rom the Government by a one-eyed smith from Carthage. I remember we
called him Cyclops. He sold me a beaver-skin rug for my sister's room.'

'But it couldn't have been here,' Dan insisted.

'But it was! From the Altar of Victory at Anderida to the First Forge in
the Forest here is twelve miles seven hundred paces. It is all in the Road
Book. A man doesn't forget his first march. I think I could tell you every
station between this and----' He leaned forward, but his eye was caught by
the setting sun.

It had come down to the top of Cherry Clack Hill, and the light poured in
between the tree trunks so that you could see red and gold and black deep
into the heart of Far Wood; and Parnesius in his armour shone as though he
had been afire.

'Wait,' he said, lifting a hand, and the sunlight jinked on his glass
bracelet. 'Wait! I pray to Mithras!'

He rose and stretched his arms westward, with deep, splendid-sounding
words.

Then Puck began to sing too, in a voice like bells tolling, and as he sang
he slipped from 'Volaterrae' to the ground, and beckoned the children to
follow. They obeyed; it seemed as though the voices were pushing them
along; and through the goldy-brown light on the beech leaves they walked,
while Puck between them chanted something like this:--

Cur mundus militat sub vana gloria
Cujus prosperitas est transitoria?
Tam cito labitur ejus potentia
Quam vasa figuli quae sunt fragilia.

They found themselves at the little locked gates of the wood.

Quo Caesar abiit celsus imperio?
Vel Dives splendidus totus in prandio?
Dic ubi Tullius----

Still singing, he took Dan's hand and wheeled him round to face Una as she
came out of the gate. It shut behind her, at the same time as Puck threw
the memory-magicking Oak, Ash, and Thorn leaves over their heads.

'Well, you _are_ jolly late,' said Una. 'Couldn't you get away before?'

'I did,' said Dan. 'I got away in lots of time, but--but I didn't know it
was so late. Where've you been?'

'In Volaterrae--waiting for you.'

'Sorry,' said Dan. 'It was all that beastly Latin.'

A BRITISH-ROMAN SONG

(A. D. 406)

_My father's father saw it not,_
_And I, belike, shall never come,_
_To look on that so-holy spot--_
_The very Rome--_

_Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might,_
_The equal work of Gods and Man--_
_City beneath whose oldest height_
_The Race began,--_

_Soon to send