ue that no one could open a newspaper at this period without
seeing news and stories of Samavia.

The Rat saw possible vistas of information opening up before him.

"Sit down here," he said, "and tell us what you know about him. Sit
down, you fellows."

There was nothing to sit on but the broken flagged pavement, but that
was a small matter. Marco himself had sat on flags or bare ground
often enough before, and so had the rest of the lads. He took his
place near The Rat, and the others made a semicircle in front of them.
The two leaders had joined forces, so to speak, and the followers fell
into line at "attention."

Then the new-comer began to talk. It was a good story, that of the
Lost Prince, and Marco told it in a way which gave it reality. How
could he help it? He knew, as they could not, that it was real. He
who had pored over maps of little Samavia since his seventh year, who
had studied them with his father, knew it as a country he could have
found his way to any part of if he had been dropped in any forest or
any mountain of it. He knew every highway and byway, and in the
capital city of Melzarr could almost have made his way blindfolded. He
knew the palaces and the forts, the churches, the poor streets and the
rich ones. His father had once shown him a plan of the royal palace
which they had studied together until the boy knew each apartment and
corridor in it by heart. But this he did not speak of. He knew it was
one of the things to be silent about. But of the mountains and the
emerald velvet meadows climbing their sides and only ending where huge
bare crags and peaks began, he could speak. He could make pictures of
the wide fertile plains where herds of wild horses fed, or raced and
sniffed the air; he could describe the fertile valleys where clear
rivers ran and flocks of sheep pastured on deep sweet grass. He could
speak of them because he could offer a good enough reason for his
knowledge of them. It was not the only reason he had for his
knowledge, but it was one which would serve well enough.

"That torn magazine you found had more than one article about Samavia
in it," he said to The Rat. "The same man wrote four. I read them all
in a free library. He had been to Samavia, and knew a great deal about
it. He said it was one of the most beautiful countries he had ever
traveled in--and the most fertile. That's what they all say of it."

The group before him knew nothing of fertil