from the shoulders,
and there was much magnificent embroidery of color and gold.

"Sir, we must drive quickly to the station," Baron Rastka said to
Marco. "These people are excitable and patriotic, and His Majesty
wishes us to remain incognito, and avoid all chance of public
demonstration until we reach the capital." They passed rather
hurriedly through the hotel to the carriage which awaited them. The
Rat saw that something unusual was happening in the place. Servants
were scurrying round corners, and guests were coming out of their rooms
and even hanging over the balustrades.

As Marco got into his carriage, he caught sight of a boy about his own
age who was peeping from behind a bush. Suddenly he darted away, and
they all saw him tearing down the street towards the station as fast as
his legs would carry him.

But the horses were faster than he was. The party reached the station,
and was escorted quickly to its place in a special saloon-carriage
which awaited it. As the train made its way out of the station, Marco
saw the boy who had run before them rush on to the platform, waving his
arms and shouting something with wild delight. The people who were
standing about turned to look at him, and the next instant they had all
torn off their caps and thrown them up in the air and were shouting
also. But it was not possible to hear what they said.

"We were only just in time," said Vorversk, and Baron Rastka nodded.

The train went swiftly, and stopped only once before they reached
Melzarr. This was at a small station, on the platform of which stood
peasants with big baskets of garlanded flowers and evergreens. They
put them on the train, and soon both Marco and The Rat saw that
something unusual was taking place. At one time, a man standing on the
narrow outside platform of the carriage was plainly seen to be securing
garlands and handing up flags to men who worked on the roof.

"They are doing something with Samavian flags and a lot of flowers and
green things!" cried The Rat, in excitement.

"Sir, they are decorating the outside of the carriage," Vorversk said.
"The villagers on the line obtained permission from His Majesty. The
son of Stefan Loristan could not be allowed to pass their homes without
their doing homage."

"I understand," said Marco, his heart thumping hard against his
uniform. "It is for my father's sake."

At last, embowered, garlanded, and hung with waving banners, the train