ead into her mouth.

"Well, you wise Wala," laughed Rignomer, "will the Romans conquer in
the next battle?"

The Sarmatian lightly stroked the animal's head against the hair: the
bear, growling angrily, shook her head.

The Batavian started, the laugh died on his lips. "She is Donar's
friend," he said dejectedly. "He speaks through her. I thought so."

He spoke as if the battle had already been fought and lost.

"Well," said the juggler consolingly, "I'll question her for you.
Bruna, clever wood spirit, look sharply at this hero: Will he come out
of this war safe and go back to his mother who brews the good mead?"

He lightly stroked the bear from the forehead down toward the tail:
Bruna nodded assent.

"I thank thee, Donar," cried Rignomer cheerily. "What do I care for the
Romans' victory? I'm going home soon. Hark ye, fellow, the clever
fortune-teller pleases me. Will you sell her?"

The Sarmatian looked thoughtful. The question was evidently unexpected.
"Not willingly--not cheaply--" he said hesitatingly, wishing to gain
time for reflection. "I live by her tricks even more than by my own."

"You are right, Rignomer," Brinno observed. "It's often very dull in
camp when we're not on duty. She would amuse us."

"And I'd like to startle the Romans, the proud legionaries who look
down scornfully upon us auxiliaries, but always send us to the
bloodiest posts in battle."

"I suppose the creature came from these forests?" asked Brinno.

The juggler nodded.

"Aha," cried Rignomer, laughing, "then we must have her. We'll take her
to little Bissula: the brown German to the red one."

"Who is Bissula?" drawled the juggler.

"The most charming girl I ever saw," cried Brinno quickly.

"Yes! Every one who sees her is fond of her," Rignomer went on.

"Especially we Germans!"

"So are the Romans, I think; at any rate, most of them. But she often
sits gazing so sadly toward the woods, as if longing for something. Her
countrywoman will amuse her. I'll buy the animal from you."

"No, no! I don't want to part with her. But,"---his eyes
sparkled--"I'll tell you. Take me, the bear, and--" (he was going to
say my boy, but as he no longer saw him lying beside the spring, nor in
his former place, he checked himself) "into the camp for a few days,
till you are tired of the toy."

But both mercenaries shook their heads.

"That won't do! You jugglers and animal tamers are regarded as
professional spies."

"The Tribune