She wore a broad hat of straw, I remember, and her skirt and kirtle were of green, the fairies' colour.

I think she was wearied with the sun, for she spoke little; but her eyes when they met mine were kind.

That day I was not ashamed of my plain clothes or my homely face, for they suited well with the road.

My great boots of untanned buckskin were red with dust, I was bronzed like an Indian, and the sun had taken the colour out of my old blue coat.
But I smacked of travel and enterprise, which to an honest heart are dearer than brocade.

Also I had a notion that my very homeliness revived in her the memories of our common motherland.