That made me think of the Crusaders, and the little gold trinket in father's chest till.

There were four shells on it and each one stood for a trip on foot or horseback to the Holy City when you had to fight almost every step of the way.

Those shells meant that my father's people had gone four times, so he said; that, although it was away far back, still each of us had a tiny share of the blood of the Crusaders in our veins, and that it would make us brave and strong, and whenever we were afraid, if we would think of them, we never could do a cowardly thing or let any one else do one before us.

He said any one with Crusader blood had to be brave as Richard the Lion-hearted.
Thinking about that helped ever so much, so I gripped the note and turned to take one last look at the house before I made a dash for the gate that led into the Big Woods.
Beyond our land lay the farm of Jacob Hood, and Mrs.Hood always teased me because Laddie had gone racing after her when I was born.

She was in the middle of Monday's washing, and the bluing settled in the rinse water and stained her white clothes in streaks it took months to bleach out.