my breast, and when he had read it he saluted us,
saying: "Your fate is in your own hands. If you choose to serve
Theodosius, he will give you a Legion. If it suits you to go to your
homes, we will give you a Triumph."

'"I would like better a bath, wine, food, razors, soaps, oils, and
scents," said Pertinax, laughing.

'"Oh, I see you are a boy," said Ambrosius. "And you?" turning to me.

'"We bear no ill-will against Theodosius, but in War----" I began.

'"In War it is as it is in Love," said Pertinax. "Whether she be good or
bad, one gives one's best once, to one only. That given, there remains
no second worth giving or taking."

'"That is true," said Ambrosius. "I was with Maximus before he died. He
warned Theodosius that you would never serve him, and frankly I say I am
sorry for my Emperor."

'"He has Rome to console him," said Pertinax. "I ask you of your
kindness to let us go to our homes and get this smell out of our
nostrils."

'None the less they gave us a Triumph!'

'It was well earned,' said Puck, throwing some leaves into the still
water of the marlpit. The black, oily circles spread dizzily as the
children watched them.

'I want to know, oh, ever so many things,' said Dan. 'What happened to
old Allo? Did the Winged Hats ever come back? And what did Amal do?'

'And what happened to the fat old General with the five cooks?' said
Una. 'And what did your Mother say when you came home? ...'

'She'd say you're settin' too long over this old pit, so late as 'tis
already,' said old Hobden's voice behind them. 'Hst!' he whispered.

He stood still, for not twenty paces away a magnificent dog-fox sat on
his haunches and looked at the children as though he were an old friend
of theirs.

'Oh, Mus' Reynolds, Mus' Reynolds!' said Hobden, under his breath. 'If I
knowed all was inside your head, I'd know something wuth knowin'. Mus'
Dan an' Miss Una, come along o' me while I lock up my liddle hen-house.'

A PICT SONG

Rome never looks where she treads,
Always her heavy hooves fall
On our stomachs, our hearts or our heads;
And Rome never heeds when we bawl.
Her sentries pass on--that is all,
And we gather behind them in hordes,
And plot to reconquer the Wall,
With only our tongues for our swords.

We are the Little Folk--we!
Too little to love or to hate.
Leave us alone and you'll see
How we can drag down the Great!
We are the worm in the wood!
We are the rot at the root!
W