow of a deeply slouched hat.
Elsie made no reply, but hurried forward.
“Good evening, pretty maid!” he said again, riding still nearer.
“Go your ways in the name of God,” said Elsie. “We are pilgrims, going for our souls to Rome; and whoever hinders us will have the saints to deal with.”