dam, I suggested to Lona that to find
them water might perhaps expedite the growth of the Little Ones. She
judged it prudent, however, to leave that alone for the present, as we
did not know what its first consequences might be; while, in the course
of time, it would almost certainly subject them to a new necessity.

"They are what they are without it!" she said: "when we have the city,
we will search for water!"

We began, therefore, and pushed forward our preparations, constantly
reviewing the merry troops and companies. Lona gave her attention
chiefly to the commissariat, while I drilled the little soldiers,
exercised them in stone-throwing, taught them the use of some other
weapons, and did all I could to make warriors of them. The main
difficulty was to get them to rally to their flag the instant the call
was sounded. Most of them were armed with slings, some of the bigger
boys with bows and arrows. The bigger girls carried aloe-spikes,
strong as steel and sharp as needles, fitted to longish shafts--rather
formidable weapons. Their sole duty was the charge of such as were too
small to fight.

Lona had herself grown a good deal, but did not seem aware of it:
she had always been, as she still was, the tallest! Her hair was
much longer, and she was become almost a woman, but not one beauty of
childhood had she outgrown. When first we met after our long separation,
she laid down her infant, put her arms round my neck, and clung to me
silent, her face glowing with gladness: the child whimpered; she
sprang to him, and had him in her bosom instantly. To see her with
any thoughtless, obstinate, or irritable little one, was to think of
a tender grandmother. I seemed to have known her for ages--for
always--from before time began! I hardly remembered my mother, but in my
mind's eye she now looked like Lona; and if I imagined sister or child,
invariably she had the face of Lona! My every imagination flew to her;
she was my heart's wife! She hardly ever sought me, but was almost
always within sound of my voice. What I did or thought, I referred
constantly to her, and rejoiced to believe that, while doing her work in
absolute independence, she was most at home by my side. Never for me did
she neglect the smallest child, and my love only quickened my sense
of duty. To love her and to do my duty, seemed, not indeed one, but
inseparable. She might suggest something I should do; she might ask me
what she ought to do; but she neve