ose days," said Marco, "is that he was
with me, and that whenever I was hungry or tired, I knew he must be,
too."

The feeling that they were "waiting" was so intense that it filled the
days with strangeness. When the postman's knock was heard at the door,
each of them endeavored not to start. A letter might some day come
which would tell them--they did not know what. But no letters came.
When they went out into the streets, they found themselves hurrying on
their way back in spite of themselves. Something might have happened.
Lazarus read the papers faithfully, and in the evening told Marco and
The Rat all the news it was "well that they should hear." But the
disorders of Samavia had ceased to occupy much space. They had become
an old story, and after the excitement of the assassination of Michael
Maranovitch had died out, there seemed to be a lull in events.
Michael's son had not dared to try to take his father's place, and
there were rumors that he also had been killed. The head of the
Iarovitch had declared himself king but had not been crowned because of
disorders in his own party. The country seemed existing in a nightmare
of suffering, famine and suspense.

"Samavia is 'waiting' too," The Rat broke forth one night as they
talked together, "but it won't wait long--it can't. If I were a
Samavian and in Samavia--"

"My father is a Samavian and he is in Samavia," Marco's grave young
voice interposed. The Rat flushed red as he realized what he had
said. "What a fool I am!" he groaned. "I--I beg your pardon--sir."
He stood up when he said the last words and added the "sir" as if he
suddenly realized that there was a distance between them which was
something akin to the distance between youth and maturity--but yet was
not the same.

"You are a good Samavian but--you forget," was Marco's answer.

Lazarus' intense grimness increased with each day that passed. The
ceremonious respectfulness of his manner toward Marco increased also.
It seemed as if the more anxious he felt the more formal and stately
his bearing became. It was as though he braced his own courage by
doing the smallest things life in the back sitting-room required as if
they were of the dignity of services performed in a much larger place
and under much more imposing circumstances. The Rat found himself
feeling almost as if he were an equerry in a court, and that dignity
and ceremony were necessary on his own part. He began to experience