A single groom
lounged in the shade of the wide-spreading trees as he kept a lazy eye on the
croppings of two saddled horses, and an endless chain of fagot-laden serfs
plodded joylessly across the open. On one side of the great entrance arch a
half-dozen of the manor poor gabbled and basked in the sun while they waited
to receive their daily dole of food; on the other, a dark-locked foreign page
sat on the mossy step abiding the coming of his master.
Leaning back with one arm bent carelessly behind his head and one hand
caressing a shaggy hound that pressed against his knee, the boy's far-away
gaze was designed to intimate his haughty oblivion to the castle-world in
general and the movements of the almsfolk in particular. Seeing which, the
people on the other side of the step had laid aside any reserve they might
have felt and were indulging their curiosity with cheerful freedom.
"Six weeks he has been here, and this is the first good look I have had at
him," the buzzing whispers ran. "It is said that they were obliged to catch
him between shields before they could take him."... "Such hair on a Dane is
more rare than a white crow."... "I believe no good of any one with locks of
that color."... "Tibby, the weaving-woman, says he is skilful in magic."...
"It is by reason of that, that he has become my lord's darling.".
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