st brought ruin and disgrace upon itself
by wanting to cheer again, and only just stopping itself in time.
"Must be chosen BY LOT," The Rat repeated, looking from one face to
another. "Each one will take his life in his hand when he goes forth.
He may have to die a thousand deaths, but he must go. He must steal in
silence and disguise from one country to another. Wherever there is
one of the Secret Party, whether he is in a hovel or on a throne, the
messengers must go to him in darkness and stealth and give him the
sign. It will mean, 'The hour has come. God save Samavia!'"

"God save Samavia!" whispered the Squad, excitedly. And, because they
saw Marco raise his hand to his forehead, every one of them saluted.

They all began to whisper at once.

"Let's draw lots now. Let's draw lots, Rat. Don't let's 'ave no
waitin'."

The Rat began to look about him with dread anxiety. He seemed to be
examining the sky.

"The darkness is not as thick as it was," he whispered. "Midnight has
passed. The dawn of day will be upon us. If any one has a piece of
paper or a string, we will draw the lots before we part."

Cad had a piece of string, and Marco had a knife which could be used to
cut it into lengths. This The Rat did himself. Then, after shutting
his eyes and mixing them, he held them in his hand ready for the
drawing.

"The Secret One who draws the longest lot is chosen. The Secret One
who draws the shortest is chosen," he said solemnly.

The drawing was as solemn as his tone. Each boy wanted to draw either
the shortest lot or the longest one. The heart of each thumped
somewhat as he drew his piece of string.

When the drawing was at an end, each showed his lot. The Rat had drawn
the shortest piece of string, and Marco had drawn the longest one.

"Comrade!" said The Rat, taking his hand. "We will face death and
danger together!"

"God save Samavia!" answered Marco.

And the game was at an end for the day. The primest thing, the Squad
said, The Rat had ever made up for them. "'E wos a wonder, he wos!"

VII

"THE LAMP IS LIGHTED!"

On his way home, Marco thought of nothing but the story he must tell
his father, the story the stranger who had been to Samavia had told The
Rat's father. He felt that it must be a true story and not merely an
invention. The Forgers of the Sword must be real men, and the hidden
subterranean caverns stacked through the centuries with arms must be
real, too.