her ancient Greeks.

'"There is no hope for Rome," said the Pater, at last. "She has forsaken
her Gods, but if the Gods forgive _us_ here, we may save Britain. To do
that, we must keep the Painted People back. Therefore, I tell you,
Parnesius, as a Father, that if your heart is set on service, your place
is among men on the Wall--and not with women among the cities."'

'What Wall?' asked Dan and Una at once.

'Father meant the one we call Hadrian's Wall. I'll tell you about it
later. It was built long ago, across North Britain, to keep out the
Painted People--Picts you call them. Father had fought in the great Pict
War that lasted more than twenty years, and he knew what fighting meant.
Theodosius, one of our great Generals, had chased the little beasts back
far into the North before I was born: down at Vectis, of course, we never
troubled our heads about them. But when my Father spoke as he did, I
kissed his hand, and waited for orders. We British-born Romans know what
is due to our parents.'

'If I kissed my Father's hand, he'd laugh,' said Dan.

'Customs change; but if you do not obey your father, the Gods remember it.
You may be quite sure of _that_.

'After our talk, seeing I was in earnest, the Pater sent me over to
Clausentum to learn my foot-drill in a barrack full of foreign
Auxiliaries--as unwashed and unshaved a mob of mixed barbarians as ever
scrubbed a breast-plate. It was your stick in their stomachs and your
shield in their faces to push them into any sort of formation. When I had
learned my work the Instructor gave me a handful--and they were a
handful!--of Gauls and Iberians to polish up till they were sent to their
stations up-country. I did my best, and one night a villa in the suburbs
caught fire, and I had my handful out and at work before any of the other
troops. I noticed a quiet-looking man on the lawn, leaning on a stick. He
watched us passing buckets from the pond, and at last he said to me: "Who
are you?"

'"A probationer, waiting for a cohort," I answered. _I_ didn't know who he
was from Deucalion!

'"Born in Britain?" he said.

'"Yes, if you were born in Spain," I said, for he neighed his words like
an Iberian mule.

'"And what might you call yourself when you are at home?" he said
laughing.

'"That depends," I answered; "sometimes one thing and sometimes another.
But now I'm busy."

'He said no more till we had saved the family gods (they were respectable
householders), and