Excerpt from In a Brazilian Forest: And Three Brave Boys
The sunlight fell on the breeze-rippled bosom of the river which, dimpling and smiling, fled swiftly between its banks. The soft winds, laden with flower-scents from the neighboring hedges gently shook the hazel branches that bordered the boreen, or lane, in which Tom Desmond stood. The landscape stretching around him was full of blithe life and cheerful beauty; but his sad, thoughtful face did not reflect the spirit of the scene.
Tom Desmond was a boy of fifteen, tall for his age, with a strong, well knit frame, a shock of curly red hair, frank blue eyes and an honest, though somewhat freckled face. His clothes were neat, but the patches in various places showed that if poverty was in his home, there were also careful and loving hands.
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