nd smart enough to have done
credit to practiced soldiers in barracks. It made Marco involuntarily
stand very straight himself, and watch with surprised interest.

"That's good!" he exclaimed when it was at an end. "How did you learn
that?"

The Rat made a savage gesture.

"If I'd had legs to stand on, I'd have been a soldier!" he said. "I'd
have enlisted in any regiment that would take me. I don't care for
anything else."

Suddenly his face changed, and he shouted a command to his followers.

"Turn your backs!" he ordered.

And they did turn their backs and looked through the railings of the
old churchyard. Marco saw that they were obeying an order which was
not new to them. The Rat had thrown his arm up over his eyes and
covered them. He held it there for several moments, as if he did not
want to be seen. Marco turned his back as the rest had done. All at
once he understood that, though The Rat was not crying, yet he was
feeling something which another boy would possibly have broken down
under.

"All right!" he shouted presently, and dropped his ragged-sleeved arm
and sat up straight again.

"I want to go to war!" he said hoarsely. "I want to fight! I want to
lead a lot of men into battle! And I haven't got any legs. Sometimes
it takes the pluck out of me."

"You've not grown up yet!" said Marco. "You might get strong. No one
knows what is going to happen. How did you learn to drill the club?"

"I hang about barracks. I watch and listen. I follow soldiers. If I
could get books, I'd read about wars. I can't go to libraries as you
can. I can do nothing but scuffle about like a rat."

"I can take you to some libraries," said Marco. "There are places
where boys can get in. And I can get some papers from my father."

"Can you?" said The Rat. "Do you want to join the club?"

"Yes!" Marco answered. "I'll speak to my father about it."

He said it because the hungry longing for companionship in his own mind
had found a sort of response in the queer hungry look in The Rat's
eyes. He wanted to see him again. Strange creature as he was, there
was attraction in him. Scuffling about on his low wheeled platform, he
had drawn this group of rough lads to him and made himself their
commander. They obeyed him; they listened to his stories and harangues
about war and soldiering; they let him drill them and give them orders.
Marco knew that, when he told his father about him, he would be
intere