beach, the young warrior suddenly came rushing up the hill and into the yard. He was flushed and out of breath, and Bucephalus was going at a hand gallop. Right before the door he reined in his horse with a sudden jerk, so that he made a deep gash in the sand; and swinging his sword, he shouted, "They're coming, they're coming!"
"Who are coming?" asked Rebecca.
"Snorting black chargers and three war chariots full of men-at-arms."
"Rubbish, my boy!" said his father sternly.
"Three phaetons are coming with townspeople in them," said Ansgarius, and dismounted with an abashed air.
"Let us go in, Rebecca," said the pastor, turning.
But at the same moment the foremost horses came at a quick pace over the brow of the hill. They were not exactly snorting chargers; yet it was a pretty sight as carriage after carriage came into view in the sunshine, full of merry faces and lively colours. Rebecca could not help stopping.
On the back seat of the foremost carriage sat an elderly gentleman and a buxom lady. On the front seat she saw a young lady; and just as they entered the yard, a gentleman who sat at her side stood up, and, with a word of apology to the lady on the back seat, turned and looked forward past the driver. Rebecca gazed at him without knowing what she was doing.
"How lovely it is here!" cried the young man.
For the Parsonage lay on the outermost slope
